ALEXANDRA COLLEGE 
 
 |bHE COMMITTEE OF |gl)UCATION 
 
 G,oo<L ^JrunMJi^e>Lmcl, in tne uvriool Cow/iAe. at 
 r 
 
 the ^jeAMorKni Cocamvna/t'io'nA,
 
 THE 'UMtVERSiT-Y 
 UNtVWSITY OF CALiFORNlX; SAfl DIEGO 
 LA JLOLLA, CAU.FORNIA 
 
 The Ingoldsby Legends
 
 MORRISON AND OIBB, EDINBURGH, 
 PRINTERS TO HEK MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
 
 REV. RICHARD HARRIS BAHHAJI. 
 
 (Tltoinas Ingoldslnj.)
 
 The 
 
 Ingoldsby Legends 
 
 antr 
 
 By 
 
 THOMAS INGOLDSBY 
 
 Esquire 
 
 WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 CRUIKSHANK, LEECH, ETC. 
 AND PORTRAIT 
 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 1889
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAC-E 
 
 MEMOIR, xi 
 
 PREFACE, ......... xxi 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON, ...... 5 
 
 THE NURSE'3 STORY THE HAND OF GLORY, . . .29 
 
 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY "LOOK AT THE CLOCK," . 35 
 
 GREY DOLPHIN, ........ 41 
 
 THE GHOST, ........ 59 
 
 THE CYNOTAPH, ........ 69 
 
 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE, ... 74 
 
 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE, ...... 99 
 
 THE WITCHES' FROLIC, ....... 104 
 
 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D., . 118 
 
 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS, ...... 139 
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN, ....... 145 
 
 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS, ...... 153 
 
 A LAY OF ST. ODILLE, ....... 162 
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS, ....... 168 
 
 THE LADY ROHESIA, ....... 178 
 
 THE TRAGEDY, ........ 185 
 
 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION, . . 188 
 
 THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON, ...... 191 
 
 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY THE EXECUTION, . . 194 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY, ...... 198 
 
 MR PETERS'S STORY THE BAGMAN'S DOG, .... 205 
 
 APPENDIX, ......... 218 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE, ...... 224 
 
 SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS, ...... 244 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, ...... 252 
 
 THE AUTO-DA-Ff , ........ 264 
 
 vii
 
 via 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE INUOLDSBY PESANCE, 
 
 NETLEY ABBEY, ..... 
 
 FRAGMENT, ...... 
 
 NELL COOK, ..... 
 
 NURSERY REMINISCENCES, .... 
 
 AUNT FANNY, ..... 
 
 MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE, 
 
 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP, .... 
 
 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE, 
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD, 
 
 THE DEAD DRUMMER, .... 
 
 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX). 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT, 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS, .... 
 
 THE LAY OF THE OLD WOMAN CXOTHED IN GREY, 
 RAISING THE DEVIL, .... 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD, 
 
 PAGE 
 282 
 
 293 
 297 
 299 
 306 
 308 
 314 
 318 
 323 
 334 
 339 
 351 
 355 
 368 
 377 
 393 
 394 
 
 THIRD SERIES. 
 
 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE, 
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY ; OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE, 
 
 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING, 
 
 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON, 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY, 
 
 THE HOUSE-WARMING, .... 
 
 THE FORLORN ONE, .... 
 
 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG, .... 
 
 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES, 
 
 HERMANN ; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR, 
 
 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY, 
 
 MARIE SIIGNOT, ..... 
 
 THE TRUANTS, ..... 
 
 THE POPLAR, ..... 
 
 MY LETTERS, ..... 
 
 NEW-MADE HONOUR, .... 
 
 THE CONFESSION, ..... 
 
 EPIGRAM, ...... 
 
 SONG, ...... 
 
 EPIGRAM, ...... 
 
 SONG, ...... 
 
 AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE, . 
 
 405 
 418 
 
 432 
 449 
 460 
 469 
 483 
 483 
 501 
 503 
 505 
 507 
 508 
 512 
 512 
 515 
 516 
 517 
 517 
 518 
 518 
 519
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 REV. RICHAED HARRIS BARHAM (Thomas Inyoldsby), . . Frontispiece. 
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON, ...... 4 
 
 THE GHOST, . . . . . . . . .66 
 
 HAMILTON TIGHE, ........ 102 
 
 GRANDFATHER'S STORY ; OR, THE WITCHES' FROLIC, . . . 113 
 
 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS, ...... 143 
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS, . . . . . .175 
 
 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE, ...... 241 
 
 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, ...... 2oO 
 
 THE AUTO-DA-FA, . . . . . . . 277 
 
 THE DEAD DRUMMER, ....... 343 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT, . . . . . .362 
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER, ....... 381 
 
 LEGEND OF ST. MEDARD, . . . . . . . 399 
 
 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE, ...... 413 
 
 THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE, ....... 423 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY, ...... 467 
 
 THE HOUSE-WARMING, ....... 479 
 
 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG, ..... 497
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM, the " Thomas Ingoldsby " of literature, 
 was born at Canterbury, December 6th, 1788. His family had long 
 been residents in the archiepiscopal city, and had estates in Kent. 
 He (Barham) used to trace his descent from a knight who came over 
 to England with William the Conqueror, and whose son, Reginald 
 Fitzurse, was one of the assassins of Thomas a Becket. After the 
 deed Fitzurse fled to Ireland, and there changed his name to 
 MacMahon, which has the same meaning. His brother Robert, 
 who succeeded to the English estates, changed his patronymic to 
 cle Berham, converted in process of time into Barham. 
 
 Richard Barham was only between five and six years old when 
 his father died, leaving him heir to a small estate in Kent. A 
 portion of it consisted of a manor called Tappiugton Wood, often 
 alluded to in the Ingoldsby Legends. 
 
 Richard was sent to St. Paul's School, and it was on his road 
 thither, in 1802, that he met with an accident that endangered his 
 life. The horses of the Dover mail, in which he was travelling, 
 took fright and galloped off furiously : the boy put his right hand 
 out of the window to open the door, when at that moment the coach 
 upset ; his hand was caught under it, and it was dragged along on a 
 rough road and seriously mutilated. The surgeons, believing he 
 would die, did not amputate the limb ; and through the tender care 
 of the headmaster's wife (he had been sent on to school) he recovered. 
 
 At school Barham formed some friendships which lasted his life : 
 one of these school friends was afterwards his publisher, Mr. Bentley ; 
 Dr. Roberts, who attended him in his last illness, was another. 
 He remained captain of St. Paul's School for two years, and when 
 nineteen was entered as a Gentleman Commoner at Brasennose
 
 xii MEMOIR. 
 
 College. Here he was speedily elected a member of a first-class 
 university club, the Phoenix Common Room, where he became 
 acquainted with Lord George Grenville, Cecil Tattersall, and 
 Theodore Hook, a friend of his after-life. 
 
 A specimen of his youthful humour has been preserved in an 
 answer he made to his tutor, Mr. Hodson, when reproved by him for 
 the late hours he kept and his absence from chapel. " The fact is, 
 sir," said Barham, "you are too late for rue." " Too late ! " repeated 
 the tutor. " Yes, sir ; I cannot sit up till seven in the morning. I 
 am a man of regular habits ; and unless I get to bed by four or five 
 at latest, I am really fit for nothing the next day." The habit that 
 he had acquired of sitting up late continued during his life, and he 
 believed that he wrote best at night. 
 
 His original intention had been to study for the Bar, but a very 
 severe though short illness brought serious thoughts to the young 
 man, and he determined to enter the Church, his mind having also 
 been painfully impressed by the suicide of a young college friend ; 
 consequently he took Holy Orders, and obtained the curacy of 
 Ash ford, in Kent, from whence he was transferred to Westwell, a 
 parish a few miles distant from his first one. 
 
 In 1814, when he had attained the age of twenty-six, Barham 
 married Caroline, third daughter of Captain Smart of the Royal 
 Engineers, a very charming young lady ; and shortly afterwards he 
 was presented to the living of Snargate, and accepted also the curacy 
 of "Warehorn. Both these parishes were situated in Roniney Marsh, 
 at the distance of only two miles from each other. The young 
 clergyman took up his abode at Warehorn, a place then noted as a 
 haunt of smugglers. 
 
 A second accident, by the upsetting of a gig, caused Mr. Barham a 
 fracture of the leg, and it was during the seclusion entailed by this 
 misfortune that he produced his first literary effort, a novel called 
 Daklwin, for which he received 20 ; it issued from the Minerva 
 Press, and was unsuccessful. He had scarcely recovered from this 
 accident when the illness of one of his children took him to London, 
 for the purpose of consulting Abernethy. Here he chanced to meet 
 a friend, who was about to post a letter to invite a young clergyman 
 to come up and become a candidate for a vacant Minor Canonry at 
 St. Paul's. It suddenly struck him that the place might suit Mr. 
 Barham, and they at once agreed that he should stand for it. He 
 resigned at once his curacy and living, stood for the Canonship, and 
 was elected. Thus in 1821 he exchanged Romney Marsh, its dulness
 
 MEMOIR. xiii 
 
 and smugglers, for a residence in London and the society of a highly 
 intellectual circle. 
 
 We will give here the testimony of a dear friend of the poet's, as 
 to his character, at this time. "My first acquaintance with Mr. 
 Barham," writes the Rev. John Hughes, "dated from his election 
 into the body of Minor Canons of St. Paul's, of which Cathedral my 
 late father was then a Residentiary. Mr. Barham had married early 
 in life, and in every respect enviably. His previous career as a 
 graduate of Brasennose College had thrown him much into contact 
 with several gifted and accomplished men, upon whom a shred of 
 Reginald Heber's mantle, and a smack and savour of the ' Whippiad/ 
 had descended in the way of corporate inheritance, and his quick 
 talents had mended the lesson. It was soon evident to the Dean and 
 Chapter, and to my father in particular, that their new subordinate 
 combined superior powers of conversation with most decorous and 
 gentlemanly tact and attention to all points connected with his 
 duties." 
 
 In 1824, Mr. Barham was appointed a priest in ordinary of the 
 King's Chapel Royal, and was shortly afterwards presented with 
 the incumbency of St. Mary Magdalene and St. Gregory - by - St. 
 Paul. Mr. Barham was not an eloquent preacher, because he dis- 
 approved of all oratorical display in the pulpit, but he was an 
 excellent parish priest, ever watchful over his flock, and delighting 
 in doing good. 
 
 In 1825 a series of domestic sorrows fell on the Minor Canon. 
 His dearly-loved eldest daughter died ; her loss was followed at 
 intervals by that of four of his other children, to all of whom he was 
 devotedly attached. How deeply the gentle-hearted clergyman felt 
 these severe afflictions, some touching lines in Blackivood's Magazine 
 of that date testify, though he bore them with Christian resignation. 
 " The best substitute for stoicism which a man of keen and sensitive 
 feelings finds it possible to adopt, is to think a little less of his own 
 sorrows, and more of those of others ; and this," writes Mr. Hughes, 
 " I believe to have been Barham's secret for bearing with equanimity 
 the loss of more than one 
 
 Who ne'er gave him pain till they died. 
 
 He strove to be happy in making others so, especially those more 
 congenial spirits who more directly shared in his affections. . . . 
 Here it may not be amiss to notice one trait of character connected 
 with ths appointment which he held as chaplain to the Vintners'
 
 xiv MEMOIR. 
 
 Company. Part of his duty in this capacity was to perform divine 
 service at an almshouse in the vicinity of town, tenanted by certain 
 widows of decayed members of the corporation. The old ladies 
 quarrelled sadly, and Barham was in the habit of devoting one extra 
 morning a week to a pastoral visitation of these poor isolated old 
 women, for charity and decency's sake, and acted as arbiter and 
 referee in their ridiculous feuds, with as much gravity as it was in 
 his nature to assume on such an occasion." There was surely no 
 small degree of self-denial in a man of such talent devoting his 
 valuable time to such an office. 
 
 The expenses of an increasing family made Mr. Barham once more 
 attempt literary work this time successfully ; and he contributed 
 light articles in rapid succession to Blackwood, John Bull, and The 
 Globe. He also assisted in the completion of Gorton's Biographical 
 Dictionary. "Cousin Nicholas" appeared in Blackwood in 1878. 
 It owed its publication to Mrs. Hughes, the mother of John Hughes, 
 Esq., from whose account of Barham we have just quoted, a most 
 remarkable and highly-gifted woman, the friend and correspondent 
 of Scott, Southey, etc. The MS. was in an unfinished state, having 
 been laid by for some years, when Barham submitted it to this lady. 
 So highly did she think of it, and so aware was she of the author's 
 sensitive doubts, that she sent it off at once to Mr. Blackwood, who 
 was greatly pleased with it, and at once inserted it in his magazine. 
 The first Barham knew of the fate of his MSS. was the appearance 
 of the introductory chapters in Blackwood. He was thus compelled 
 to finish it, and worked up the catastrophe with great skill. Nor was 
 this the only benefit he derived from this gifted friend. It was to 
 her he was indebted for much of the material of the poems that 
 have made his fame as a writer, though this was to come afterwards. 
 
 In 1831, Sidney Smith was appointed one of the Canons of St. 
 Paul'?, and thus two of our famous wits became intimate. On 
 October 2, 1831, Sidney Smith read himself in as Residentiary at St. 
 Paul's. He told Barham that he had once nearly offended Sam 
 Rogers by recommending him, when he sat for his picture, to be 
 drawn saying his prayers with his face in his hat. 
 
 Mr. Barham was by no means an ardent politician, and he never 
 used his pastoral influence on either side. For himself, he was a 
 staunch Conservative, and never failed, in spite of any personal 
 inconvenience, himself to record his vote. He told one amusing 
 anecdote about an election. As he was landing from the steamer at 
 Gravesend, where his vote was to be taken, it was raining heavily.
 
 MEMOIR. XY 
 
 and tlie passengers landing from the boat naturally put up their 
 umbrellas. Partisans of both candidates lined the pier, watching 
 eagerly to see what colours the arrivals wore. Barham, remember- 
 ing a dead cat that had been thrown at him on a previous occasion, 
 wore none ; nevertheless he was detected. He heard the Tory 
 partisans cry out, " Here comes one on our side." " You be blowed/ 
 said a voter in sky-blue ribbons, " I say he's our'n." " Be blowed your- 
 self," was the reply ; " don't you see the gemman's got a silk umbrella ?" 
 
 In 1837 appeared the famous " Ingoldsby Legends " in JBlackwood. 
 
 Of their production Mr. Hughes thus writes : " In my mother's 
 presentation copy of the Ingoldsby Legends, written in Barham's own 
 hand, occurs the following distich, 
 
 To Mrs. Hughes, who made me do 'em, 
 Quod placeo est si placeo tuum. 
 
 The fact is that my mother, to whom Lockhart has alluded as a 
 frequent correspondent of Scott and Southey, and who inherited a 
 family stock of strange tales and legends, suggested the subject of 
 ' Hamilton Tighe ' to Barham. The original ghost story, in the 
 circumstances of which he made some slight alteration, was said to 
 have occurred in the family of Mr. Pye, the poet laureate, a neighbour 
 and brother magistrate of my maternal grandfather, Mr. W., and 
 the date of it was supposed to be connected with the taking of Vigo. 
 This legend, which appeared in Bentleifs Miscellany, was the first 
 in the series, and is, as an illustration of his peculiar style, worth 
 better criticism than my own. Suffice it to state that which my 
 friend Miss Mitford can confirm, that the simple recitation of 
 4 Hamilton Tighe ' has actually made persons start and turn pale, 
 and complain of nervous excitement. 'Patty Morgan the Milk- 
 maid's Story ' and the ' Dead Drummer ' were transmitted also to 
 him through the same medium, the former having been recounted 
 to us by Lady Eleanor Butler, as a whimsical Welsh legend which 
 had diverted her much ; the latter by Sir Walter Scott, who, having 
 better means than most men of ascertaining facts and names, 
 believed in their authenticity. I think, but am not certain, that 
 the ' Hand of Glory ' was suggested by a conversation at our house 
 on the subject of country superstition. Of the source of the remain- 
 ing legends I am ignorant, save that the basis of some of them was 
 furnished by an old Popish book in the library of Sion College, from 
 which, as from other sources, Barham was wont to gratify his love
 
 xa MEMOIR. 
 
 of heraldry and antiquarianism. . . . The Ingoldsby Legends were 
 the occasional relief of a suppressed plethora of native fun. 
 
 " Many of these effusions were written while waiting for a cup of 
 tea, a railroad train, or an unpunctual acquaintance, on some stray 
 cover of a letter in his pocket-book ; one in particular served to 
 relieve the tedium of a hot walk up Richmond Hill. It was rather 
 a piece of luck if he found time to joint together the disjecti membra 
 poetce in a fair copy ; and before the favoured few had done laughing 
 at some rhymes which had never entered a man's head before, the 
 zealous Bentley had popped the whole into type. After all, the 
 imputed instances of inadvertence (for no one who knew him would 
 style it irreverence) chiefly occur in that part of the series in which 
 his purpose, to my knowledge, was to quiz that spirit of flirtation 
 with the Scarlet Lady of Babylon, which had of late assumed a 
 pretty marked shape ; and it was difficult to prosecute this end without 
 confounding the Scriptural St. Peter with the Dagon of the Vatican." 
 
 We give these extracts from a letter written by Mr. John Hughes, 
 of Donnington Priory, to Mr. Ainsworth, believing that the re- 
 printed report of a personal friend will be more interesting than 
 a condensed account of it. Mr. Hughes himself was a ripe scholar 
 and a wit. He published poetical pleasantries, under the name of 
 "Mr. Butler of Brasen-nose," in Blackwood and Ainsv:orth's 
 Magazine, and was the father of Mr. Thomas Hughes, the author of 
 Tom Broicn's Schooldays. 
 
 " As regards the ' Dead Drummer, 3 the story was attested in a 
 contemporary pamphlet, called A Narrative of the Life, Confession, 
 and Dying Speech of Jarvis Matchan, which was signed by the Rev. 
 J. Nicholson, who attended him as minister, and by another witness. 
 The murder was not committed on Salisbury Plain, but near Alcon- 
 bury in Huntingdonshire, and the culprit was hanged in chains at 
 Huntingdon, August 2nd, 1786, for the wilful murder of Benjamin 
 Jones, a drummer boy in the 48th Regiment of Foot, on August 19, 
 1 780. Matchan's escape to sea, and the subsequent vision on Salisbury 
 Plain, which wrung from him his confession, are given with great 
 minuteness, and are as marvellous as any in the poem. 3 ' 
 
 " Nell Cook," " Grey Dolphin," " The Ghost," and " The Smuggler's 
 Leap 3 ' are Kentish legends, well known, though of course much 
 embellished by the poet. " The Old Woman clothed in Grey :/ " wa^ 
 taken from the story of a ghost that haunted an old rectory near 
 Cambridge, whose custom it was to stroll about the house at mid- 
 night, with a bag of money in her hand, which she offered to
 
 MEMOIR. xvii 
 
 whomever she met ; but no one was brave enough to take it 
 from her. 
 
 The foundation of most of the legends on subjects of Popish 
 superstition may be found in the Monkish Chronicles which the 
 library at Sion College contains. He tells us that the " JackdaAV of 
 Rheims" one, by the way, of his most popular legends was a 
 version of an old Roman Catholic legend " picked up " out of a 
 High Dutch author. 
 
 The strange details contained in " The Singular Passage in the Life 
 of the late Dr. Harris" were communicated to Mr. Barham by a 
 young lady on her sick-bed, who fully believed all she told him, and 
 even urged the arrest of the young man, to whose arts she believed 
 herself to be a victim. She retained the delusion as long as she 
 lived. The story appeared first in Blachcood. 
 
 In 1839, Sidney Smith placed a Residentiary house, in Amen 
 Corner, at the disposal of Mr. Barham, and the family moved into 
 it in September. This dwelling dated from the erection of the 
 Cathedral itself, and, having been long unoccupied, had become the 
 stronghold of legions of rats, which had first to be destroyed before 
 the family could settle in it. 
 
 In 1840, Mr. Barham succeeded, in course of rotation, to the 
 Presidency of Sion College, which was held for one year only by 
 the London incumbents in rotation. 
 
 The death of Theodore Hook, his life-long friend, occurred in 1841, 
 and Mr. Barham was deeply affected by it. " One of the last parties 
 at which Hook was present" (Mr. Barham's son tells us in his 
 " Memoirs" of his father) " was at Amen Corner" (Barliarn's house). 
 He was unusually late, and dinner was served before he made his 
 appearance f Mr. Barham apologized for having sat down without 
 him, observing that he had quite given him up, and supposed that 
 the weather had deterred him. 
 
 "Oh," replied the former, "I had determined to come iccather or 
 no." 
 
 The friends met only once more after that evening. 
 
 Within a year after taking up his abode at Amen Corner, a far 
 heavier sorrow had fallen on Mr. Barham. His youngest son, a boy 
 of great promise and precocious talent, died. His second son had 
 died of cholera in 1832. This last blow fell heavily on the father. 
 His elastic spirits had rebounded from the previous ones, but this 
 loss was never fully recovered by him. The death of Hook, coming 
 soon after, depressed him still more. 
 
 A
 
 xviii MEMOIR. 
 
 In 1842, Mr. Barham was appointed to the Divinity Readership of 
 St. Paul's, and was permitted to exchange the living he held for the 
 more valuable one of St. Faith ; the duties of which were, also, less 
 onerous than those of the parish in which he had worked for twenty 
 years. 
 
 His parishioners felt the separation from their excellent pastor 
 deeply, and no doubt their feelings were shared by him who had so 
 long been their guide and sympathetic friend. Mrs. Barham was 
 also greatly loved, and had rendered good service in the manage- 
 ment of the school, and visiting the poor ; a testimonial was 
 presented to both by their grateful people, in the shape of a hand- 
 some silver salver. 
 
 His new living being contiguous to his old one, Mr. Barham did 
 not change his residence, in which, in fact, he was permitted to live 
 for the remainder of his life. But he was always delighted when a 
 little leisure enabled him to go into the country and to the seaside, 
 or to his native Kent to find legends ; but such excursions were few 
 and brief for the hardly worked clergyman. 
 
 Mr. Barham was one of the first members of the Archaeological 
 Association, instituted for the purpose of making trips to places 
 where antiquarian research could be carried on ; he had always 
 possessed a great taste for, and much knowledge of, antiquarian 
 subjects. He was also an excellent Shakspearian scholar, and could 
 supply the context to any quotation made from the plays, and 
 mention the play, act, and generally the scene from which it came. 
 He was therefore deeply interested in the formation of the Garrick 
 Club, of which he wrote the words of a glee song at the opening 
 dinner (the music was by Mr. Hawes), 
 
 Let poets of superior parts 
 
 Consign to deathless fame 
 The larceny of the Knave of Hearts, 
 
 Who spoiled his Royal Dame. 
 
 Alack ! my timid muse would quail 
 
 Before such thievish cubs, 
 But plumes a joyous wing to hail 
 
 Thy birth, fair Queen of Clubs. 
 
 On October 28, 1844, Her Majesty the Queen visited the city to 
 open the Royal Exchange. Mr. Barham, his wife and daughters, had 
 accepted an invitation from a friend to witness the procession, and, 
 standing at an open window, he remarked that the cutting east 
 wind then blowing would cost many of the spectators their lives.
 
 MEMOIR. xix 
 
 The speech seemed in. his own. case prophetic. In the course of the 
 evening he was attacked by a violent fit of coughing, and his old 
 friend and schoolfellow Dr. Roberts was called in. The poet rallied 
 from this attack, but fresh ones succeeded it, and at length his 
 articulation became impeded. He was advised to leave London 
 for Bath, rest being absolutely necessary ; but a meeting of the 
 Archaeological Association induced him to hurry back to town to 
 attend it, and then other business pressed on him, and another 
 attack followed. His son relates a little incident that shows 
 Barham had begun to realize the serious nature of his illness. He 
 had been for many years on the Committee of the Garrick Club, 
 and by the rules of the society the names of the Committee were 
 placed in a ballot box and six withdrawn, by chance, on St. George's 
 day, which was the anniversary of the birth and death of 
 Shakspeare. The first name drawn out that year was Barbara's ; 
 but he was unanimously re-elected. When he was told of the 
 circumstance, he said : It had been well to have accepted the omen, 
 and filled up his place at once. In fact he never entered the Club 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Barham had also been ill ; therefore he and she went 
 together in the following May to Clifton, for change of air and rest ; 
 but unhappily they had only been a few hours in their lodgings 
 before Mrs. Barham was taken dangerously ill, and unable to attend 
 to her husband. Their eldest daughter soon joined them, and a slight 
 amendment enabled her to bring them back to their home ; but the 
 expedition proved to have been a fatal one. Here Dr. Roberts, and 
 the great surgeon Coulson, did all that was possible to save the life 
 of the beloved poet. But they knew that their skill was vain, and 
 their patient readily divined the truth that he was dying. He 
 learned the certainty of the approaching end with perfect calmness 
 and cheerfulness, only disturbed by anxiety about his wife, who was 
 still extremely ill. He arranged his worldly affairs ; received the 
 Holy Communion with his household ; and waited for the certain 
 result of his malady with patience and resolution. His last lines, 
 "As I lay a-thinking," referring chiefly to the death of his youngest 
 son, were written, his son tells us, just before he left Clifton; he 
 now desired that they might be sent to Mr. Bentley for publication. 
 
 He died on the 17th of June 1845. His life as a clergyman had 
 been most useful and beneficial to his parishioners ; his poems have 
 cheered many a weary spirit, and been a source of much innocent 
 household mirth.
 
 xx MEMOIR. 
 
 The Itigoldsby Legends are not only remarkable for their 
 humour ; they are equally to be praised for their wonderful 
 versification. That he was a perfect master of the language who 
 could thus use every variety of stanza, and find rhymes for the most 
 extraordinary, even technical words, no one can doubt ; there are 
 no harsh lines or imperfect rhymes in the Legends, and the wit and 
 mirth are charmingly blended at times with touching pathos. The 
 poet's antiquarian knowledge gives much effect, also, to his tales, 
 and there is never anything in his most comic relations that would 
 be unworthy the pen of a gentleman and a cultured scholar. 
 England has cause to be proud of such a writer as "Thomas 
 Ingoldsby," otherwise Richard Harris Barham.
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 
 
 TO KICHARD BENTLEY, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAR SlK, 
 
 I SHOULD have replied sooner to your letter, but that the last 
 three days in January are, as you are aware, always dedicated, at 
 the Hall, to an especial battue, and the old house is full of shoot- 
 ing-jackets, shot-belts, and "double Joes." Even the women wear 
 percussion caps, and your favourite (?) Rover, 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 four-legged scion of the Blenheim breed. 
 I have managed, however, to avail myself of a lucid interval in the 
 general hallucination, (how the rain did come down on Monday !) 
 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 with 
 you, it would be a want of respect to that very respectable personifica- 
 tion, when furnishing him with a farther supply, not to endeavour 
 at least to amend my faults, which are few, and your own, which 
 are more numerous. I have, therefore, gone to work con amore, 
 supplying occasionally on my own part a deficient note, or elucid- 
 atory stanza, and on yours knocking out, without remorse, your 
 superfluous i's, and now and then eviscerating your colon. 
 
 My duty to our illustrious friend thus performed, I have a crow 
 to pluck with him, Why 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 with justice, of an "assault upon her parts of speech : " but to 
 attack one's very existence to deny that one is a person in essa. and
 
 xxii PREFACE. 
 
 scarcely to admit that one may be 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 beau- 
 tifully expresses himself elsewhere I give his words as quoted by a 
 very worthy Baronet in a neighbouring county, when protesting 
 against a defamatory placard at a general election 
 
 " Who steals my purse steals stuff ! 
 "Twas mine 'tisn't his nor nobody else's ! 
 But he who runs away with my GOOD NAME, 
 Robs me of what does not do him any good, 
 And makes me deuced poor ! ! " * 
 
 In order utterly to squabash and demolish every gainsayer, I had 
 thought, at one time, of asking my old and esteemed friend, Richard 
 Lane, to crush them at once with his magic pencil, and to transmit 
 my features to posterity, where all his works are siire to be 
 " delivered according to the direction ; " but somehow the noble- 
 looking profiles which he has recently executed of the Kemble 
 family put me a little out of conceit with my own, while the 
 
 * A reading which seems most unaccountably to have escaped the researches 
 of all modern Shakspearians, including the rival editors of the new and illus- 
 trated versions.
 
 PREFACE. xxiii 
 
 undisguised amusement which my " Mephistopheles Eyebrow," 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 some- 
 body remarkably like him walking about town," it is a thousand to 
 one but my lineaments might, after all, out of sheer perverBeness 
 be ascribed to anybody rather than to the real owner. I have 
 therefore sent you, instead thereof, a very fair sketch of Tappington, 
 taken from the Folkestone road (I tore it last night out of Julia 
 Simpkinson's album) ; get Gilks to make a woodcut of it. And 
 now, if any miscreant (I use the word only in its primary and 
 "Pickwickian" sense of "Unbeliever,") ventures to throw any 
 further 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 ! " 
 
 " Why, very 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 EVERABD, 
 
 Feb. 2nd, 1843
 
 FIRST SERIES.

 
 THE SPECTHE OF TAPFINGTON.
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 " IT is very odd, though ; what can have become of them?" said 
 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 1 and where the d 1 are you 1 " 
 
 No answer was returned to this appeal ; and the lieutenant, who 
 was, in the main, a reasonable person, at least as reasonable a 
 person as any young gentleman of twenty-two in " the service " can 
 fairly be expected to be, cooled when he reflected that his servant 
 could scarcely reply extempore to a summons which it was impos- 
 sible he should hear. 
 
 An application to the bell was the considerate result ; and the 
 footsteps of as tight a lad as ever put pipe-clay to belt sounded along 
 the gallery. 
 
 " Come in ! " said his master. An ineffectual 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 inquiring eye 
 round the apartment ; " is it the breeches, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes ; what have you done with them 1 " 
 
 " 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, there 
 was a smart-looking kerseymere waistcoat ; but the most important 
 article of all in a gentleman's wardrobe was still wanting. 
 
 5
 
 6 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 " Where can they be ? " asked the master, with a strong accent on 
 the auxiliary verb. 
 
 " Sorrow a know I knows," said the man. 
 
 "It ?n ust have been the devil, then, after all, who has been here 
 and carried them off!" cried Seaforth, staring full into Barney's 
 face. 
 
 Mr. Maguire was not devoid of the superstition of his countrymen, 
 still he looked as if he did not quite 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 1 " 
 
 The question was more easily asked than answered. Barney 
 renewed his search, while the lieutenant folded his arms, and, leaning 
 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 to 
 screen it from observation ; but it bore tokens of having been at 
 some earlier period concealed by tapestry, remains of which yet 
 clothed the walls on either side the portal. 
 
 " This way they must have come," said Seaforth ; " I wish with 
 all 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. True, 
 there was the " other door ; " but then that, too, on examination, 
 was even more firmly secured than the one which opened on the 
 gallery, two heavy bolts on the inside effectually prevented any
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 7 
 
 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 antiquaceu 
 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 
 evening closed in, the domestics, when summoned to attend with 
 lights, found not only cordiality restored, but that a still deeper 
 carouse was meditated. Fresh stoups, and from the choicest bins, 
 were produced ; nor was it till at a late, or rather early hour, that 
 the revellers sought their chambers. 
 
 The one allotted to the stranger occupied the first floor of the 
 eastern angle of the building, and had once been the favourite
 
 8 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 apartment of Sir Giles himself. Scandal ascribed tins 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. No marks of violence appeared upon the body ; but the 
 livid hue of the lips, and certain dark-coloured spots visible on the 
 skin, aroused suspicions which those who entertained them were too 
 timid to express. Apoplexy, induced by the excesses of the preced- 
 ing night, Sir Giles's confidential leech pronounced to be the causo 
 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 speak 
 of an elder brother, who had disappeared in early life, and never 
 inherited the estate. Rumours, too, of his having left a son in 
 foreign lands were at one time rife ; but they died away, nothing 
 occurring to support them : the property passed unchallenged to a 
 collateral branch of the family, and the secret, if secret there were, 
 was buried in Denton churchyard, in the lonely grave of the 
 mysterious stranger. One circumstance alone occurred, after a 
 long-intervening period, to revive the memory of these transactions. 
 Some workmen employed in grubbing an old plantation, for the 
 purpose of raising on its site a modern shrubbery, dug up, in the
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 9 
 
 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 unlearned 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 
 supposed 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 wring his shadowy hands in agony, as he 
 seemed to search vainly for something hidden among the evergreens. 
 The stranger's death-room had, of course, been occasionally 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 anything 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 of Hindostan, whence he was now returned on a three years' 
 furlough. He had gone out a boy, he returned a man ; but the 
 impression made upon his youthful fancy by his favourite cousin
 
 10 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 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 the 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 Ingoldsby had brought down his college 
 friend the Honourable Augustus Sucklcthumbkin, 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 squirt-, 
 though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it ; and, above all, there was 
 Mademoiselle Pauline, her femme de chambre, who " mon-Dieu'd " 
 everything and everybody, and cried "Quel horreur !" at Mrs. 
 Botherby's cap. In short, to use the last - named and much- 
 respected lady's own expression, the house was " choke-full " to the 
 very attics, all, save the " oaken chamber," which, as the lieutenant 
 expressed a most magnanimous disregard of ghosts, was forthwith 
 appropriated to his particular accommodation. Mr. Maguire mean- 
 while was fain to share the apartment of Oliver Dobbs, the squire's 
 own man : a jocular proposal of joint occupancy having been first 
 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 break- 
 fast will be quite spoiled : what can have made you so idle ? " 
 Such was the morning salutation of Miss Ingoldsby to the militaire 
 as he entered the breakfast-room half an hour after the latest of the 
 party. 
 
 "A pretty gentleman, truly, to make an appointment with," 
 chimed in Miss Frances. "What is become of our ramble to the 
 rocks before breakfast ? " 
 
 " Oh ! the young men never think of keeping a promise now," 
 said Mrs. Peters, a little ferret-faced woman with underdone eyes.
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTOAT. 11 
 
 "When I was a young man," said Mr. Peters, "I remember I 
 always made a point of " 
 
 " Pray ho\v long ago was that ? asked Mr. Simpkinson from 
 ]'*itli. 
 
 "Why, sir, when I married Mrs. Peters, I was let me see I 
 was " 
 
 " Do pray hold your tongue, P., and eat your breakfast ! " inter- 
 rupted his better half, who had a mortal horror of chronological 
 references ; " it's very rude to tease people with your family 
 affairs." 
 
 The lieutenant had by this time taken his seat in silence, a 
 good-humoured nod, and a glance, half-smiling, half-inquisitive, 
 being the extent of his 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 
 agrtinens, 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 
 conscious look. But in vain ; not a dimple moved indicative of 
 roguery, nor did the slightest elevation of eyebrow rise confirmative 
 of his suspicions. Hints and insinuations passed unheeded, more 
 particular inquiries were out of the question : the subject was 
 11 n approachable. 
 
 In the meantime, "patent cords" were just the thing for a 
 morning's ride ; and, breakfast 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 
 I>ombay 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 level 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 be the claning of ye," 
 apostrophised Mr. Barney Maguire, as he deposited, in front of his 
 master's toilet, a pair of "bran-new" jockey boots, one of Hoby's 
 primest fits, which the lieutenant had purchased in his way through
 
 12 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 town. On that very morning had they come for the first time 
 under the valet's depuriating 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 different from the 
 light labours of the day before ; no 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 stiff 
 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 
 commenced dressing, and the man was fitting straps upon a light 
 pair of crane-necked spurs, when his hand was arrested by the old 
 question, " Barney, where are the breeches 1 " 
 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 trowsers, surmounting a 
 pair of diminutive 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 
 reminiscences. Her precise reason for this it would be difficult to 
 determine, unless, indeed, the story be true which a little bird had 
 whispered into Mrs. Botherby's ear, Mr. Peters, though now a 
 wealthy man, had received a liberal education at a charity-school, 
 and was apt to recur to the days of his muffin-cap and leathers. As
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 13 
 
 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 be very 
 wet?" 
 
 " You had better take Tom's cab," quoth the squire. 
 
 But this proposition was at once overruled ; Mrs. Ogleton had 
 already nailed the cab, a vehicle of all others the best adapted for a 
 snug flirtation. 
 
 " Or drive Miss Julia in the phaeton ? " No ; that was 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. Simpkinson from Bath, and his eldest daughter 
 with her album, following in the family coach. The gentleman- 
 commoner "voted the affair 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 stfjour in the still-room with Mrs. Botherby, who had promised 
 to initiate her in that grand arcanum, the transmutation of goose- 
 berry jam into Guava jelly. 
 
 " Did you ever see an old abbey before, Mr. Peters ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss, a French one ; we have got one at Ramsgate ; he 
 teaches the Miss Joneses to parley- voo, and is turned of sixty." 
 
 Mi.ss 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 Milles'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 
 Wells" he had been a liberal subscriber, procured him a seat at the 
 board of that learned body, since which happy epoch Sylvamis 
 Urban had not a more indefatigable correspondent. His inaugural 
 essay on the President's cocked hat was considered a miracle of 
 erudition : and his account of the earliest application of gilding to
 
 14 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINQTON. 
 
 gingerbread, a masterpiece of antiquarian 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 him- 
 self ; 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 Bolsover ! its broken arches, its moulder- 
 ing 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 for- 
 getfulness of his love and losses ; the widow's eye-glass turned from 
 her cicisbeo'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 
 ]ady. 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 country." 
 
 " Rat-catching ! " ejaculated the squire, pausing abruptly in the 
 mastication of a drumstick. 
 
 "To be sure, my dear sir: don't you remember that rats once 
 came under the forest laws a minor species of venison ? ' Bats and
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 15 
 
 mice, and such, small deer,' eh? Shakspear, you know. Our ances- 
 tors 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 Soho- 
 logical Gardens, a little hook-nosed chap in a wig, only its feathers 
 and" 
 
 Poor P. was destined never to finish a speech. 
 
 " Do be quiet ! " cried the authoritative voice, and the would-be 
 naturalist shrank into his shell, like a snail in the "Sohological 
 Gardens." 
 
 "You should read Blount's 'Jocular Tenures,' Mr. Ingoldsby ," 
 pursued Simpkinson. " A learned man was Blount ! "Why, sir, his 
 Royal Highness the Duke of York once paid a silver horse-shoe to 
 Lord Ferrers " 
 
 " I've heard of him," broke 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 
 will find that Langhale in Co. Norf. was held by one Baldwin per 
 saltum, sufflatum, et pettum ; that is, he was to come every Christmas 
 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 sfavant, 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, com- 
 mitting 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 towards her. 
 
 " What an old boar ! " muttered young Ingoldsby ; alluding,
 
 H> THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 perhaps, to a slice of brawn which he had just begun to operate 
 upon, but which, from the celerity with which 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 appearance of one of those high and 
 pointed arches, which that eminent antiquary, Mr. Horseley Curties, 
 has described in his " Ancient Records " as " a Gothic 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, so 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 had elapsed before 
 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 cosey chat 
 they had ; and what do you think it was all about, my dear miss ? 
 
 " 0, lassy me ! love, no doubt, and the moon, and eyes, and 
 nightingales, 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 Seaforth'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 taper 
 neck like a swan in pluming. " Dreams, have you ? " 
 
 " Ay, dreams, or dream, perhaps, I should say ; for, though 
 repeated, it was still the same. And what do you imagine was its 
 subject ? " 
 
 " It is impossible for me to divine," said the tongue ; " I have 
 not the least difficulty in guessing," said the eye, as plainly as ever 
 eye spoke.
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 17 
 
 " I dreamt of your great grandfather ! " 
 
 There was a change in the glance " My great grandfather 1 " 
 
 " 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 Raleigh-looking hat and 
 feather, just as the picture represents him : but with one exception." 
 
 "And what was that?" 
 
 " Why, his lower extremities, which were visible, were those of 
 a skeleton." 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " 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 the 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 
 situated would have done ; he walked up to the mantel- piece, 
 established 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 Julia 
 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 regimental costume of 
 the Royal Bombay Fencibles. The animal, educated in the country, 
 had never seen such a pair of breeches in her life Omne ignotum 
 pro magnificat The scarlet streak, inflamed as it was by the
 
 18 TSE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 reflection of the fire, seemed to act on Flora's nerves as the same 
 colour does on those of bulls and turkeys ; she advanced at 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 
 imperturbable 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 was paraded " hissing hot," and the cups 
 which "cheer, but not inebriate," steamed redolent of hyson and 
 pekoe ; muffins and marmalade, newspapers and Finnon haddies, 
 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 
 engaged 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 especially persevering, 
 and Sappho at length compliant. After a preparatory hem ! and a 
 glance at the mirror to ascertain that her look was sufficiently 
 sentimental, 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 sequester'd shade 
 Sadly mute and uncomplaining " 
 
 Yow ! yeough ! yeough ! yow ! yow ! yelled a hapless 
 sufferer from beneath the table. It was an unlucky hour for 
 quadrupeds ; and if " every dog will have his day," he could not 
 have selected a more unpropitious one than this. Mrs. Ogleton, too,
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 19 
 
 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 Simpkinson ; 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 ol the unlucky Cupid. The 
 confusion was complete ; the whole economy of the table dis- 
 arranged ; the company broke up in most admired disorder ; 
 and " Vulgar minds will never know " anything more of Miss 
 Simpkinson's ode till they peruse 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 ear. The conference 
 between the young gentlemen was neither brief in its duration nor 
 unimportant 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 
 the lady had referred him to " papa " for his sanction ; thirdly and 
 lastly, his nightly visitations, and consequent bereavement. At the 
 two first items Tom smiled auspiciously ; at the last he burst out 
 into an absolute " guffaw." 
 
 " Steal your breeches ! Miss Bailey over again, by Jove," shouted 
 Ingoldsby. " But a gentleman, you say, and Sir Giles too. I am 
 not sure, Charles, whether I ought not to call you out for aspersing 
 the honour of the family." 
 
 " Laugh as you will, Tom, be as incredulous as you please. One 
 fact is incontestible, the breeches are gone ! Look here I am 
 reduced to my regimentals ; and if these go, to-morrow I must 
 borrow of you ! " 
 
 Rochefoucault says, there is something in the misfortunes of our 
 very best friends that does not displease us ; assuredly we can, 
 most 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.
 
 20 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 " 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 upon it, Barney is in the plot." 
 
 It now struck the lieutenant at once, that the usually buoyant 
 spirits of his attendant had of late been materially sobered down, 
 his loquacity obviously circumscribed, and that he, the said lieuten- 
 ant, had actually rung his bell three several times that very morning 
 before 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 disapproba- 
 tion of a flirtation carrying on between the gentleman from Munster 
 and the lady from the Rue St. Honored Mademoiselle had boxed 
 Mr. Maguire's ears, and Mr. Maguire had pulled Mademoiselle upon 
 his knee, and the lady had not cried Mon Dieu ! And Mr. Oliver 
 Dobbs said it was very wrong ; and Mrs. Botherby said it was 
 " scandalous," and what ought not to be done in any moral kitchen ; 
 and Mr. Maguire had got hold of the Honourable Augustus Suckle- 
 thumbkin's powder-flask, and had put large pinches of the best 
 double Dartford into Mr. Dobbs's tobacco-box ; and Mr. Dobbs's 
 pipe had exploded, and set fire to Mrs. Botherby's Sunday cap ; 
 and Mr. Maguire had put it out with the slop-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 skrimmaging among the ould servants, that didn't 
 know a joke when they seen one : and we went out to look at the 
 comet, that's the rory-bory-alehouse, they calls him in this country, 
 and we walked upon the lawn, and divil of any alehouse there was 
 there at all ; and Miss Pauline said it was because of the shrubbery 
 maybe, and why wouldn't we see it better beyonst the trees 1 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-
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 21 
 
 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 nieself 
 can't tell, for his eyes were like gig-lamps, let alone the moon and 
 the comet, which wasn't there at all ; and 'Barney,' says he to me, 
 'cause why he knew me, 'Barney,' says he, 'what is it you're 
 doing with the colleen there, Barney?' Divil a word did I say. 
 Miss Pauline screeched, and cried murther in French, and ran 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 
 Barney'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 acquaint- 
 ance. 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 modern degeneracy upon 
 the sober and dignified habits of our ancestors. I can introduce 
 him, it is true, into an old and high-roofed chamber, its walls covered 
 on three sides with black oak wainscotting, adorned with carvings 
 of fruit and flowers long anterior to those of Grinling Gibbons ; 
 the fourth side is clothed with a curious remnant of dingy tapestry, 
 once elucidatory of some Scriptural history, but of which not even 
 Mrs. Botherby could determine. Mr. Simpkinson, who had examined 
 it carefully, inclined to believe the principal figure to be either 
 Bathsheba, or Daniel in the lions' den ; while Tom Ingoldsby 
 decided in favour of the King of Bashan. All, however, was con- 
 jecture, tradition being silent on the subject. A lofty arched portal 
 led into, and a little arched portal led out of, this apartment ; they 
 were opposite each other, and each possessed the security of massy
 
 22 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 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" was deemed worthy of being a royal bequest. 
 The bed itself, with all the appurtenances of palliasse, mattresses, 
 etc., was of far later date, and looked most incongruously comfort- 
 able ; the casements, too, with their little diamond -shaped panes 
 and iron binding, had given way to the modern 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 
 variance with the high cane-backed chairs which supported them. 
 A bunch of abomination, called a cigar, reeked in the left-hand 
 corner of the mouth of one, and in the right-hand corner of the 
 mouth of the other ; an arrangement happily adapted for the escape 
 of the noxious fumes up 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 contempla- 
 tion" were the two worthies occupied, when the "iron tongue of 
 midnight had tolled twelve." 
 
 " Ghost-time's come ! " said Ingoldsby, taking from his waistcoat 
 pocket a watch like a gold half-crown, and consulting it as though 
 he suspected the turret-clock over the stables of mendacity. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Charles ; " did I not hear a footstep 1 " 
 
 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." 
 
 " 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,
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 23 
 
 " This is all infernal nonsense, my good fellow. Deuce of any 
 ghost shall we see to-night ; it's long past the canonical hour. I'm 
 off to bed ; and as to your breeches, I'll insure them for the next 
 twenty-four hours at least, at the price of the buckram." 
 
 " Certainly. Oh ! thank'ee ; to be sure ! " 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 Avere yet in rerum naturd, and 
 adorned the person of their lawful proprietor. 
 
 Tom felicitated himself and his partner of the watch on the result 
 of their vigilance ; but there is a rustic adage, which warns us 
 against self-gratulation before we are quite "out of the wood." 
 Seaforth was yet within its verge. 
 
 A rap at Tom Ingoldsby's door the following morning startled 
 him as he was 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 
 vernacular 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 ! " shouted Tom, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. 
 " Why, Barney, you don't mean to say the ghost has got them 
 again 1 " 
 
 Mr. Maguire did not respond to the young squire's risibility ; the 
 cast of his countenance was decidedly serious. 
 
 " Faith, then, it's gone they are, sure enough ! Hasn't meself been 
 looking over the 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 ! " 
 
 " Hark'ee ! Mr. Barney," said Tom, incautiously removing his 
 thumb, and letting a crimson stream "incarnadine the multitu-
 
 24 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 dinous" lather that plastered his throat, " this may be all very 
 well with 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 dis- 
 concerted as it is possible to disconcert an Irish gentleman's 
 gentleman. 
 
 " Me ? is it meself, then, that's the ghost to your honour's think- 
 ing 1 " 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 Avouldn't I, when Miss Pauline was to the fore as well as meself, 
 and" 
 
 " Get along with your nonsense, leave the room, sir ! :> 
 
 " But the master 1 " 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 as a treadmill, and that my father is a county magistrate." 
 
 Barney's eye flashed fire, he stood erect, and was about to speak ; 
 but, mastering himself, not without an effort, he took up the gar- 
 ment, and left the room as perpendicular as a Quaker. 
 
 " Ingoldsby," said Charles Seaforth, 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 !
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 25 
 
 In the meantime tell me candidly, I ask it in all seriousness, and 
 a.s a friend, am I not a dupe to your well-known propensity to 
 hoaxing ? have you not a hand in " 
 
 " Xo, 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 be a trick ? Why, Charles, do you think " 
 " I know not what 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 ! here are the girls and my father. I will carry off the females, 
 and leave you a clear field with the governor : carry 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 Monogynia, 
 which they could not find ; while Seaforth marched boldly up to 
 the encounter, and carried " the governor's " outworks by a coup de 
 main. I shall not stop to describe the progress of the attack ; suffice 
 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 Linnaean 
 name of a daffy-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 
 property. Not so Tom Ingoldsby : the mystery, for mystery there 
 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 
 remained 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 
 the door ajar, would give to its occupant a view of all that might
 
 26 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 pass in the apartment. Here did the young ghost-hunter take up a 
 position, with a good stout sapling under his arm, 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 
 succeed, the failure should be attributed to himself alone. 
 
 At the usual hour of separation for the night, Tom saw, from his 
 concealment, the lieutenant enter his room, and, after taking a few 
 turns in it, with an expression so joyous as to betoken that his 
 thoughts were mainly occupied by his approaching happiness, pro- 
 ceed slowly to disrobe himself. The coat, the waistcoat, 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 
 glance showed that his mind was made up ; he replaced 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, " their sense was shut," that he was yet 
 under the influence of sleep. Seaforth advanced slowly to the toilet, 
 lit his candle at the lamp that stood on it, then, going back to the 
 bed's foot, appeared to search eagerly for something which he could 
 not find. For a few moments he seemed restless and uneasy, walk- 
 ing round the apartment and examining the chairs, till, coming 
 fully in front of a large swing-glass that flanked the dressing-table, 
 he paused, as if contemplating his figure in it. He now returned 
 towards the bed ; put on his slippers, and, with cautious and 
 stealthy steps, proceeded towards the little arched doorway that 
 opened on the private staircase. 
 
 As he drew the bolt, Tom Ingoldsby emerged from 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
 
 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. S7 
 
 thickest of the shrubs, which there clustered round the base of a 
 corner turret, and screened the postern from common observation. 
 At this moment Ingoldsby had nearly spoiled all by making a false 
 step : the sound attracted Seaforth's attention, he paused and 
 turned ; and as the full moon shed her light directly upon his pale 
 and troubled features, Tom marked, almost with dismay, the fixed 
 and rayless appearance of his eyes : 
 
 " There was no speculation in those orbs 
 That he did glare withal." 
 
 The perfect stillness preserved by his follower seemed to reassure 
 him ; he turned aside ; and from the midst of a thickset laurustinus, 
 drew forth a gardener's spade, shouldering which he proceeded with 
 greater rapidity into the midst of the shrubbery. 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 
 
 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 tights, his patent 
 cords, his showy greys with the broad red stripe of the Bombay 
 Fencibles were brought to light, rescued 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.
 
 28 THE SPECTRE OF TAPPINGTON. 
 
 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 Eajah-hunting and shooting 
 Nabobs, led his blushing bride to the altar. 
 
 Mr. Simpkinson from Bath did not attend the ceremony, being 
 engaged at the Grand Junction Meeting of Spavans, then congregat- 
 ing 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 escaped 
 obtaining a Bridgewater prize. 
 
 Miss Simpkinson and her sister acted as bridesmaids on the 
 occasion ; the former wrote an epithalamium, and the latter cried 
 " Lassy me ! " at the clergyman's wig. Some years have since rolled 
 on ; the union has been crowned with two or three tidy little 
 offshoots from the family tree, of whom Master Neddy is "grand- 
 papa'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 
 Charles has shown no disposition to jump out of bed, or ramble out 
 of doors o' nights, though, from his entire devotion to every wish 
 and whim of his young wife, Tom insinuates that the fair Caroline 
 does still occasionally take advantage of it so far as to " slip on the 
 breeches." 
 
 It was not till some years, after the events just recorded, that 
 Miss Mary- Anne, the "pet Sock" before alluded to, was made 
 acquainted with the following piece of family biography. It was 
 communicated to her in strict confidence by Nurse Botherby, a 
 maiden niece of the old lady's, then recently promoted from the 
 ranks in the still-room, to be second in command in the nursery 
 department. 
 
 The story is connected with a dingy wizzen-faced portrait, in an
 
 THE HAND OF GLORY. 29 
 
 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 qusedam auguriatrix in Anglia fuit, quani demones horribiliter 
 extraxerunt, et imponentes super equura terribilem, per aera rapuerunt ; 
 Clamoresque terribiles (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferme miliaria audiebantur." 
 
 Nuremb. Chron. 
 
 ON the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour, 
 Beneath the Gallows Tree, 
 
 Hand in hand The Murderers stand 
 By one, by two, by three ! 
 
 And the Moon that night With a grey, cold light 
 Each baleful object tips ; 
 
 One half of her form Is seen through the storm, 
 The other half s hid in Eclipse ! 
 
 And the cold Wind howls, And the Thunder growls, 
 And the Lightning is broad and bright ; 
 And altogether It's very bad weather, 
 And an unpleasant sort of a night ! 
 
 " Now mount who list, And close by the wrist 
 Sever me quickly the Dead Man'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 hat, 
 
 Extinguisher-shaped, the brim narrow and flat ! 
 
 Then, My Gracious ! her beard ! it would sadly perplex 
 
 A spectator at first to distinguish her sex ; 
 
 Nor, I'll venture to say, without scrutiny could he 
 
 Pronounce her, off-handed, a Punch or a Judy. 
 
 Did you see her, in short, that mud-hovel within, 
 
 With her knees to her nose, and her nose to her chin, 
 
 Leering up with that queer indescribable grin, 
 
 You'd lift up your hands in amazement, and cry, 
 
 " Well ! I never did see such a regular Guy ! "
 
 30 THE NURSE'S STORY. 
 
 And now before That old "Woman's door, 
 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 pray'r nmtter'd backwards, and said with a sneer ! 
 (Matthew Hopkins himself has assured us that when 
 A witch says her pray'rs, 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 care, The five locks of hair 
 From the skull of the Gentleman dangling up there, 
 
 With the grease and the fat Of a black Tom Cat 
 
 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.) 
 
 " Now open lock To the Dead Man's knock ! 
 
 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 wake ! 
 But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake ! ! " 
 
 All is silent ! all is still, 
 Save the ceaseless moan of the bubbling rill 
 As it wells from the bosom of Tappington Hill ; 
 And in Tappington Hall Great and Small, 
 Gentle and Simple, Squire and Groom, 
 Each one hath sought his separate room, 
 And sleep her dark mantle hath o'er them cast, 
 For the midnight hour hath long been past ! 
 
 All is darksome in earth and sky, 
 Save, from yon casement, narrow and high, 
 A quivering beam On the tiny stream 
 Plays, like some taper's fitful gleam 
 By one that is watching wearily. 
 
 Within that casement, narrow and high, 
 In his secret lair, where none may spy,
 
 THE HAND OF GLORY. 31 
 
 Sits one whose brow is wrinkled with care, 
 And the thin grey locks of his failing hair 
 Have left his little bald pate all bare ; 
 
 For his full-bottom'd wig Hangs, bushy and big, 
 On the top of his old-fashion'd, high-back'd chair. 
 
 Unbraced are his clothes, Ungarter'd his hose, 
 His gown is bedizened with tulip and rose, 
 Flowers of remarkable size and hue, 
 Flowers such as Eden never knew ; 
 And there, by many a sparkling heap 
 
 Of the good red gold, The tale is told 
 What powerful spell avails to keep 
 That care-worn man from his needful sleep ! 
 
 Haply, he deems no eye can see 
 
 As he gloats on his treasure greedily, 
 
 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 young Master Homer, 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 he can vent one inquisitive sniff, 
 That little pug-dog stands stark and stiff, 
 
 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 ! 
 
 " Open lock To the Dead Man's knock ! 
 
 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 wake ! 
 But be as the Dead for the Dead Man's sake ! " 
 
 Now lock, nor bolt, nor bar avails, 
 
 Nor stout oak panel thick-studded with nails.
 
 32 THE NURSE'S STORY, 
 
 Heavy and harsh the hinges creak, 
 
 Though they had been oil'd in the course of the week ; 
 
 The door opens wide as wide may be, 
 
 And there they stand, That murderous band, 
 Lit by the light of the GLORIOUS HAND, 
 By one ! by two ! by three ! 
 
 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 deem'd he had snored his last 
 When the GLORIOUS HAND by the side of him past ! 
 E'en the little wee mouse, as it ran o'er the mat 
 At the top of its speed to escape from the cat, 
 
 Though half dead with affright, Paused in its flight ; 
 And the cat that was chasing that little wee thing 
 Lay crouch'd as a statue in act to spring ! 
 
 And now they are there, On the head of the stair, 
 And the long crooked whittle is gleaming and bare ! 
 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 being 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 ! 
 Enough ! let's pass over as fast as we can 
 The fate of that grey, that unhappy old man ! 
 
 But fancy poor Hugh, Aghast at the view, 
 
 Powerless alike to speak or to do ! 
 
 In vain doth he try To open the eye 
 That is shut, or close that which is clapt to the chink, 
 Though he'd give all the world to be able to wink ! 
 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 ! 
 'Tis lucky for him that the chink in the wall 
 He has peep'd through so long, is so narrow and small !
 
 THE HAND OF GLORY. 33 
 
 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. 
 
 "Tis early dawn the inorn 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 ! 
 
 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 corpse 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 tenderest years ; 
 Adown his pale cheek the fast-falling tears 
 Are coursing each other round and big, 
 And he's staunching the blood with a full-bottom'd wig ! 
 Alas ! and alack for his staunching ! 'tis plain, 
 As anatomists tell us, that never again 
 Shall life revisit the foully slain, 
 "When once they've been cut through the jugular vein. 
 
 There's a hue and a cry through the County of Kent, 
 And in chase of the cut- throats a Constable's sent, 
 But no one can tell the man which way they went, 
 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 Crown, 
 Three shabby-genteel men are just sitting down 
 To a fat stubble-goose, with potatoes done brown ; 
 
 When a little Foot-page Rushes in, in a rage, 
 Upsetting the apple-sauce, onions, and sage. 
 That little Foot-page takes the first by the throat, 
 And a little pug-dog takes the next by the coat, 
 And a Constable seizes the one more remote ; 
 And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores, 
 The Waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores,
 
 34 THE NURSE'S STORY. 
 
 And the Boots and the Chambermaids run in and stare ; 
 
 And the Constable says, with a dignified air, 
 
 " You're ivanted, Gen'leinen, 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 frown'd before : 
 
 It is as black as black may be, 
 And murderers there Are dangling in air, 
 
 By one ! by two ! by three ! 
 
 There's a horrid old hag in a steeple- crown'd hat, 
 
 Round her neck they have tied to a hempen cravat 
 
 A Dead Man's hand, and a dead Tom Cat ! 
 
 They have tied up her thumbs, they have tied up her toes, 
 
 They have tied up her eyes, they have tied up her limbs ! 
 Into Tappington mill-dam souse she goes, 
 
 With a whoop and a halloo ! " She swims ! She swims ! " 
 They have dragg'd her to land, And every one's hand, 
 
 Is grasping a faggot, a billet, or brand, 
 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 crowd, and is off in a crack ! 
 
 No one can tell, Though they guess pretty well, 
 Which way that grim rider and old woman go, 
 For all see he's a sort of infernal Ducrow ; 
 
 And she scream'd so, and cried, We may fairly decide 
 That the old woman did not much relish her ride ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 This truest of stories confirms beyond doubt 
 That truest of adages " Murder will out ! : ' 
 In vain may the blood-spiller " double " and fly, 
 In vain even witchcraft and sorcery try : 
 Although for a time he may 'scape, by-and-by 
 He'll be sure to be caught by a Hugh and a Cry ! 
 
 One marvel follows another as naturally as one "shoulder of 
 mutton " is said " to drive another down." A little Welsh girl, who 
 sometimes makes her way from the kitchen into the nursery, after 
 listening with intense interest to this tale, immediately started off 
 at score with the sum and substance of what, in due reverence for 
 such authority, I shall call
 
 "LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 35 
 
 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY. 
 
 " LOOK AT THE CLOCK. ! " 
 
 FYTTE I. 
 
 " LOOK at the Clock ! " quoth. Winifred Pryce, 
 
 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 gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green, 
 
 Her buckles were bright as her milking cans, 
 
 And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's ; 
 
 Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes, 
 
 Her gown- tail was turn'dup,and tuck'd through the pocket-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 ot their Ales ; 
 To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble you, 
 Being spelt with a C, two Rs, and a W. 
 
 That particular day, As I've heard people say, 
 Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay, 
 And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots, 
 The whole afternoon, at the Goat-in-Boots, 
 
 With a couple more soakers, Thoroughbred smokers, 
 Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers 
 And, long after day had drawn to a close, 
 And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose, 
 They were roaring out " Shenkin ! " and " Ar hydd y nos ; " 
 While David himself, to a Sassenach tune, 
 Sang, " We've drunk down the Sun, boys ! let's drink down the 
 Moon !
 
 36 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY. 
 
 What have we 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 the 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 chemise, 
 (Mrs. P. was too well-bred to mention her stock), 
 But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock ! ;) 
 
 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, 
 
 But walking] ust then wasn't very convenient, 
 
 So he threw it, instead, Direct at her head ; 
 
 It knock'd off her hat ; Down she fell flat ; 
 Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that : 
 But whatever it was, whether rage and pain 
 Produced apoplexy, or burst a vein, 
 Or her tumble induced a concussion of brain, 
 I can't say for certain, but this I can, 
 When, sober'd by fright, to assist her he ran, 
 Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne ! 
 
 The. fearful catastrophe Named in my last strophe 
 As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy, 
 Made a great noise ; and the shocking fatality, 
 Ran over, like wild-fire, the whole Principality. 
 And 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 : "
 
 " LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 37 
 
 " 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." 
 While Mr. Ap Morgan, and Mr. Ap Rhys 
 
 Declared the Deceased Had styled him " a Beast," 
 And swear they had witness'd, with grief and surprise, 
 The 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, Sarve her right I" 
 
 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 dwelling, From the vale proudly swelling, 
 Rose a mountain ; it's 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, O, 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 efforts 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. 
 
 Mounting higher and higher, He began to perspire, 
 Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, 
 
 And feeling opprest By a pain in his chest, 
 He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest ; 
 A walk all up hill is apt, we know, 
 To make one, however robust, puff and blow, 
 So he stopp'd and look'd down on the valley below.
 
 38 PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY. 
 
 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 mishap, 
 Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap ; 
 
 And how Mr. Tudor Successfully woo'd her, 
 Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring, 
 And so made him Father-in-law to the King. 
 
 He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore, 
 
 On Grymth 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 1" 
 That very queer sound ? Does it come from the ground 1 
 Or the air, from above, or below, or around 1 
 It is not like Talking, It is not like Walking, 
 It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan, 
 Or the tramp of a horse, or the tread of a man, 
 Or the hum of a crowd, or the shouting of boys, 
 It's really a deuced odd sort of 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 look'd back On the whole of the track 
 He had traversed ; a thick cloud, uncommonly black, 
 At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon, 
 And did not seem likely to pass away soon ; 
 
 While clearer and clearer, 'Twas plain to the hearer, 
 Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer, 
 And sounded, as Pryce to this moment declares, 
 Very much " like a Coffin a- walking up stairs." 
 
 Mr. Pryce had begun To " make up " for a run, 
 As in such a companion he saw no great fun,
 
 "LOOK AT THE CLOCK." 39 
 
 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 ! ! " 
 : 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 was enough Completely " Quant, suff." 
 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 clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound ! 
 
 I've seen people run at West-End Fair for cheeses 
 
 I've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises 
 
 At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat, 
 
 And one from a Bailiff mtich 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 ; l 
 
 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 Pryce, as he ran over " PEN ! " 
 
 He reaches it's brow, He has past it, and now 
 Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he 
 Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity ; 
 
 But, run as he will, Or roll down the hill, 
 That bugbear behind him is after him still ! 
 And close at his heels, not at all to his liking, 
 The terrible clock keeps on ticking and striking, 
 
 Till, exhausted and sore, He can't run any more, 
 But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door, 
 And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, 
 " Oh ! Look at the Clock ! Do ! Look at the Clock ! ! 
 
 1 I-mn, is a town said to have been so named from something of this sort.
 
 40 PATTY MORGAN TEE MILKMAID'S STORY. 
 
 Miss Davis look'd up, Miss 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 begg'd " he'd not think of repeating his call : 
 
 His late wife's disaster By no means had past her," 
 She'd " have him to know she was meat for his Master ! " 
 Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, 
 She turn'd on her heel and she turn'd 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 ; I can't say lie 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 Rara Avis, 
 Consigning to Satan, viz., cruel Miss Davis ! 
 
 Mr. David has since had a " serious call," 
 He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all, 
 And they say he is going to Exeter Hall 
 
 To make a grand speech, And to preach, and to teach 
 People that " they can't brew their malt liquor too small ! " 
 That an ancient Welsh Poet, one PYNDAR AP TUDOR, 
 Was right in proclaiming " ARISTON MEN UDOR ! " 
 
 Which means " The pure Element Is for Man's belly 
 
 meant ! " 
 And that Gin's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder ! 
 
 And " still on each evening when pleasure fills up," 
 At the old Goat-in-Boots, with Metheglin, each cup, 
 
 Mr. Pryce, if he's there, Will get into " The Chair," 
 And make all his quondam associates stare 
 By calling aloud to the Landlady's daughter, 
 "Patty, bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water ! " 
 The dial he constantly watches ; and when 
 The long hand's at the " XII.," and the short at the " X.,"
 
 A LEGEND OF BHEPPEY. 41 
 
 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 ! ! ! " 
 
 The succeeding Legend has long been an established favourite 
 with all of us, as containing much of the personal history of one of 
 the greatest ornaments of the family tree. 
 
 To the wedding between the sole heiress of this redoubted hero 
 and a direct ancestor is it owing that the Lioncels of Shurland hang 
 so lovingly parallel with the Saltire of the Ingoldsbys, and now 
 form as cherished a quartering in their escutcheon as the " dozen 
 white lowses " in the " old coat " of Shallow. 
 
 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPET. 
 
 " HE won't won't he ? Then bring me my boots ! " said the Baron. 
 
 Consternation was at its height in the castle of Shurland a 
 caitiff had dared to disobey the Baron ! and the Baron had called 
 for his boots ! 
 
 A thunderbolt in the great hall had been a bagatelle to it. 
 
 A few days before, a notable miracle had been wrought in the 
 neighbourhood ; and in those times miracles were not so common as 
 they are now ; no royal balloons, no steam, no railroads, while the 
 few Saints who took the trouble to walk with their heads under 
 their arms, or to pull the Devil by the nose, scarcely appeared above 
 once in a century ; so the affair made the greater sensation. 
 
 The clock had done striking twelve, and the Clerk of Chatham 
 was untrussing his points preparatory to seeking his truckle-bed ; a 
 half-emptied tankard of mild ale stood at his elbow, the roasted 
 crab yet floating on its surface. Midnight had surprised the worthy 
 functionary while occupied in discussing it, and with his task yet 
 unaccomplished. 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
 
 42 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 sonorous, arrested his fingers. It was repeated thrice ere Emmanuel 
 Sacldleton 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 "beauty : her robes 
 were rich, and large, and full ; and a diadem, sparkling with gems 
 that shed a halo around, crowned her brow : she beckoned the Clerk 
 as he stood in 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 ! " 
 
 The worthy Clerk stared aghast at the vision ; the purple robe, 
 the cyrnar, 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 1 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," 1 such a one as tradition tells 
 us yet burns in Eochester Castle every St. Mark's Eve. Many are 
 the daring individuals who have watched in Gundulph's Tower, 
 hoping to find it, and the treasure it guards ; but none of them 
 ever did. 
 
 " This way, Emmanuel ! " and a flame of peculiar radiance 
 streamed from her little finger as it pointed to the pathway leading 
 to the churchyard. 
 
 Saddleton shouldered his tools, and followed in silence. 
 
 1 One of the uses to which this mystic chandelier was put, was the pro- 
 tection of secreted treasure. Blow out all the fingers at one puff and you had 
 the money.
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 43 
 
 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 fast for him : he 
 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 wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and looked 
 all attention and obedience. 
 
 " Emmanuel," continued she, " what did you and Father Fother- 
 gill, and the rest of you, mean yesterday by burying that drowned 
 man so close to me ? He died in mortal sin, Emmanuel ; no shrift, 
 no unction, no absolution : why, he might as well have been excom- 
 municated. He plagues me with his grinning, and I can't have 
 any peace in my shrine. You must howk him up again, 
 Emmanuel ! " 
 
 "To be sure, madam, my lady, that is, your holiness," 
 stammered Saddleton, trembling at the thought of the task assigned 
 to 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 clove's eye to that 
 of a hawk, and a flash came from it as bright as the one from hei 
 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 he had dug up the Grinning Sailor, and that the 
 Saint had helped to throw him into the river again. All was 
 thenceforth wonderment and devotion. Masses were sung, tapers 
 were kindled, bells were tolled ; the monks of St. Eomuald had a 
 solemn procession, the abbot at their head, the sacristan at their tail, 
 and the holy breeches of St. Thomas h, Becket in the centre ; 
 Father Fothergill brewed a XXX puncheon of holy water. The
 
 44 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 Rood of Gillingliam was deserted ; the chapel of Rainham forsaken ; 
 every one who had a soul to be saved, flocked with his offering to 
 St. Bridget's shrine, and Emmanuel Saddleton gathered more fees 
 from the promiscuous piety of that one week than he had pocketed 
 during the twelve preceding months. 
 
 Meanwhile the corpse of the ejected reprobate oscillated like a 
 pendulum between Sheerness and Gillingliam Reach. Now borne 
 by the Medway into the Western Swale, now carried by the 
 refluent tide back to the vicinity of its old quarters, it seemed as 
 though the River 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 god-send were 
 of course carried instantly to the castle ; for the Baron was a very 
 great man ; and if a dun cow had flown across his property un- 
 announced 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 illustrious 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 
 of Father Fothergill, and the Clerk of St. Bridget's. It was ill 
 gleaning after such hands ; there was not a single maravedi. 
 
 We have already said that Sir Robert de Shurland, Lord of the 
 Isle of Sheppey, and of many a fair manor on the mainland, was 
 a man of worship. He had rights of freewarren, saccage and 
 sockage, cuisage and jambage, fosse and fork, infang theofe and
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 45 
 
 outfang theofe ; and all waifs and strays belonged to him in. fee 
 simple. 
 
 " Turn out his pockets ! " said the Knight. 
 
 " An't please you, my lord, I must say as 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 bury 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 re- 
 appeared. 
 
 " 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 very 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. Bonaparte. 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 tremend- 
 ous, 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 uncom- 
 monly 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 ensemble 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." 
 
 "And, Periwinkle," Sir Robert stamped his left heel into its 
 receptacle, "and, Periwinkle, see that it be wide enough to hold 
 not exceeding two ! " 
 
 " Ye ye yes, my lord."
 
 46 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 "And, Periwinkle, tell Father Fothergill I would fain speak 
 with his Reverence." 
 
 "Ye ye yes, my lord." 
 
 The Baron's beard was peaked ; and his mustaches, stiff and 
 stumpy, projected horizontally like those of a Tom Cat ; he twirled 
 the one, he stroked the other, he drew the buckle of his surcingle 
 a thought tighter, and strode down the great staircase three steps at 
 a stride. 
 
 The vassals were assembled in the great hall of Shurland Castle ; 
 every cheek was pale, every tongue was mute : expectation and 
 perplexity 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, and 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 
 mistaken for the tire of a cart-wheel. When he arrived, Sir Robert 
 was pacing up and down by the side of a newly opened grave. 
 
 " Benedicite ! fair son," (the Baron was as brown as a cigar,) 
 " Benedicite ! " said the Chaplain. 
 
 The Baron was too > angry to stand upon compliment. " Bury me 
 that grinning caitiff there ! " quoth he, pointing to the defunct. 
 
 " It may not be, fair son," said the Friar ; " he hath perished 
 without absolution." 
 
 " Bury the body ! " roared Sir Robert. 
 
 "Water and earth alike reject him," returned the Chaplain ; "holy 
 St. Bridget herself "
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 47 
 
 " 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 
 was never known to perjure himself. He was playing with the hilt 
 of his sword. " Do me thine office, I say. Give him his passport 
 to Heaven ! " 
 
 " He is already gone to Hell ! " stammered the Friar. 
 
 " Then do you go after him ! " thundered the Lord of Shurland. 
 
 His sword half leaped from its scabbard. No ! the trenchant 
 blade, that had cut Suleiman Ben Malek Ben 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, he had infallibly broken it ; as he 
 did not, he only dislocated his vertebrae, but that did quite as well. 
 He was as dead as ditch-water ! 
 
 " In with the other rascal ! " said the Baron, and he was obeyed ; 
 for there he stood in his boots. Mattock and shovel made short 
 work of it ; twenty feet of superincumbent mould pressed down 
 alike the saint and the sinner. "Now sing a requiem who list!" 
 said the Baron, and his lordship went back to his oysters. 
 
 The vassals at Castle Shuiiand were astounded, or, as the 
 Seneschal Hugh better expressed it, "perfectly conglomerated," 
 by this event. What ! murder a monk in the odour of sanctity, 
 and on consecrated ground too ! They trembled for the health of 
 the Baron's soul. To the unsophisticated many it seemed that 
 matters could not have been much worse had he shot a bishop's 
 coach-horse ; all looked for some signal judgment. The melancholy 
 catastrophe of their 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 
 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 be expected was, that 
 Sir Robert should have a friar tacked on to his for the term of his 
 natural life ! Some bolder spirits there were, 'tis true, who viewed 
 the matter in various lights, according to their different tempera-
 
 48 GEEY DOLPHIN. 
 
 ments and dispositions ; 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, Simpkin 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 hole being dug in it for his 
 especial accommodation. The philosophers and economists thought, 
 with Saunders McBullock, 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 inhabitants 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 expected that St. Bridget 
 would come in person, and have the frair 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 
 gallantries, 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 misrepre- 
 sented : 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 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 magnificent monastery, situate just within 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
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 49 
 
 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. 1 Here it was, in a handsome chamber, immedi- 
 ately 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 1 It is a 
 sin and a shame. Anselm ! " 
 
 " What's the matter ? Who are you ? " cried the Abbot, rubbing 
 his eyes, which the celestial splendour of his visitor had set a- wink- 
 ing. " Ave Maria ! St. Austin himself ! Speak, Beatissime ! 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 
 ignominiously 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 ! " 
 
 " Ay, so please you, Sanctissime ! " said the Abbot. " I will order 
 forthwith that thirty masses be said, thirty Paters, and thirty Ares." 
 
 " Thirty fools' heads ! " interrupted 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, 
 
 1 Since the appearance of the first edition of this Legend "the guns" have 
 been dismounted. Rumour hints at some alarm on the part of the Town 
 Council. 
 
 E
 
 50 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 and another to the Sheriff, and seize me the never-enough-to-be- 
 anathematised villain who hath clone this deed ! Hang him as high 
 as Hainan, Anselm ! up with him ! down with his dwelling-place, 
 root and branch, hearthstone 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 with the Saint's 
 eloquence: "ay, marry will I, and that instanter. But there is 
 one thing you have forgotten, most Beatified the name of the 
 culprit." 
 
 " Robert de Shurland." 
 
 " The Lord of Sheppey ! 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, Beatissime! 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 the property." 
 
 With this solemn injunction the vision began to fade. 
 
 " One thing more ! " cried the Abbot, grasping his rosary. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked the Saint. 
 
 " Beate Augustine, ora pro ndbis I " 
 
 "Of course I shall," said St. Austin. "Pax vobiscum!" 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 1 ?" 
 " How was it 1 " The 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-shells ! 
 " Who was he ? " " What was his name ? " 
 
 The Abbot's Apparitor drew forth his roll and read aloud : "Sir
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 51 
 
 Robert 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 gowns, the Town Clerk put his pen behind his ear. It was a 
 county business altogether : the Sheriff had better call out the posse 
 comitatus. 
 
 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 contrary, 
 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 was heard 
 from the barbican. 
 
 "Who the devil's that?" said Sir Robert. "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 Prior 
 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 Crevecceur, the Abbot's chief vassal ; 
 and there is John de Northwood, the sheriff, with his red-cross 
 cnyniiled ; and Hever, and Leybourne, and Heaven knows how 
 many more ; and they are all coming on as fast as ever they can." 
 
 " Periwinkle," said the Baron, " up with the drawbridge ; down 
 with the portcullis ; 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 
 say, " He's crazy ! " 
 
 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.
 
 52 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 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, Robert 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 Robert, of murder and sacri- 
 lege, now, or of late, done and committed by you, the said Robert, 
 contrary to the peace of our Sovereign Lord the King, his crown 
 and dignity : and I do hereby require and charge yon, the said 
 Robert, 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 North wood, Esquire, good man and true, sheriif of this 
 his Majesty's most loyal county of Kent, to enforce the same, if need 
 be, with his posse comitatus " 
 
 "His what?" said the Baron. 
 
 " His posse comitatus, and " 
 
 " Go to Bath ! " said the 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 brick-bat, 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 sword with the terrible name ; it was the fashion in feudal 
 times to give names to swords : King Arthur's was christened 
 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 
 Robert ; 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
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 53 
 
 de Northwood ; away went William of Hever, and Roger of Ley- 
 bourne. Hamo de Crevecceur, 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 enjoined 
 to aid in exterminating the offender, on pain of the greater excom- 
 munication in this world, and a million of years of purgatory in the 
 next. But then, again, Boniface the Eighth was rather at a discount 
 in England just then. He had affronted Longshanks, as the loyal 
 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 pardon 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, col- 
 lecting 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 Majesty was to come down 
 by water. What was to be done ? the royal barge was in sight, and 
 John de Northwood and Hamo de Crevecoeur had broken up all the 
 boats to boil their camp-kettles. A truly great mind is never without 
 resources. 
 
 " Bring me my boots ! " said the Baron. 
 
 They brought him his boots, and his dapple-grey steed along with 
 them. Such a courser ! all blood 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 barge which carried Edward Longshanks and his fortunes had 
 by this time nearly reached the Nore ; the stream was broad 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 miles, the Knight was near enough to hail the steersman.
 
 54 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 " What have we got here ? " said the King. " It's a mermaid,'' 5 
 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. 
 " Grammercy," quoth 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., 
 " That he the said Robert de Shurland, etc., had then and there, 
 with several, to wit, one thousand, pairs 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 de Winchelsey, the chancellor, and archbishop to boot, was 
 making out, albeit with great reluctance, the royal pardon. The 
 interval was sufficiently long to enable His Majesty, who, gracious 
 as he was, had always an eye to business, just to hint that the 
 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 fingers 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 
 forthwith 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 dim-
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 55 
 
 culty or danger ; a steed of less " mettle and bone ;; had long since 
 sunk 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 shewed 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. 
 
 Rapidly 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, Robert Shurland ! Make much of 
 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, Robert 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?" He 
 ran round by his horse's tail ; the woman was gone ! 
 
 The Baron paused ; his great soul was not to be shaken by trifles ; 
 he looked around him, and solemnly ejaculated the word "Humbug !'" 
 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 scrutinizing eye of a veterinary surgeon. "I'll be shot if 
 he is not groggy ! " said the Baron. 
 
 With his lordship, like another great Commander, " Once to be 
 in doubt, was once to be resolved : " it would never do to go to the 
 wars on a rickety prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickletoby, 
 and, as the enfranchised Dolphin, good easy horse, stretched out 
 his ewe-neck to the herbage, struck off his head at a single blow. 
 "There, you lying old beldame ! " said the Baron "now take him 
 away to the knacker's." 
 
 Three years were come and gone. King's 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
 
 56 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 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, 
 
 <Dl)tt tnss fu jtt himintz 
 
 gli kant ztoit sm It .dubal 
 $t Btmblott home ht somtillt. 
 
 A quatrain which Mr. Simpkinson translates, 
 
 " With them was marching 
 The good Kobert de Shurland, 
 Who, when seated on horseback, 
 Does not resemble a man asleep ! " 
 
 So thoroughly awake, indeed, does he seem to have proved him- 
 self, that the bard subsequently exclaims, in an ecstasy of 
 admiration, 
 
 <S: it tstoit tttw pttcelette 
 JTe ii iumru wr tt ws 
 <3rattt tat it In bons It ttcota. 
 
 " 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 
 such a present to a nobleman, now in his grand climacteric, would 
 hardly have been worth the carriage. With the reduction of this 
 stronghold of the Maxwells seem to have concluded the Baron's 
 military 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 very 
 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 knees, and her chin 
 upon her thumbs. The Baron started : the remembrance of his
 
 A LEGEND OF SHEPPEY. 57 
 
 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 
 stone, but the whitened skull of a dead horse ! A tender remem- 
 brance of the deceased Grey Dolphin shot a momentary pang into 
 the Baron's bosom ; he drew the back of his hand across his face ; 
 the thought of the hag's 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. Great 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, 
 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 ; 
 liy dinner-time it had deepened to beet-root ; and when Bargrave, 
 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 Ingoldsby, her 
 cousin-german by the mother's side ; but the Baron was too far
 
 58 GREY DOLPHIN. 
 
 gone in the dead-thraw to recognise either. He died as he lived, 
 unconquered 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 loas 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 he adduces his name "Emmanuel," and 
 refers to the historian Shakspear. Mr. Peters, on the contrary, 
 considers this to be what he calls one of Mr. Simpkinson's 
 " Anacreonisms," inasmuch as, at the introduction of Mr. Cade's 
 reform measure, the Clerk, if alive, would have been hard upon 
 two hundred years old. The probability is, that the unfortunate 
 alluded to was his great-grandson. 
 
 Margaret Shurland in due course became Margaret Ingoldsby, 
 her portrait still hangs in the gallery at Tappington. The features 
 are handsome, but shrewish, betraying, as it were, a touch of the 
 old Baron's temperament ; but we never could learn that she actually 
 kicked her husband. She brought him a very pretty fortune in 
 chains, owches, and Saracen ear-rings ; the barony, being a male 
 fief, reverted to the Crown. 
 
 In the abbey-church at Minster may yet be seen the tomb of a 
 recumbent warrior, clad in the chain-mail of the 13th century. 1 
 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 
 respectable elderly lady, as she shows the monument, fails not to 
 
 1 Subsequent to the first appearance of the foregoing narrative, the tomb 
 alluded 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 within, 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 
 great admiration at the thickness of the skull, and is of opinion that the 
 skeleton is that of a great patriot much addicted to Lundy-foot.
 
 THE GHOST. 59 
 
 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 
 following story ; the scene of its leading event was most familiar 
 to me in early life. If the principal 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 whereabouts " that I learned the history 
 of his adventure with 
 
 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 blondes, 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 entomb'd within her ; 
 
 There pious Saints, in marble pomp repose, 
 Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner ;
 
 60 THE GHOST. 
 
 There, too, full many an Aldermanic nose 
 
 Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner ; 
 And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket, 
 Till four assassins came from France to crack it. 
 
 The Castle was a huge and 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, 
 
 Resembling (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 fellows, 
 
 And stuff'd, unless I'm misinformed greatly, 
 With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows ; 
 
 In short, so great a change has come to pass, 
 
 'Tis now a manufactory of Gas. 
 
 But to my tale. Before this profanation, 
 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 thing that's not uncommon, 
 'Tis what we all have heard, and most have read of, 
 
 I mean, a bruizing, pugilistic woman, 
 Such as I own I entertain a dread of, 
 
 And so did Nick, whom sometimes there would come on 
 A sort of fear his Spouse might knock his head off,
 
 THE GHOST. 61 
 
 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 Fancy, 
 
 When Messrs. Burke or Bendigo engage ; 
 'Tis not so well in Susan, Jane, or Nancy : 
 
 To get well mill'd by any one's an evil, 
 
 But by a lady 'tis the very Devil. 
 
 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 call'd 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 Forum, 
 
 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.
 
 62 THE GHOST. 
 
 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 Baron " enters, and assumes 
 
 To " rule " o'er mimic " Thesigers " and " Broughams." 
 
 Here they would oft forget their Kuler's 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. Veal ; 
 
 Of sheeted Spectres spoke with shorten'd breath, 
 
 And thrice he quoted " Drelincourt on Death." 
 
 Nick smoked, and smoked, and trembled as he heard 
 The point discuss'd, and all they said upon it, 
 
 How, frequently, some murder'd man appear'd, 
 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 faithful She ; 
 
 Nor could he well to pardon him 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 stairs again, pretend to doze, 
 
 And hoax his spouse with music from his nose. 
 
 Vain fruitless hope ! The wearied sentinel 
 At eve may overlook the crouching foe,
 
 THE GHOST. 63 
 
 Till, ere his hand can sound the alarum-bell, 
 
 He sinks beneath the unexpected 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 ; 
 When, bang, she threw a something at his head, 
 
 And Nick at once lay prostrate on the floor ; 
 While she exclaim'd 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 expostulated, 
 
 Roused by the bump into a good set passion, 
 So great, that more than once he execrated, 
 
 Ere he crawl'd into bed in his usual fashion ; 
 The Muses hate brawls ; suffice it then to say, 
 He duck'd below the clothes and there he lay ! 
 
 'Twas now the very witching time of night, 
 When churchyards groan, and graves give up their dead, 
 
 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 recurred, 
 
 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-remember\l word ; 
 
 When at the bed's foot, close beside the post, 
 
 He verily believed he saw a Ghost ! 
 
 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 mortal seeming to the view,
 
 64 THE GHOST. 
 
 And round its J.ong, 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 unkind 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 up-squatting in the bed. 
 
 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 fill'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 1 " 
 Nick might have cried, could he have found a tongue, 
 
 But his distended jaws could only gape, 
 And not a sound iipon the welkin rung : 
 
 His gooseberry orbs seem'd as they would have sprung 
 Forth from their sockets, like a frightened Ape 
 
 He sat upon his haunches, bolt upright, 
 
 And shook, and grinn'd, and chatter'd with affright. 
 
 And still the shadowy finger, 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 ? '
 
 THE GHOST. 67 
 
 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, 
 Seized on his awl, crept softly out of bed, 
 And follow'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, 
 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 jarring sound, 
 
 Tne 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 in. 
 
 Within the mouldering fabric's deep recess 
 At length they reach 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 !
 
 68 THE GHOST. 
 
 The Apparition paused, 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 " in the midnight wind, 
 
 Which through the ruins ceased not to groan ; 
 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 trap door, 
 
 'Neath which the old dead Miser kept his store. 
 
 " 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 clapped 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, 
 
 Vanished 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 !
 
 THE GYNOTAPH. 69 
 
 Confound not, I beseech thee, reader, the subject of the following 
 monody with the hapless hero of the tea-urn, Cupid, of "Yow- 
 Yow "-ing memory. Tray was an attached favourite of many years' 
 standing. 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 1 " 
 
 THE CYNOTAPH. 
 
 Poor Tray charmant ! 
 Poor Tray de mon Ami ! 
 
 Dog-bury 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, 
 
 And the whole of his 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 O'er the peaceful grave, 
 Which holds all that once was honest and brave, 
 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 halloVd 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.
 
 70 THE CYNOTAPH. 
 
 No ! come what may, My 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 Mister Hume calls " a scandalous tax ; " 
 While the Chartists insist they've a right to go snacks. 
 No ! Tray's humble tomb would look but shabby 
 'Mid the sculptured shrines of that gorgeous Abbey. 
 
 Besides, in the place They say there's no space 
 To bury what wet-nurses call " a Babby." 
 Even " Rare Ben Jonson," that famous wight, 
 I am told, is interred 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 <00ie glorbe gfiliniontu. 
 
 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,' 7 "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 eye.' "
 
 THE CYNOTAPH. 71 
 
 And I own it is clear A fastidious ear 
 Will be, more or less, always annoy'd with you when you 
 insert 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^ Sir Christopher Wren, 
 
 As an architect, one of the greatest of men ; 
 
 And, talking of Epitaphs, much I admire his, 
 
 " Circumspice, si Monumentum requiris ; " 
 
 Which an erudite Verger translated to me, 
 
 " If you ask for his monument, Sir-come-spy-see ! " 
 
 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 Sphynxes, 
 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, 
 With a thump which alone were enough to despatch him, 
 If the Scotchman in front shouldn't happen to catch him. 
 
 No ! I'd not have him there, nor nearer the door, 
 Where the man and the Angel have got Sir John Moore, 1 
 And are quietly letting him down through the 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-field ; 
 To lay you by Nelson were downright effront'ry ; 
 We'll l)e off from the City, and look at the country. 
 
 It shall not be there, In that sepulchred square, 
 Where folks are interr'd for the sake of the air, 
 (Though, pay but the clues, they could hardly refuse 
 To Tray what they grant to Thuggp, and Hindoos, 
 Turks, Infidels, Heretics, Jumpers, and Jews,) 
 
 See note at end of "The Cynotaph."
 
 72 THE CYNOTAPH. 
 
 Where the tombstones are placed In the very best 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 have in his grave ; 
 
 Since Spirits, 'tis plain, Are sent back again, 
 To roam round their bodies, the bad ones in pain, 
 Dragging after them sometimes a heavy jack-chain ; 
 Whenever they met, alarm'd by its groans, his 
 Ghost all night long would be barking at Jones's. 
 
 Nor shall he be laid By that cross Old Maid, 
 Miss Penelope Bird, of whom it is said 
 All the dogs in the parish were ever afraid. 
 
 He must not be placed By one so strait-laced 
 In her temper, her taste, and her morals, and waist. 
 For, 'tis 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. 
 
 No, if Tray were interr'd By Penelope Bird, 
 No dog would be e'er so be " whelp " 'd and be-" cur 'Yd 
 All the night long her cantankerous 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 b'ye ; 
 And the plaintive Nightingale, warbling nigh, 
 Pour'd forth her mournful melody ; 
 While 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 ! "
 
 THE GYNOTAPH. 73 
 
 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, too, 
 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 71. 
 
 In the autumn of 1824, Captain Medwin having hinted that cer- 
 tain beautiful lines on the burial of that gallant officer might have 
 been the production of Lord Byron's Muse, the late Mr. Sydney 
 Taylor, somewhat indignantly, claimed them for their rightful 
 owner, the late Rev. Charles Wolfe. During the controversy a third 
 claimant started up in the person of a soi-disant "Doctor Marshall," 
 who turned out to be a Durham blacksmith, and his pretensions a 
 hoax. It was then that a certain " Doctor Peppercorn " put forth his 
 pretensions, to what he averred was the only " true and original " 
 version, viz. : 
 
 Not a sous had he got, not a guinea or note, 
 
 And he look'd confoundedly flurried, 
 As he bolted away without paying his shot, 
 
 And the Landlady after him hurried. 
 
 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 head 
 
 Would "consumedly ache" on the morrow.
 
 74 MBS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 We bore him home, and we put him 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 his Lady began to upbraid him ; 
 
 But little he reck'd, so they let him snore on 
 'Neath 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 sou of a gun 
 Of a watchman " One o'clock ! " 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 ! ! 
 
 Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores. VIRGIL. 
 I wrote the lines . . owned them he told stories ! 
 
 THOMAS IKGOLDSBY. 
 
 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 
 
 READER, were you ever bewitched ? I do not mean by a " white- 
 wench's black eye," or by love potions imbibed from a ruby lip ; 
 but, were you ever really and bond fide bewitched, in the true 
 Matthew Hopkins sense of the word ? Did you ever, for instance, 
 find yourself from head to heel one vast complication of cramps ? 
 or burst out into sudorific exudation like a cold thaw, with the 
 thermometer at zero? "Were your eyes ever turned upside down, 
 exhibiting nothing but their whites 1 Did you ever vomit a paper 
 of crooked pins? or expectorate Whitechapel needles? These are 
 genuine and undoubted marks of possession ; and if you never 
 experienced any of them, why, " happy man be his dole ! "
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 75 
 
 Yet such things have been : yea, \ve 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 Komney 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 egg-shell, or careering on her broomstick 
 over Dymchurch wall. A cow may yet be sometimes seen gallop- 
 ing like mad, with tail erect, and an old pair of breeches on 
 her horns, an unerring guide to the door of the crone whose magic 
 arts have drained her udder. 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, 
 stands a collection .of houses, which its maligners call a fishing-town, 
 and its well-wishers a Watering-place. A limb of one of the Cinque 
 Ports, it has (or lately had) a corporation of its own, and has been 
 thought considerable enough to give a second title to a noble family. 
 Rome stood on seven hills ; Folkestone seems to have been built 
 upon seventy. Its streets, lanes, and alleys, fanciful distinctions 
 without much real difference, are agreeable enough to persons who 
 do not mind running up and down stairs ; and the only inconveni- 
 ence, at all felt by such of its inhabitants as are not asthmatic, 
 is when some heedless urchin tumbles down a chimney, or an 
 impertinent pedestrian peeps into a garret window. 
 
 At the eastern extremity of the town, on the sea-beach, and 
 scarcely above high-water mark, stood, in the good old times, a row 
 of houses then denominated " Frog-hole." Modern refinement subse- 
 quently euphonized the name into " East-street ; " but " what's in a 
 name ? " the encroachments of Ocean have long since levelled all in 
 one common ruin. 
 
 Here, in the early part of the seventeenth century, flourished in 
 somewhat doubtful reputation, but comparative opulence, a com- 
 pounder of medicines, one Master Erasmus Buckthorne ; the effluvia 
 of whose drugs from within, mingling agreeably with the " ancient 
 and fish-like smells" from without, wafted a delicious perfume 
 throughout the neighbourhood. 
 
 At seven of the clock, on the morning when Mrs. Botherby's 
 narrative commences, a stout Suffolk " punch," about thirteen hands 
 and a half in height, was slowly led up and down before the door 
 of the pharmacopolist by a lean and withered lad, whose appearance
 
 76 MRS. BOTHERBTS STORY. 
 
 warranted an opinion, pretty generally expressed, that his master 
 found him as useful in experimentalizing 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 Buckthorne emerged 
 from his laboratory, and, putting the key carefully into his pocket, 
 mounted the surefooted cob aforesaid, and proceeded up and down 
 the acclivities and declivities of the town with the gravity due to 
 his station and profession. When he reached the open country, his 
 pace was increased to a sedate canter, which, in somewhat more than 
 half an hour, brought " the horse and his rider " in front of a hand- 
 some 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 accord ; " How now, man ? How fares 
 thine employer, worthy Master Marsh 1 How hath he done ? How 
 hath he slept 1 My potion hath done its office ? Ha ! " 
 
 " Alack ! ill at ease, worthy sir ill at ease," returned the hind ; 
 " his honour is up and stirring ; but he hath rested none, and 
 complaineth that the same gnawing pain devoureth, as it were, his 
 very vitals : in sooth he is ill at ease." 
 
 " Morrow, doctor ! " interrupted a voice from a casement opening 
 on the lawn. " Good morrow ! I have looked for, longed for, thy 
 coming this hour and more ; enter at once ; the pasty and tankard 
 are impatient for thine attack ! " 
 
 " Marry, Heaven forbid that I should baulk their fancy ! " quoth 
 the Leech sotto voce, as, abandoning the bridle to honest Hodge, he 
 dismounted, and followed a buxom-looking handmaiden into the 
 breakfast parlour. 
 
 There, at the head of his well-furnished board, sat Master Thomas 
 Marsh, of Marston-hall, a Yeoman well respected in his degree : one 
 of that sturdy and sterling class which, taking rank immediately 
 below the Esquire (a title in its origin purely military), occupied, 
 in the wealthier counties, the position in society now filled by 
 the Country Gentleman. He was one of those of whom the proverb 
 ran: 
 
 " A Knight of Cales, 
 A Gentleman of Wales, 
 And a Laird of the North Countree ;
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 77 
 
 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 
 dimensions ; 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 of the proprietor 
 of the mansion sat his consort, a lady now past the bloom of youth, 
 yet still retaining many of its charms. The clear olive of her 
 complexion, and "the darkness of her 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 firmness 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 anger, or melting in extreme softness, betrayed the existence 
 of passions as intense in kind as opposite in quality. She rose as 
 Erasmus entered the parlour, and, bestowing on him a look fraught 
 with meaning, quitted the room, leaving him in unrestrained com- 
 munication with his patient. 
 
 " Tore George, Master Btickthorne ! " exclaimed the latter, as the 
 Leech drew near, " I will no more of your pharmacy ; burn, burn, 
 gnaw, gnaw, I had as lief the foul fiend were in my gizzard as
 
 78 MRS. BOTHERS Y'S STORY. 
 
 one of your drugs. Tell me in the devil's name, what is the matter 
 with me ! " 
 
 Thus conjured, the practitioner paused, and even turned somewhat 
 pale. There was a perceptible faltering in his voice, as, evading the 
 question, he asked, " What say your other physicians 1 " 
 
 " 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 
 world talks loudly of your learning, your skill, and cunning in arts 
 the most abstruse ; nay, sooth to say, some look coldly on you 
 therefore, and stickle not to aver that you are cater-cousin with 
 Beelzebub himself." 
 
 " It is ever the fate of science," murmured the professor, " to be 
 maligned by the ignorant and superstitious. But a truce with such 
 folly ; let me examine your palate." 
 
 Master Marsh thrust out a tongue long, clear, and red as beet- 
 root. " There is nothing wrong there," said the Leech. " Your 
 wrist : no ; the pulse is firm and regular, the skin cool and 
 temperate. Sir, there is nothing the matter with you ! " 
 
 " Nothing the matter with me, Sir Totecary 1 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 Marsh," said the doctor. 
 
 Master Marsh's brow grew dark ; he half rose from his seat, 
 supported himself by both hands on the arms of his elbow-chair, 
 and in accents of mingled anger and astonishment repeated the 
 word " Fidgety ! " 
 
 "Ay, fidgety," returned the doctor calmly. "Tut, man, there is 
 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 ? ; 
 
 " I have," said the patient. 
 
 " Wealth and a fair domain ? " 
 
 " 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 this fantasy, betake thyself to
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 79 
 
 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 abruptly, mused awhile, then added, looking steadily 
 at his visitor, " These things are not right ; they pass the common, 
 Master Erasmus Buckthorne." 
 
 A slight shade crossed the brow of the Leech, but its passage was 
 momentary ; his features softened to a smile, in which pity seemed 
 slightly blended with contempt. " Have done with such follies, 
 Master Marsh. You are well, an you would but think so. 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 Cobbe 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 Kalph 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 
 Mrs. Marston, muttering as he went a quotation from a then newly- 
 published play, 
 
 " Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine tliee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou own'dst yesterday." 
 
 Of what passed at this interview between the Folkestone doctor 
 and the fair Spaniard, Mrs. Botherby declares she could never obtain 
 any satisfactory elucidation. Not that tradition is silent on the 
 subject, quite the contrary ; it is the abundance, not paucity, of 
 the materials she supplies, and the consequent embarrassment of 
 selection, that makes the difficulty. Some have averred that the 
 Leech, whose" character, as has been before hinted, was more than
 
 80 MBS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 threadbare, employed his time in teaching her the mode of admini- 
 stering certain noxious compounds, the unconscious partaker whereof 
 would pine and die so slowly and gradually as to defy suspicion. 
 Others there were who affirmed that Lucifer himself was then and 
 there raised in proprid persona, with all his terrible attributes of 
 horn and hoof. In support of this assertion, they adduce the 
 testimony of the aforesaid buxom housemaid, who protested that 
 the hall smelt that evening like a manufactory of matches. All, 
 however, seemed to agree that the confabulation, whether human or 
 infernal, was conducted with profound secrecy, and protracted to a 
 considerable length ; that its object, as far as could be divined, 
 meant anything but good to the head of the family : that the lady, 
 moreover, was heartily tired of her husband ; and that, in the event 
 of his removal by disease or casualty, Master Erasmus Buckthorne, 
 albeit a great philosophist, would have no violent objection to " throw 
 physic to the dogs," and exchange his laboratory for the estate of 
 Marston, its live stock included. Some, too, have inferred 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 Jose, a tall, bright-eyed, hook-nosed 
 stripling from her native land, was a personage not unlikely to put 
 a spoke in the doctor's wheel ; and that, should such a chance arise, 
 the Sage, wise as he was, would, after all, run no slight risk of being 
 " bamboozled." 
 
 Master Jose was a youth well-favoured, and 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 with 
 a broad strip of crimson or silver lace, and the upper with what the 
 first Wit of our times has described as " a favourable eruption of 
 buttons." The precise duties of this employment have never, as far 
 as we have heard, been accurately defined. The perfuming a hand- 
 kerchief, the combing a lap-dog, and the occasional presentation of 
 a sippet-shaped billet doux, are, and always have been, among them ; 
 but these a young gentleman standing five foot ten, and aged 
 nineteen " last grass," might well be supposed to have outgrown. 
 Jose, however, kept his place, perhaps because he was not fit for any 
 other. To the conference between his mistress and the physician he 
 had not been admitted ; his post was to keep watch and ward in the
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 81 
 
 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 imp of 
 some six years old ; but one who could be mute as a mouse when the 
 fit was on her. A handsome and highly polished cabinet of the 
 darkest ebony occupied a recess at one end of the apartment ; this 
 had long been a great subject of speculation to little Miss. Her 
 curiosity, however, had always been repelled ; nor had all her 
 coaxing ever won her an inspection of the thousand and one pretty 
 things which its recesses no doubt contained. On this occasion it 
 was unlocked, and Marian was about to rush forward in eager 
 anticipation of a peep at its interior, when, child as she was, the 
 reflection struck her that she would stand a better chance of carrying 
 her point by remaining perdue. Fortune for once favoured her : she 
 crouched closer than before, and saw her mother take something 
 from one of the drawer.*, which she handed over to the Leech. 
 Strange mutterings followed, and words whose sound was foreign to 
 her youthful ears. Had she been older, their import, perhaps, 
 might have been equally unknown. After a while there was a 
 pause ; and then the lady, as in answer to a requisition from the 
 gentleman, placed in his hand a something which she took from her 
 toilet. The transaction, whatever its nature, seemed now to be 
 complete, and the article was carefully replaced in the drawer from 
 which it had been taken. A long, and apparently interesting, 
 conversation then took place between the parties, carried on in a low 
 tone. At its termination, Mistress Marsh and Master Erasmus 
 Buckthorne 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 rewarded 
 by the prettiest little waxen doll imaginable. It was a first-rate 
 prize, and Miss lost no time in appropriating it to herself. Long
 
 82 MM. BOTHERBTS STORY. 
 
 before Madame Marsh had returned to her Sanctum, Marian was 
 seated under a laurestinus in the garden, nursing her new baby with 
 the most affectionate solicitude. 
 
 "Susan, look here ; see what a nasty scratch I have got upon my 
 hand," said the young lady, when routed out at length from her 
 hiding-place to her noontide meal. 
 
 "Yea, 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 farthingales 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 foremothers 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 1 " asked Susan, turning over the puppet, and viewing it with a 
 scrutinizing 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 bell is 
 striking One ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, were 
 threading the devious paths, then, as now, most pseudonymously 
 dignified with the name of roads, that wound between Marston-Hall 
 and the frontier of Romney Marsh. Their progress was com- 
 paratively 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, miry 
 in 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
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 83 
 
 and half-stilled groan from the one, or a vacant whistle from the 
 other. An hour's riding had brought them among the woods of 
 Acryse ; and they were about to descend one of those green and 
 leafy lanes, rendered by matted and over-arching branches alike 
 impervious to shower or sunbeam, when a sudden and violent spasm 
 seized on Master Marsh, and nearly caused him to fall from his 
 horse. With some difficulty he succeeded in dismounting, and seat- 
 ing himself by the road side. Here he remained for a full half- 
 hour in great apparent agony ; the cold sweat rolled in large round 
 drops adown his clammy forehead, a universal shivering palsied 
 every limb, his eye-balls appeared to be starting from their sockets, 
 and to his attached, though dull and heavy serving-man, he seemed 
 as one struggling in the pangs of impending dissolution. His 
 groans rose thick and frequent ; and the alarmed Ralph was 
 hesitating between his disinclination to leave him, and his desire to 
 procure such assistance 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 ease, from a deep-seated and gnawing pain, 
 which ceased not, as he averred, to torment him, the violence of the 
 paroxysm was spent, and it returned no more. 
 
 Master and man pursued their way with increased speed, as, 
 emerging from the wooded denies, they at length neared 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 Roman road, or 
 Watling, plunged again into the woods that stretched between 
 Lympne and Ostenhanger. 
 
 The sun rose high in the heavens, and its meridian blaze was 
 powerfully felt by man and horse, when, again quitting their leafy 
 covert, the travellers debouched on the open plain of Aldington 
 Frith, a wide tract of unenclosed country stretching down to the 
 very borders of " the Marsh " itself. 
 
 Here it was, in the neighbouring chapelry, the site of which may 
 yet be traced by the curious antiquary, that Elizabeth Barton, the 
 " Holy Maid of Kent," had, something less than a hundred years 
 previous to the period of our narrative, commenced that series of 
 supernatural pranks which eventually procured for her head an
 
 84 AIRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 unenvied elevation upon London Bridge ; and though the parish 
 had since enjoyed the benefit of the incumbency of Master 
 Erasmus's illustrious and enlightened Namesake, still, truth to tell, 
 some of the old leaven was even yet supposed to be at work. The 
 place had, in fact, an ill name ; and, though Popish miracles had 
 ceased to electrify its denizens, spells and charms, operating by a 
 no less wondrous agency, were said to have taken their place. 
 Warlocks, and other unholy subjects of Satan, were reported to 
 make its wild recesses their favourite rendezvous, and that to an 
 extent which eventually attracted the notice of no less a personage 
 than the sagacious Matthew Hopkins himself, Witchfinder-General 
 to the British government. 
 
 A great portion of the Frith, or Fright, as the name was then, and 
 is still pronounced, had formerly been a Chase, with rights of Free- 
 warren, etc., appertaining to the Archbishops of the Province. 
 Since the Reformation, however, it had been disparked ; and when 
 Master Thomas Marsh, and his man Ralph, entered upon its con- 
 fines, the open greensward exhibited a lively scene, sufficiently 
 explanatory of certain sounds that had already reached their ears 
 while yet within the sylvan screen which concealed their origin. 
 
 It was Fair-day : booths, stalls, and all the rude paraphernalia 
 of an assembly that then met as much for the purposes of traffic as 
 festivity, were scattered irregularly over the turf; pedlars, with 
 their packs, horse-coupers, pig-merchants, itinerant vendors of 
 crockery and cutlery, wandered promiscuously among the mingled 
 groups, exposing their several wares and commodities, and soliciting 
 custom. On one side was the gaudy riband, making its mute appeal 
 to rustic gallantry ; on the other, the delicious brandy-ball and 
 alluring lollipop, compounded after the most approved receipt in 
 the " True Gentlewoman's Garland," and "raising the waters" in 
 the mouth of many an expectant urchin. 
 
 Nor were rural sports wanting to those whom pleasure, rather 
 than business, had drawn from their humble homes. Here was 
 the tall and slippery pole, glittering in its grease, and crowned with 
 the ample cheese, that mocked the hopes of the discomfited climber. 
 There the fugitive pippin, swimming in water not of the purest, 
 and bobbing from the expanded lips of the juvenile 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, the eye rested, with undisguised 
 delight, upon the grimaces of grinning candidates for the honours
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 85 
 
 of the horse-collar. All was fun, frolic, courtship, junketing, 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 Maurice-dancers yet were 
 there, and jingled their bells merrily among stalls well stored with 
 gingerbread, tops, whips, whistles, and all those noisy instruments 
 of domestic torture in 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 intimate the 
 presence of something more than usually amusing. The platform 
 was divided into two unequal portions ; the smaller of which, sur- 
 rounded by curtains of a coarse canvass, veiled from the eyes of the 
 profane the penetralia of this moveable temple of Esculapius, for 
 such it was. Within its interior, and secure from vulgar curiosity, 
 the Quack-salver had hitherto kept himself ensconced ; occupied, no 
 doubt, in the preparation and arrangement of that wonderful panacea 
 which was hereafter to shed the blessings of health among the 
 admiring crowd. Meanwhile his attendant Jack-pudding was busily 
 employed on the proscenium, doing his best to attract attention by a 
 practical facetiousness which took wonderfully with the spectators, 
 interspersing it with the melodious notes of a huge cow's horn. The 
 fellow^ costume varied but little in character from that in which the 
 late (alas ! that we should have to write the word late !) Mr. Joseph 
 (Irinialdi was accustomed to present himself before "a generous and 
 enlightened public : " the principal difference consisted in this, that 
 the upper garment was a long white tunic of a coarse linen, sur- 
 mounted by a caricature of the ruff then fast falling into disuse, and 
 was secured from the throat downwards by a single row of broad 
 white metal buttons ; and his legs were cased in loose wide trousers 
 of the same material ; while his sleeves, prolonged to a most dis- 
 proportionate extent, descended far below the fingers, and acted as 
 flappers in the somersets and caracoles, with which lie diversified 
 and enlivened his antics. Consummate impudence, not altogether 
 unmixed with a certain sly humour, sparkled in his eye through the 
 chalk and ochre with which his features were plentifully bedaubed ; 
 and especially displayed itself in a succession of jokes, the coarseness
 
 80 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 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 accident 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 sovereign 
 virtue, by combining sundry mosses, gathered many thousand 
 fathoms below the surface of the sea, with certain unknown drugs 
 found in an undiscovered island, and boiling the whole in the lava 
 of Vesuvius, he had succeeded in producing his celebrated balsam of 
 Crackapauoko, 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 ; 
 Hint 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 Aldrovando, first physician to Prester John, Leech to the 
 Grand Llama, and Hakim in Ordinary to Mustapha Muley Bey ! " 
 
 " Hath your master ever a charm for the toothache, an't please 
 you ? " asked an elderly countryman, whose swollen cheek bespoke 
 his interest in the question. 
 
 "A charm! a thousand, and every one of them infallible. 
 Toothache, quotha ! I had hoped you had come with every bone in 
 your body fractured or out of joint. A toothache ! propound a 
 tester, master o' mine we ask not more for such trifles : do my 
 bidding, and thy jaws, even with the word, shall cease to trouble 
 thee ! " 
 
 The clown, fumbling a while in a deep leathern 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 Aldrovando on such 
 slight occasion were pity of my life : areed my counsel aright, and I
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 87 
 
 will warrant tliee for the nonce. Hie tlicc home, friend ; infuse 
 this powder in cold spring-water, fill thy mouth with the mixture, 
 and sit upon thy lire 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 feel- 
 ings of the mob enlisted on his side, waxed more impudent every 
 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 supernatural ! 
 Hath any man a termagant wife ? here is that will tame her pre- 
 sently ! Hath any one a smoky chimney 1 here is an incontinent 
 cure ! " 
 
 To the first infliction no man ventured to plead guilty, though 
 there were those standing by who thought their neighbours might 
 have profited withal. For the last-named recipe started forth at 
 least a dozen candidates. With the greatest gravity imaginable, 
 Pierrot, having pocketed their groats, delivered to each a small 
 packet curiously folded and closely sealed, containing, as he averred, 
 directions which, if truly observed, would preclude any chimney 
 from smoking for a whole year. They whose curiosity led them to 
 dive into the mystery, found that a sprig of mountain ash culled by 
 moonlight was 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 just as its noisy occupant, having laid aside his 
 formidable horn, was drawing still more largely on the amazement 
 of " the public " by a feat of especial wonder, he was eating fire ! 
 Curiosity mingled with astonishment was at its height ; and feelings 
 not unallied to alarm were beginning to manifest themselves, among 
 the softer sex especially, as they gazed on the (lames 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 h-ss a personage than the Dcus ex machind, the 
 illustrious Aldrovando himself.
 
 88 MBS. BOTHEEBY'S STORY. 
 
 Short in stature and spare in form, the sage had somewhat 
 increased the former by a steeple-crowned hat adorned with ;i cock's 
 feather ; while the thick shoulder-padding of a quilted doublet, sur- 
 mounted by a falling baud, added a little to his personal importance 
 in point of breadth. His 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 his 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 
 agreeable alternation of red and black appears to be the mixture of 
 colours most approved at the court of Beelzebub, and the one most 
 generally adopted by his friends and favourites. His features were 
 sharp and shrewd, and a fire sparkled in his keen grey eye, much at 
 variance with the wrinkles that ran their irregular furrows above 
 his prominent and bushy brows. He had advanced slowly from 
 behind the screen while the attention of the multitude was absorbed 
 by the pyrotechnics of Mr. Merryman, and, stationing himself at the 
 extreme corner of the stage, stood quietly leaning on a crutch-handle 
 walking-staff of blackest ebony, his glance steadily fixed on the face 
 of Marsh, from whose countenance the amusement he had insensibly 
 begun to derive had not succeeded in removing all traces of bodily pain. 
 
 For a while the latter was unobservant of the 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 unobstructed 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 Avhose face, 
 despite the red heels, his own was about upon a level. 
 
 " And what makes Master Marsh here ? what sees he in the 
 mummeries of a miserable buffoon to divert him when his life is in 
 jeopardy ? " said a shrill cracked 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 ; 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."
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 89 
 
 " Why truly the trick of thy countenance reminds me of somewhat 
 I have seen before ; where or when I know not : but what wouldst 
 thou with me ? " 
 
 " Nay, rather what wouldst thou here, Thomas Marsh ? What 
 wouldst thou on the Frith of Aldington ? is it a score or two of 
 paltry sheep ? or is it something nearer to thy heart ? " 
 
 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 1 What knowest 
 thou" 
 
 " This know I, Master Thomas Marsh," said the stranger gravely, 
 " that thy life is even now perilled, evil practices are against thee ; 
 but no matter, thou art quit for the nonce other hands than mine 
 have saved thee ! Thy pains are over. Hark ! the clock strikes 
 One!" As he spoke a single toll from the bell-tower of 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 now dis- 
 gorging to the admiring crowd yard after yard of gaudy-coloured 
 riband. 
 
 " Stay ! Nay, prithee stay ! " cried Marsh eagerly, " I was wrong ; 
 in faith I was. A change, and that a sudden and most marvellous, 
 hath indeed come over me ; I am free ; I breathe again ; I feel as 
 though a load of years had been removed ; and is it possible ? 
 hast thou done this ? " 
 
 " Thomas Marsh ! " said the doctor, pausing, and turning for the 
 moment on his heel, " I have not : I repeat that other arid more 
 innocent hands than mine have done this deed. Nevertheless, heed 
 my counsel well ! Thou art parlously encompassed ; I, and I only, 
 have the means of relieving thee. Follow thy courses ; pursue thy 
 journey ; but as thou vainest 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 abruptly to the opposite quarter of the scaffolding, and 
 was in an instant deeply engaged in listening to those whom the
 
 90 MBS. BOTIIERBY'S STORY. 
 
 cow's horn had attracted, and in prescribing for their real or fancied 
 ailments. Vain were all Marsh's efforts again to attract his notice ; 
 it was evident that he studiously avoided him ; and when, after an 
 hour or more spent in useless endeavour, he saw the object of his 
 anxiety seclude himself once more within his canvass screen, he rode 
 slowly and thoughtfully off the field. 
 
 What should he do ? Was the man a mere quack 1 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- 
 operation in his recovery ; but he knew, or he at least announced it. 
 Nay, more, he had hinted that he was yet in jeopardy ; that practices 
 and the chord sounded strangely in unison with one that had 
 before vibrated within him that practices were in operation against 
 his life ! It was enough ! He would keep 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 Bonaparte, 
 and prevent his gaining a settlement in the county of Kent, among 
 other ingenious devices adopted for that purpose, he caused to be 
 constructed what was then, and has ever since been convention- 
 ally termed a " Military Canal." This is a not very practicable 
 ditch, some thirty feet wide, and nearly nine feet deep in the 
 middle, extending from the town and port of Hithe to within a 
 mile of the town and port of Rye, a distance of about twenty miles, 
 and forming, as it were, the cord of a bow, the arc of which constitutes 
 that remote fifth quarter of the globe spoken of by travellers. Trivial 
 objections to the plan were made at the time by cavillers ; and an 
 old gentleman of the neighbourhood, who proposed as a cheap sub- 
 stitute, to put down his own cocked-hat upon a pole, was deservedly 
 pooh-pooh'd down ; in fact, the job, though rather an expensive one, 
 was found to answer remarkably well. The French managed 
 indeed to scramble over the Rhine and the Rhone, and other in- 
 significant 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 underwood, above which is seen a bare 
 and brown summit rising like an Alp in miniature. The "defence
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 91 
 
 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 unvisited. A rude hostel in the neighbour- 
 hood furnished entertainment for man and horse. ; and here, a full 
 hour before the rising of the moon, he left Ralph and the other 
 beasts, proceeding to his rendezvous on foot and alone. 
 
 "You are punctual, Master Marsh," squeaked 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 1 " 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 me, and that silently and quickly." The little man turned 
 as he spoke, and led the way through a scarcely perceptible path or 
 track, which wound among the underwood. The lapse of a few 
 minutes brought them to the door of a low building, so hidden by 
 the surrounding trees that few would have suspected its existence. 
 It was a cottage of rather extraordinary dimensions, but consisting 
 of only one floor. No smoke rose from its solitary chimney ; no 
 cheering ray streamed from its single window, which was, however, 
 secured by a shutter of such thickness as to preclude the possibility 
 of any stray beam issuing from within. The exact size of the build- 
 ing it was, in that uncertain light, difficult to distinguish, a portion 
 of it seeming buried in the wood behind. The door gave way on 
 the application of a key, and Marsh followed his conductor resolutely 
 but cautiously along a narrow passage, feebly lighted by a small 
 taper that winked and twinkled at its farther extremity. The 
 Doctor, as he approached, raised it from the ground, and, opening 
 an adjoining door, ushered his guest into the room beyond. 
 
 It was a large and oddly furnished apartment, insufficiently lighted 
 by an iron lamp that hung from the roof, and scarcely illuminated 
 the walls and angles, which seemed to be composed of some dark- 
 coloured wood. On one side, however, Master Marsh could discover 
 an article bearing strong resemblance to a coffin ; on the other was ;i
 
 92 MBS. BOTHERBTS STORY. 
 
 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 intervals with an alternation of skulls and cross bones. 
 In the very 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 moveables ; 
 with the exception of a couple of tapers which stood on each side of 
 the mirror, and which the strange gentleman now proceeded to light 
 from the one in his hand. As they flared up with what Marsh 
 thought a most unnatural brilliancy, he perceived reflected in the 
 glass behind a dial suspended over the coffin-like article already 
 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 ! 
 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 water. A cold bath, at 
 such an hour and under such auspices, was anything but inviting : 
 he hesitated, and turned his eyes alternately on the Doctor and the 
 Black Cat. 
 
 " Trifle not the time, man, an you be wise," said the former : 
 " Passion of my heart ! let but yon minute-hand reach the hour, 
 and thou not immersed, thy life were not worth a pin's fee ! " 
 
 The Black Cat gave vent to a single Mew, a most unnatural 
 sound for a mouser, it seemed as it were mewed through a cow's 
 horn. 
 
 " Quick, Master Marsh ! uncase, or you perish ! " repeated his 
 strange host, throwing as he spoke a handful of some dingy -looking 
 powders into the brazier. " Behold the attack is begun !" A thick 
 cloud rose from the embers ; a cold shivering shook the astonished 
 Veoman ; sharp pricking pains penetrated his ankles and the palms 
 of his hands, and, as the smoke cleared away, he distinctly saw and 
 recognised in the mirror the boudoir of Marston Hall. 
 
 The doors of the well-known ebony cabinet were closed ; but fixed 
 against them, and standing out in strong relief from the contrast 
 afforded by the sable background, was a waxen image of himself ! 
 It appeared to be secured, and sustained in an upright posture, by 
 large black pins driven through the feet and palms, the latter of
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 93 
 
 which were extended in a cruciform position. To the right and left 
 stood his wife and Jose ; in the middle, with his back towards him, 
 was a figure which he had no difficulty in recognising as that of the 
 Leech of Folkestone. The latter had just succeeded in fastening the 
 dexter hand of the image, and was noAV in the act of drawing a broad 
 and keen-edged sabre from its sheath. The Black Cat mewed again. 
 " Haste or you die ! " said the Doctor, Marsh looked at the dial ; 
 it 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, galli- 
 gaskins 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 centre of the circle upon 
 the large skull, elevating his legs at an angle of forty-five degrees. 
 In this position he spun round with a velocity to be equalled only 
 by that of a tee-totum, the red roses on his insteps seeming to 
 describe a circle of fire. The best buckskins that ever mounted at 
 Melton had soon yielded to such rotatory friction but he spun on 
 the Cat mewed, bats and obscene birds fluttered over-head ; Erasmus 
 was Been to raise his weapon, the clock struck ! and Marsh, who 
 had "ducked" at the instant, popped up his head again, spitting 
 and sputtering, half-choked with the infernal solution, which had 
 insinuated itself into his mouth, and ears, and nose. All disgust at 
 his nauseous dip, was, however, at once removed, when, casting his 
 eyes on the glass, he saw the consternation of the party whose 
 persons it exhibited. Erasmus had evidently made his blow and 
 failed ; the figure was unmutilated ; the hilt remained in the hand 
 of the striker, while the shivered blade lay in shining fragments on 
 the floor. 
 
 The Conjuror ceased his spinning, and brought himself to an 
 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 are, Thomas Marsh ; so 
 far all goes well, but the danger is not yet over ! " He looked again, 
 and perceived that the shadowy triumvirate were in deep and eager
 
 94 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 consultation ; the fragments of the shattered weapon appeared to 
 undergo a close scrutiny. The result was clearly unsatisfactory ; 
 the lips of the parties moved rapidly, and much gesticulation might 
 be observed, but no sound fell upon the ear. The hand of the dial 
 had nearly reached the quarter : at once the parties separated : and 
 Buckthorne stood again before the figure, his hand armed with a 
 long and sharp-pointed misericorde, a dagger little in use of late, 
 but such as, a century before, often performed the part of a modern 
 oyster-knife, in tickling the osteology of a dismounted cavalier 
 through the shelly defences of his plate armour. Again he raised 
 his arm. "Duck!" roared the Doctor, spinning away upon hi* 
 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!" 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 pore. Black Tom sprang upon the edge of the bath, and 
 stared full in the face of the bather : his sea-green eyes were lambent 
 with unholy fire, but their marvellous obliquity of vision was not 
 to be mistaken ; the very countenance, too ! Could it be 1 the 
 features were feline, but their expression was that of the Jack 
 Pudding ! Was the Mountebank a Cat ? or the Cat a Mounte- 
 bank ? 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 pervade 
 the conspirators ; Dame Isabel was closely inspecting the figure's 
 wounded hand, while Jose was aiding the pharmacopolist to charge 
 a huge petronel with powder and bullets. The load was a heavy 
 one ; but Erasmus seemed determined this time to make sure of his 
 object. Somewhat of trepidation might be observed in his manner
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 95 
 
 ;u- lie rammed down the bally, and his withered cheek appeared to 
 have acquired an increase of paleness ; but amazement rather than 
 fear was the prevailing symptom, and his countenance betrayed no 
 jot of irresolution. As the clock was about to chime half- past nine, 
 he planted himself with a firm foot in front of the image, waved his 
 unoccupied hand with a cautionary gesture to his companions, and, 
 as they hastily retired on either side, brought the muzzle of his 
 weapon within half a foot of his mark. As the shadowy form was 
 about to draw the trigger, Marsh again plunged his head beneath 
 the surface ; and the sound of an explosion, as of fire-arms, mingled 
 with the rush of water that poured into his ears. His immersion 
 was but momentary, yet did he feel as though half suffocated : he 
 sprang from the bath, and, as his eye fell on the mirror, he saw, or 
 thought he saw, the Leech of Folkestone lying dead on the floor of 
 his wife's boudoir, his head shattered to pieces, and his hand still 
 grasping the stock of a bursten petronel. 
 
 He saw no more ; his head swam ; his senses reeled, the whole 
 room was turning round, and, as he fell to the ground, the last im- 
 pressions to which he was conscious were the chucklings of a hoarse 
 laughter, and the mewings of a Tom Cat ! 
 
 Master Marsh was found the next morning by his bewildered 
 serving-man, stretched before the door of the humble hostel at which 
 he sojourned. His clothes were somewhat torn and much bemired ! 
 and deeply did honest Ralph marvel that one so staid and grave as 
 Master Marsh of Marston should thus have played the roisterer, 
 missing, perchance, a profitable bargain for the drunken orgies of 
 midnight wassail, or the endearments of some rustic light-o'-love. 
 Tenfold was his astonishment increased when, after retracing in 
 silence their journey of the preceding day, the Hall, on their arrival 
 about noon, was found in a state of uttermost confusion. No wife 
 stood there to greet with the smile of bland affection her returning 
 spouse ; no page to hold his stirrup, or receive his gloves, his hat, 
 aud 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 1 , 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 hastily answered, that he 
 bore a missive of moment from his mistress. The lean apprentice 
 of Erasmus Buckthorne declared that the page had summoned his
 
 96 MRS. BOTHERBY'S STORY. 
 
 master, in haste, about six of the clock, and that they had rode forth 
 together, as he verily believed, on their way back to the Hall, where 
 he had supposed Master Buckthorne's services to be suddenly 
 required on some pressing emergency. Since that time he had seen 
 nought of either of them : the grey cob, however, had returned late 
 at night, masterless, with his girths loose, and the saddle turned 
 upside down. 
 
 Nor was Master Erasmus Buckthorne ever seen again. Strict 
 search was made through the neighbourhood, but without success ; 
 and it was at length presumed that he must, for reasons which 
 nobody could divine, have absconded, together with Jose and his 
 faithless mistress. The latter had carried off with her the strong 
 box, divers articles of valuable plate, and jewels of price. Her 
 boudoir appeared to have been completely ransacked ; the cabinet 
 and drawers stood open and empty ; the very carpet, a luxury then 
 newly introduced into England, was gone. Marsh, however, could 
 trace no vestige of the visionaiy scene which he affirmed to have 
 been last night presented to his eyes. 
 
 Much did the neighbours marvel at his story : some thought him 
 mad ; others, that he was merely indulging in that privilege to 
 which, as a traveller, he had a right indefeasible. Trusty 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 
 had dreamt all that he so circumstantially related. This belief 
 acquired additional credit when they, whom curiosity induced to 
 visit the woody knoll of Aldington Mount, declared that they could 
 tind no building such as that described, nor any cottage near ; save 
 one, indeed, a low-roofed hovel, once a house of public entertain- 
 ment, but now half in ruins. The "Old Cat and Fiddle" .so was 
 the tenement called had been long uninhabited ; yet still exhibited 
 the remains of a broken sign, on which the keen observer might 
 decipher something like a rude portrait of the animal from which it 
 derived its name. It was also supposed still to afford 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 Aldrovando, 
 whom many remembered to have seen at the fair, ever found again 
 on all that country-side. 
 
 Of the runaways nothing was ever certainly known. A boat, the 
 property of an old fisherman who plied his trade on the outskirts of
 
 THE LEECH OF FOLKESTONE. 97 
 
 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 usual 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. 
 
 Thus far Mrs. Botherby. 
 
 It is a little singular that, on pulling down the old Hall in my 
 grandfather's time, a human skeleton was discovered among the 
 rubbish ; under what particular part of the building I could never 
 with any accuracy ascertain ; but it was found enveloped in a 
 tattered cloth, that seemed to have been once a carpet, and which 
 fell to pieces almost immediately on being 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 
 Tappington ; and near it is another, of a young man in the prime 
 of life, whom Mrs. Botherby affirms to be that of her father. It 
 exhibits a mild and rather melancholy countenance, with a high 
 forehead, and the peaked beard and moustaches of the seventeenth 
 century. The signet-finger of the left hand is gone, and appears, on 
 close inspection, to have been painted out by some later artist ; 
 possibly in compliment to the tradition, which, tcste Botherby, records 
 that of Mr. Marsh to have gangrened, and to have undergone 
 amputation at the knuckle-joint. If really the resemblance of the 
 gentleman alluded to, it must have been taken at some period ante- 
 cedent to his marriage. There is neither date nor painter's name ; 
 but, a little above the head, on the dexter side of the picture, is an 
 escutcheon, bearing " Quarterly, Gules and Argent, in the first 
 quarter a horse's head of the second ; " beneath it are the words 
 "JEtatis suce 26." On the opposite side is the following mark, which 
 Mr. Simpkinson declares to be that of a Merchant of the Staple, 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. 
 
 and pretends to discover, in the monogram comprised in it, all 
 the characters which compose the name of THOMAS MARSH, of 
 MARSTON 
 
 Respect for the feelings of an honourable family, nearly connected 
 with the Ingoldsbys, has induced me to veil the real " sponsor ial 
 and patronymic appellations" of my next hero under a sobriquet 
 interfering neither with rhyme nor rhythm. 1 I shall merely add 
 that every incident in the story bears, on the face of it, the stamp 
 
 1 Pack o' nonsense ! Every body as belongs to him is dead and gone and 
 every body knows that the poor young gentleman's real name wasn't Sobriquet 
 at all, but Hampden Pye, Esq., and that one of his uncles or cousins used 
 to make verses about the king and the queen, and had a sack of money for 
 doing it every year ; and that's his picture in the blue coat and little gold- 
 laced cocked hat, that hangs on the stairs over the door of the passage that 
 leads to the blue room. Sobriquet ! but there ! The Squire wrote it after 
 dinner ! ELIZABETH BOTHEHBY.
 
 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. 99 
 
 of veracity, and that many " persons of honour " in the county of 
 Berks, who well recollected Sir George Rooke's expedition against 
 Gibraltar, would, if they were now alive, gladly bear testimony to 
 the truth of every syllable. 
 
 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. 
 
 THE Captain is walking his quarter-deck, 
 With a troubled brow and a bended neck ; 
 One eye is down through the hatchway cast, 
 The other turns up to the truck on the mast ; 
 Yet none of the crew may venture to hint 
 " Our skipper hath gotten a sinister squint ! " 
 
 The Captain again the letter hath read 
 
 Which the bum-boat woman brought out to Spithead 
 
 Still, since the good ship sail'd away, 
 
 He reads that letter 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 flat, 
 
 As his own cockade in his own cock'd hat : 
 
 He reads, and he says, as he walks to and fro, 
 
 " Curse the old woman she bothers me so ! " 
 
 He pauses now, for the topmen hail 
 
 " On the larboard quarter a sail ! a sail ! " 
 
 That grim old Captain he turns him quick, 
 
 And bawls through his trumpet for Hairy-faced Dick. 
 
 " The breeze is blowing huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 The breeze is blowing away ! away ! 
 
 The breeze is blowing a race ! a race ! 
 
 The brec/e is blowing we near the chase ! 
 
 Blood will How, 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 Tighe ! " 
 
 Hairy-faced Dick hath a swarthy hue, 
 Between a gingerbread-nut and a Jew, 
 And his pigtail is long, and bimhy, and thick, 
 Like a pump-handle stuck on the end of a stick.
 
 100 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. 
 
 Hairy-faced Dick understands his trade ; 
 He stands by the breech of a long carronade, 
 The linstock glows in his bony hand, 
 Waiting that grim old Skipper's command. 
 
 " The bullets are flying huzza ! huzza ! 
 
 The bullets are flying away ! away ! "- 
 
 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-face Dick, linstock in hand, 
 
 Is waiting that grim-looking Skipper's command : 
 
 A wink comes sly From that sinister eye 
 Hairy-faced Dick at once lets fly, 
 And knocks oif 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 tlie tablet fair shall be hung on high, 
 Orate pro animd Hamilton Tighe ! " 
 
 Her coacli and four Draws up to the door, 
 With her groom, and her footman, and half a score more ; 
 The lady steps into her coach alone, 
 And they hear her sigh, and they hear her groan ; 
 They close the door, and they turn the pin, 
 But there's One rides with her that never slept in ! 
 All the way there, and all the way back, 
 The harness strains, and the coach-springs crack, 
 The horses snort, and plunge, and kick, 
 Till the coachman thinks he is driving Old Nick ; 
 And the grooms and the footmen wonder, and say 
 "What makes the old coach so heavy to-day '."
 
 HAMILTON TIGHE.
 
 LEGEND OF HAMILTON TIGHE. 103 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 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 trying to peep at his ears ; 
 
 That old Yellow Admiral goes to the Rooms, 
 
 And he plays long whist, but he frets and he fumes, 
 
 For all his Knaves stand upside down, 
 
 And the Jack of Clubs does nothing but frown ; 
 
 And the Kings, and the Aces, and all the best trumps 
 
 Get into the hands of the other old frumps ; 
 
 While, close to his partner, a man he sees 
 
 Counting the tricks with his head on his knees. 
 
 In Ratcliffe Highway there's an old marine store, 
 
 And a great black doll hangs out of the door ; 
 
 There are rusty locks, and dusty bags, 
 
 And musty phials, and fusty rags, 
 
 And a lusty old woman, call'd Thirsty Nan, 
 
 And her crusty old husband's a Hairy-faced man ! 
 
 That Hairy-faced man is f&llow and wan, 
 And his great thick pigtail is wither'd and gone ; 
 And he cries, " Take away that lubberly chap 
 That sits there and grins with his head in his lap ! " 
 And the neighbours say, as they see him look sick, 
 " What a rum old covey is Hairy-faced Dick ! " 
 
 That Admiral, Lady, and Hairy-faced man 
 
 May say what they please, and may do what they can ; 
 
 But one thing seems remarkably clear, 
 
 They may die to-morrow, or live till next year, 
 
 But wherever they live, or whenever they die, 
 
 They'll never get quit of young Hamilton Tighe !
 
 104 THE WITCHES' FROLIC. 
 
 The When, the Where, and the How, of the succeeding 
 narrative speak for themselves. It may be proper, however, to 
 observe, that the ruins here alluded to, and improperly termed " the 
 Abbey," are not those of Bolsover, described in a preceding page, 
 but the remains of a Preceptory once belonging to the Knights Tem- 
 plars, situate near Swynfield, Swinkefield, 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 Tappington. 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. 
 Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa loquitur.] 
 
 COME hither, come hither, my little boy Ned ! 
 
 Come hither unto my knee 
 I cannot away with that horrible din, 
 That sixpenny drum, and that trumpet of tin. 
 Oh, better to wander frank and free 
 Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy, 
 Than list to such awful minstrelsie. 
 Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by, 
 And I'll rede ye a lay of Grammarye. " 
 
 [Grandpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, proceedeth 
 slowly to the window, and apostrophiseth the Abbey in the distance.] 
 
 I love thy tower, Grey Ruin, 
 I joy thy form to see, 
 
 Though reft of all, Cell, cloister, and hall, 
 Nothing is left save a tottering wall 
 That, awfully grand and darkly dull, 
 Threaten'd to fall and demolish my skull, 
 As, ages ago, I wander'd along 
 Careless thy grass-grown courts among, 
 In sky-blue jacket, and trowsers laced, 
 The latter uncommonly short in the waist.
 
 THE WITCHED FROLIC. 105 
 
 Thou art dearer to me, tliou 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 oft', 
 
 With the green Venetian blinds. 
 
 Full many a tale would my Grandam tell, 
 
 In many a bygone day, 
 Of darksome deeds, which of old befell 
 
 In thee, thou Ruin grey ! 
 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 clays, 
 
 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 swore 
 That the days were as golden still as before. 
 
 ?ome 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 ; 
 lint who can believe to a monarch so wise 
 People would dare tell a parcel of lies ! 
 
 Well, then, in good King James's days, 
 ( iolden or not does not matter a jot, 
 Yon Ruin a sort of a roof had got ; 
 For though, repairs lacking, its walls had been cracking 
 Since Harry the Eighth sent its people a-packing,
 
 106 THE WITCHES FROLIC. 
 
 Though joists, and floors, And windows, and doors 
 Had all disappeared, yet pillars by scores 
 Remain'd, and still propp'd np a ceiling or two, 
 AVhile the belfry was almost as good as new ; 
 You are not to suppose matters look'd just so 
 In the Euin some two hundred years ago. 
 
 Just in that farthermost angle, where 
 
 There are still the remains of a winding-stair, 
 
 One turret especially high in air 
 
 Uprear'd its tall gaunt form ; 
 As if defying the power of Fate, or 
 The hand of " Time the Innovator ; " 
 
 And though to the pitiless storm 
 Its weaker brethren all around 
 Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground, 
 Alone it stood, while its fellows lay 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 say 
 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 down fiery red ; 
 
 And if, that evening, he laid his head 
 
 In Thetis's lap beneath the seas, 
 
 He must have scalded the goddess's knees. 
 
 He left behind him a lurid track 
 
 Of blood-red light upon clouds so black, 
 
 That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of their crew, 
 
 Could scarcely have given them a darker hue. 
 
 There came a shrill and a whistling sound, 
 Above, beneath, beside, and around, 
 
 Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree ! 
 So that some people thought old Beelzebub must 
 Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust 
 From the pipe of his street-door key. 
 And then a hollow moaning blast 
 Came, sounding more dismally still than the last, 
 And the lightning flash'd, and the thunder growl'd, 
 And louder and louder the tempest howl'd,
 
 THE WITCHES FROLIC. 107 
 
 And the rain came down in such sheets as would stagger a 
 Bard for a simile short of Niagara. 
 
 Rob Gilpin " was a citizen ; " 
 
 But, though of some "renown/'' 
 Of no great " credit " in his own, 
 
 Or any other town. 
 
 He was a wild and roving lad, 
 
 For ever in the alehouse boozing ; 
 Or romping, which is quite as bad, 
 
 With female friends of his own choosing. 
 
 And Rob this very day had made, 
 
 Not dreaming such a storm was brewing, 
 
 An assignation with Miss Slade, 
 
 Their tryst ing- place that same grey Ruin. 
 
 But Gertrude Slade become 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 11 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 town. 
 
 The storm came at last, loud roar'd the blast, 
 And the shades of evening fell thick and fast ; 
 The tempest grew ; and the straggling yew, 
 His leafy umbrella, was wet through and through ; 
 Rob was half dead with cold and with fright, 
 When he spies in the Ruins a twinkling light 
 A hop, two skips, and a jump, and straight 
 l!ul> stands within that postern gate. 
 
 And there were gossips sitting there, 
 By one, by two, by three :
 
 108 THE PITCHES' FROLIC. 
 
 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 room, 
 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 cat ; 
 Each had a kirtle of Lincoln green- 
 It was, I trow, a fearsome scene. 
 
 " Now riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray, 
 What foot unhallow'd wends this way ? 
 Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me aright, 
 Who roams the old Ruins this drearysome night?" 
 
 Then up and spake that sonsie quean, 
 
 And she spake both loud and clear : 
 " Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe, 
 Enter friend, or enter foe, 
 
 Rob Gilpin is welcome here ! 
 
 " 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 Bob, tread a measure with me !" 
 " Ay, lassie ! " quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes, 
 " Though Satan himself were blowing the pipes ! " 
 
 Now around they go, and around, and around, 
 
 With hop-skip-and-jump, and frolicsome bound, 
 
 Such sailing and 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,
 
 THE WITCHES FROLIC'. 109 
 
 Prance ana caper, curvet and wheel, 
 
 Toe to toe, and heel to heel. 
 
 " '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, I pray, 
 
 Where's the best wassail bowl to our roundelay 'I " 
 
 " There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall, 
 But the Squire x is a churl, and his drink is small ; 
 
 Mine host of the Dragon Hath many a flaggon 
 Of double ale, lamb's wool, and eau de vie, 
 
 But Sir Thopas, the Vicar, Hath costlier liquor, 
 A butt of the choicest Malvoisic. 
 
 He doth not lack Canary or sack ; 
 And a good pint stoup of Clary wine 
 Smacks merrily oft' with a Turkey and Chine ! " 
 
 " Now away ! and away ! without delay, 
 Hey Cockalorum.' my Broomstick gay ! 
 We must be back ere the dawn of the day : 
 Hey up the chimney ! away ! away ! "- 
 
 Old Goody Price Mounts in a trice, 
 In showing her legs she is not over nice ; 
 
 Old Goody Jones, All skin and bono, 
 Follows " like winking." Away go the crone.-, 
 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? "- 
 
 1 Stephen Ingoldsby, surnamed "The Niggard, "second cousin and successor 
 to "The Bad Sir (lilcs." (Visitation of Kent, 166(5.) For an account of his 
 murder l>y burglars, ami their subsequent execution, see Dodsley's " Remark- 
 able Trials," &c. Loud. 17/6, vol. ii. p. 264, ex the present volume, Art, 
 " Hand of Glory."
 
 110 THE WITOHE8 FROLIC. 
 
 Oh, never might man unscath'd espy 
 
 One single glance from that coal-black eye. 
 
 Away she flew ! Without more ado 
 Rob seizes and mounts on a broomstick too, 
 " Hey ! up the chimney, lass ! 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, 
 Rashly protruding 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 Monk Mason, and Spencer, and Beazly, 
 All join in saying it travels so easily. 
 
 No ; there's nothing so good As a pony of wood 
 Not like that 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 great big dog runs 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-legs he drops his tail, 
 Crouch'd on the ground, the terrified hound 
 Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound ;
 
 THE WITCHES FROLIC. Ill 
 
 It is not a bark, loud, open, and free, 
 As an lionest old watch-dog's bark should be ; 
 It is not a yelp, it is not a growl, 
 But a something between a whine and a howl ; 
 And, hark ! a sound from the window high 
 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 nose 
 Produces in healthy and sound repose. 
 Yet Sir Tliopas 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 wai.-t. 
 
 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 bones, 
 She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones. 
 Goody Jones, in sooth, hath got never a tooth, 
 And a New-College pudding of marrow and plums 
 Is the dish of all others that suiUlli her inuns.
 
 112 THE WITCHES' FROLIC. 
 
 Madge Gray was picking The breast of a chicken, 
 Her coal-black eye, with its glance so sly, 
 Was fixed on Rob Qilpin himself, sitting by 
 With his heart full of love, and his mouth full of pie ; 
 
 Grouse pie, with hare In the middle, is fare 
 Which, duly concocted with science and care, 
 Doctor Kitchener says, is beyond all compare ; 
 
 And a tenderer leveret Robin 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, Roving Rob ! and again to me ! 
 
 Many a sip, never a slip 
 
 Come to us four 'twixt the cup and the lip ! " 
 
 The cups pass quick, The toasts fly thick, 
 Rob tries in vain out their meaning to pick, 
 But hears the words " Scratch," and " Old Bogey," and " Nick. 
 
 More familiar grown, Now he stands up alone, 
 Volunteering to give them a toast of his own. 
 
 " A bumper of wine ! 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 pleasing ! 
 Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray, 
 All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way. 
 
 But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke 
 Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke, 
 As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke, 
 Every soul in the house at that instant awoke ! 
 And, hearing the din from barrel and binn, 
 Drew at once the conclusion that thieves had got in. 
 Up jump'd the Cook and caught hold of her spit ; 
 Up jump'd the Groom and took bridle and bit ; 
 Up jump'd the Gardener and shoulder'd his spade ; 
 Up jump'd the Scullion, the Footman, the Maid ; 
 (The two last, by the way, occasioned some scandal, 
 By appearing together with only one candle, 
 Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle ;) 
 Up jump'd the Swineherd, and up jump'd the big boy, 
 A nondescript under him, acting as Pig-boy ; 
 Butler, Housekeeper, Coachman from bottom to top 
 Everybody jump'd up without parley or stop,
 
 GRANDPAPA'S STORY ; OH, THE WITCHES' FROLIC.
 
 THE WITCHES FROLIC. 115 
 
 With the weapon which first in their way chanced to drop, 
 Whip, warming-pan, wig-block, mug, musket, and mop. 
 
 Last of all doth appear, With some symptoms of fear, 
 Sir Thopas in person to bring up the rear, 
 In a mix'd kind of costume half Pontificalilus, 
 Half what scholars denominate Pure Natnralihus ; 
 
 Nay, 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 Vicarage-hall, 
 With upstanding locks, starting eyes, shorten'd breath, 
 Like the folks in the Gallery Scene in Macbeth, 
 When Macduff is announcing their Sovereign's death. 
 And hark ! what accents clear and strong, 
 To the listening throng came floating along ! 
 'Tis Robin encoring himself in a song 
 
 " Very good song ! very well sung ! 
 
 Jolly companions every one ! " 
 
 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 ! "- 
 
 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, " llutter'd like doves " by Macready. 
 
 They are gone, save one, Robin alone ! 
 Robin, whose high state of civilisation 
 Precludes all idea of aerostation, 
 
 And who now has no notion Of more locomotion 
 Than suffices to kick, with much zeal and devotion, 
 Right and left at the party, who pounced on their victim, 
 And maul'd him, and kick'd him, and lick'd him, and prick'd 
 
 him,
 
 116 THE WITCHES' FROLIC. 
 
 As they bore him away scarce aware what was done, 
 And believing it all but a part of the fun, 
 Hie hiccoughing out the same strain he'd begun, 
 " Jol jolly companions every one ! " 
 
 Morning 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 Fleta, 
 And Bracton, a tome of an old-fashion'd look, 
 And Coke upon Lyttleton, then a new book ; 
 
 And he moistens his lips With occasional sips 
 From a luscious sack-posset that smiles in a tankard 
 Close by on a side-table not that he drank hard, 
 
 But because at that day, I hardly need say, 
 The Hong Merchants had not yet invented How Qua, 
 Nor as yet would you see Souchong or Bohea 
 At the tables of persons of any degree : 
 How our ancestors managed to do without tea 
 I must fairly confess is a mystery to me ; 
 
 Yet your Lydgates and Chaucers Had no cups and saucers ; 
 Their breakfast, in fact, and the best they could get, 
 Was a sort of a dejeuner a la fourchctte ; 
 
 Instead of our slops They had cutlets and chops, 
 And sack-possets, and ale in stoups, tankards, and pots ; 
 And the}'' 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 understand, 
 To bring in the culprit ; and straightway the carter 
 And huntsman drag in that unfortunate martyr, 
 Still kicking, and crying, "Come, what are you arter?" 
 The charge is prepared, and the evidence clear, 
 " He was caught in the cellar a-drinking the beer ! 
 And came there, there's very great reason to fear, 
 With companions, to say but the least of them, queer ; 
 Such as Witches, and creatures With horrible features, 
 And horrible grins, And hook'd noses and chins, 
 Who'd been playing the deuce with his Reverence's binns." 
 
 The face of his worship grows graver and graver, 
 As the parties detail Robin's shameful behaviour ;
 
 THE WITCHES FROLIC. 117 
 
 Mister Buzzard, the clerk, while the tale is reciting, 
 Sits down to reduce the affair 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 throttles, 
 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 Rob 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 corpus delicti, 
 
 Ere his fingers can clasp, It is match'd from his grasp, 
 The end poked in his chest with a force makes him gasp, 
 And, despite the decorum so due to the Quorum, 
 His worship's upset, and so too is his jorum 
 And Madge is astride on the broomstick before 'em. 
 " I/uriix 1'ocusf Quick, Presto ! and Hey Cockalorum ! 
 Mount, mount for your life, Rob ! Sir Justice, adieu ! 
 Hey up the chimney-pot ! hey after you ! " 
 
 Through the mystified group, 
 
 With a halloo and a whoop, 
 Madge on the pommel, ami Robin en croupe, 
 The pair through the air ride as if in a chair, 
 While the party below stand mouth open and stare ! 
 "Clean humbaized" and amazed, and fix'd, all the room stick, 
 "Oh! what's gone.with llobin, and Madge, andthcbroomst i<-k r 
 As, " what's gone " indeed, Ned? of what befell 
 Madge (!ray, and the broomstick, I never heard tell : 
 But Robin was found, that morn, on the ground, 
 In yon old grey Ruin again, safe and sound.
 
 118 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE Of' 
 
 Except that at first lie complained much of thirst, 
 And a shocking bad headache, of all ills the worst, 
 And close by his knee A ilask you might see, 
 But an empty one, smelling of eau-de-vie. 
 
 Rob from this hour is an alter'd man ; 
 
 He runs home to his lodgings as fast as he can, 
 
 Sticks to his trade, Marries Miss Slade, 
 Becomes a Te-totaller that is the same 
 As Te-totallers now, one in all but the name ; 
 Grows fond of Small-beer, which is always a steady sign, 
 Never drinks spirits except as a medicine ; 
 
 Learns to despise Coal-black eyes, 
 Minds pretty girls no more than so many Guys ; 
 Has a family, lives to be sixty, and dies ! 
 
 Now, my little boy Ned, Brush off to your bed, 
 Tie your night-cap on safe, or a napkin instead, 
 Or these terrible nights you'll catch cold in your head ; 
 And remember my tale, and the moral it teaches, 
 Which you'll find much the same as what Solomon 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, slum 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, banquettings, brandy, and witches ! 
 Above all ! don't run after black eyes ! if you do, 
 Depend on't you'll find what I say will come true, 
 Old Nick, some fine morning, will " hey after you ! " 
 
 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 may make upon the Reader, that pro- 
 duced by them on the narrator, I can aver, was neither light nor 
 transient. 
 
 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE 
 HENRY HARRIS, DOCTOR IN DIVINITY. 
 
 AS RELATED BY THE EEV. JASPER INGOLDSBY, M.A., HIS FRIEND 
 AND EXECUTOR. 
 
 IN order that the extraordinary circumstance which I am about to 
 relate, may meet with the credit it deserves, I think it necessary
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 119 
 
 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 un impeached 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 that moment, afford him a ready 
 solution of its difficulties. 
 
 On the truth of this narrative, as far as he was personally con- 
 cerned, no one who knew him would hesitate to place the most 
 implicit reliance. His history is briefly this : He had married 
 early in life, and was a widower at the age of thirty-nine, with an 
 only daughter, who had then arrived at puberty, and was just 
 married to a near connexion 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 sunk under the blow, and expired, leaving a boy, 
 not a twelvemonth old, to the care of his maternal grandfather. 
 
 My poor friend was sadly shaken by this melancholy castastrophe ; 
 time, however, and a strong religious feeling, succeeded at length in 
 moderating the poignancy of his grief a consummation much 
 advanced by his infant charge, who now succeeded, as it were by 
 inheritance, to the place in his affections left vacant by his danghter's 
 
 decease. Frederick S grew up to be a fine lad ; his person and 
 
 features were decidedly handsome ; still there was, as I remember, 
 an unpleasant expression in his countenance, and an air of reserve, 
 attributed, by the few persons who called occasionally at the vicarage, 
 to the retired life led by his grandfather, and the little opportunity 
 he had, in consequence, of mixing in the society of his equals in age 
 and intellect. Brought up entirely at home, his progress in the 
 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 amuse- 
 ments 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 profession, and a good operative 
 chemist, had constructed for himself a small laboratory, in which, as
 
 120 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 lie was fond of children, the two boys spent a great portion of their 
 leisure time, witnessing many of those little experiments so attractive 
 to youth, and in time aspiring to imitate what they admiral. 
 
 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 witli 
 his favourite pursuit, as that of medicine, should be eagerly selected. 
 No opposition was offered by my friend, who, knowing that the 
 greater part of his own income would expire with his life, and that 
 the remainder would prove an insufficient resource to his grandchild, 
 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 Leyden, 
 
 for the purpose of making himself acquainted 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 
 
 pleasant nature reached the ears of some of his friends ; to the 
 vicarage, however, I have reason to believe they never penetrated. 
 The good old Doctor was too well beloved in his parish for any one 
 voluntarily to give him pain ; and, after all, nothing beyond 
 
 whispers 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 perseverance than he had 
 ever been known to exert in opposition to any declared wish of his 
 darling boy before, but, as usual, gave way, when more strongly 
 pressed, from sheer inability to persist in a refusal which seemed to 
 give so much pain to Frederick, especially when the latter, with
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 121 
 
 more energy than was quite becoming their relative situations, 
 expressed his positive determination of not returning to Oxford, 
 whatever might be the result of his grandfather's decision. My 
 friend, his mind, perhaps, a little weakened by a short but severe 
 nervous attack which he had scarcely recovered from, at length 
 yielded a reluctant consent, and Frederick quitted England. 
 
 It was not till some months had elapsed after his departure, that 
 I had reason to suspect, that the eager desire of availing himself of 
 opportunities for study abroad, not 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 university, 
 and a conversation with a senior fellow belonging to his late college, 
 convinced me of this ; still I found it impossible to extract from the 
 latter the 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, had in fact been conveyed 
 to him from an authority which it was impossible to resist. Seeing 
 that my informant was determined not to be explicit, I did not 
 press for a disclosure, which, if made, would, in all probability, 
 only have given me pain, and that the rather, as my old friend the 
 
 Doctor had recently obtained a valuable living from Lord M , 
 
 only a few miles distant from the market town in which I resided, 
 where he now was, amusing himself in putting his grounds into 
 order, ornamenting his house, and getting everything ready against 
 his grandson's expected visit in the following autumn. October 
 came, and with it came Frederick : he rode over more than once to 
 see me, sometimes accompanied by the Doctor, between wliom uii'i 
 myself the recent loss of my poor daughter Louisa had drawn the 
 cords of sympathy still closer. 
 
 More than two years hud 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
 
 122 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 afterwards 
 found, been brought over from his own house to my venerable 
 substitute in the interval, and barely giving himself time to transfer 
 the charge he had undertaken to a neighbouring clergyman, he had 
 hurried off at once to Leyden. His arrival there was, however, too 
 late. Frederick teas dead ! killed in a duel, occasioned, it was 
 said, by no ordinary provocation on his part, although the flight of 
 his antagonist had added to the mystery which enveloped its origin. 
 The long journey, its melancholy 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 bed-side, to have received some sudden and 
 unaccountable shock, which even the death of his grandson was 
 inadequate to explain. There was, indeed, a Avildness in his fast- 
 glazing eye, which mingled strangely with the glance of satisfaction 
 thrown upon me as he pressed my hand ; he endeavoured to raise 
 himself, and would have 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 parental 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 15, 18 , about three weeks after my own departure 
 from 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
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 123 
 
 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 of the fancy. Seldom has my interest 
 been more powerfully excited than by poor Mary Graham. Her 
 age, her appearance, her pale, melancholy features, the very contour 
 of her countenance, all conspired to remind me, but too forcibly, ot 
 one who, waking or sleeping, is never long absent from my thoughts ; 
 but enough of this. 
 
 "A fine morning had succeeded one of the most tempestuous 
 nights I ever remember, and I was just sitting down to a substantial 
 breakfast, which the care of my friend Ingoldsby's housekeeper, 
 kind-hearted Mrs. Wilson, had prepared for me, when I was 
 interrupted by a summons to the sick-bed of a young parishioner 
 whom I had frequently seen in my walks, and had remarked for 
 the regularity of her attendance at Divine worship. Mary Graham 
 is the elder of two daughters, residing with their mother, the widow 
 of an attorney, who, dying suddenly in the prime of life, left his 
 family but slenderly provided for. A strict though not parsimonious 
 economy has, however, enabled them to live with an appearance of 
 respectability and comfort ; and from the personal attractions which 
 both the girls possess, their mother is evidently not without hopes 
 of seeing one, at least, of them advantageously settled in life. As 
 far as poor Mary is concerned, I fear she is doomed to inevitable 
 disappointment, as I am much mistaken if consumption has not laid 
 its wasting finger upon her ; while this last recurrence, of what I 
 cannot but believe to be a most formidable epileptic attack, threatens 
 to shake out, with even added velocity, the little sand that may yet 
 remain within the hour-glass of time. Her very delusion, too, is of 
 such a nature as, by adding to bodily illness the agitation of super- 
 stitious 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
 
 124 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 
 calculations, and, to use her own expression, that 'malice was at the 
 bottom of it.' 
 
 "Naturally supposing that these insinuations were intended to 
 intimate the partaking of some deleterious substance on the part of 
 the invalid, I inquired what reason she had for imagining, in the 
 first place, that anything of a poisonous nature had been administered 
 at all ; and, secondly, what possible incitement 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 she had undergone while in that state ; ' and that she was 
 determined 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 her mind by assurances of a 
 proper inquiry, and then drew her attention to the symptoms of 
 the indisposition, and the way in which it had first made its 
 appearance. 
 
 " The violence of the storm last night had, I found, induced the 
 whole family to sit lip far beyond their usual hour, till, wearied out 
 at length, and, as their mother observed, ' tired of burning fire and 
 candle to no purpose,' they repaired to their several chambers. 
 
 " The sisters occupied the same room ; Elizabeth was already at 
 their humble toilet, and had commenced the arrangement of her 
 hair for the night, when her attention was at once drawn from her 
 employment by a half-smothered shriek and exclamation from her 
 sister, who, in her delicate state of health, had found walking up 
 two flights of stairs, perhaps a little more quickly than usual, an
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 125 
 
 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 in a piercing 
 tone, 'Hark 1 they are calling me again ! it is it is the same voice ; 
 Oh no ! no ! Oh my God ! save me, Betsy, hold me save me ! ' 
 she fell forward upon the floor. Elizabeth flew to her assistance, 
 raised her, and by her cries brought both her mother, who had not 
 yet got into bed, and their only servant girl to her aid. The latter 
 was despatched at once for medical help ; but from the appearance 
 of the 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 
 intermittent 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 appre- 
 hensions ; 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 connections she 
 had in the world, was overwhelmed with a grief 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 bed- 
 chamber in which her sister lay, in order to pay the last sad duties 
 to her corpse, was horror-struck at seeing a crimson stream of blood 
 running down the side of the counterpane to the floor. Her ex- 
 clamation brought the girl again to her side, when it was perceived, 
 to their astonishment, that the sanguine stream proceeded from The 
 arm of the body, which was now manifesting signs of returning life. 
 The half-frantic mother flew to the room, and it was with difficulty 
 that they could prevent her in her agitation from so acting as to
 
 120 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 gaspings, was the prelude to the restoration of the animal 
 functions in poor Mary : a shriek, almost preternaturally loud, con- 
 sidering her state of exhaustion, succeeded ; but she did recover, 
 and with the help of restoratives was well enough towards morning 
 to express a strong desire that I should be sent for, a desire the 
 more readily complied with, inasmuch as the strange expressions 
 and declarations she had made since her restoration to consciousness 
 had filled her sister with the most horrible suspicions. The nature 
 of these suspicions was such as would at any other time, perhaps, 
 have raised a smile upon my lips ; but the distress, and even agony 
 of the poor girl, as she half hinted and half expressed them, 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. 
 Her cheek was wan and sunken, giving an extraordinary prominence 
 to her eye, which gleamed with a lustrous brilliancy not unfrequently 
 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 dis- 
 burdened herself of what she called her 'dreadful secret,' she could 
 know no rest either of mind or body, at length induced me to 
 comply with her wish, opposition to which in her then 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 weakness, 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
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 127 
 
 dream, or what is vulgarly termed the nightmare ; but this repetition, 
 and the circumstances under which I was last summoned, at a time, 
 too, when I had not even composed myself to rest, fatally convince 
 me of the reality of what I have seen and suffered. 
 
 " ' This is no time for concealment of any kind. It is now more 
 than a twelvemonth since 1 was in the habit of occasionally encounter- 
 ing 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 week 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 strange 
 dog attacking us one Sunday morning in our way to church, which 
 he beat off, and made use of this little service to promote an acquaint- 
 ance. His name, he said, was Francis Somers, and added that he 
 was on a visit to a relation of the same name, resident a few miles 
 
 from X . He gave us to understand that he was himself studying 
 
 surgery with the view to a medical appointment in one of the colonies. 
 You are not to suppose, sir, that he had entered thus into his 
 concerns 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, that these particulars were elicited. He never 
 disguised from the first that an 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 appearance of 
 melancholy, and pressed him more strongly. He at length admitted
 
 U8 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN TEE LIVE Ub' 
 
 that his spirits were depressed, and that their depression was caused 
 by the necessity of an early, though but a temporary, separation. 
 His uncle and only friend, he said, had long insisted on his spending 
 some months on the Continent with the view of completing his 
 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 which my tongue refused to utter. ' Yes, 
 dearest Mary,' was his reply, ' I have communicated our attachment 
 to him, partially at least ; and though I dare not say that the 
 intimation was received as I could have wished, yet 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 atten- 
 tion from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my 
 future situation in life must depend. A compromise between love 
 and duty was eventually wrung from me, though reluctantly ; 1 
 have pledged myself to proceed immediately to my destination 
 abroad, with a full understanding that on my return, a twelve- 
 month 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 
 received this communication, nor will it be necessary to say any- 
 thing 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, 
 renewed 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 sjririt, at least, 
 when I am far away.' I gave him my hand, but that was not 
 sufficient. ' One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Mary,' said 
 he, ' as a pledge that you will not forget your vow ! ' I suffered him 
 to take the scissors from my work-box and to sever a lock of my 
 hair, which he placed in his bosom. The next day he was pursuing
 
 THE LATE HEttRY HARRIS, D.D. 129 
 
 his journey, and tlie waves were already bearing him from Eng- 
 land. 
 
 " ' I had letters i'roui him repeatedly during the first three 
 months of his absence ; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of 
 his love, but by degrees the intervals between each arrival became 
 longer, and I fancied I perceived some falling off from that warmth 
 of expression which had at first characterised his communications. 
 
 " ' One night I had retired to rest rather later than usual, having 
 sat by the bed-side, comparing his last brief note with some of his 
 earlier letters, and was endeavouring to convince myself that my 
 apprehensions of his fickleness were unfounded, when an undefinable 
 sensation of restlessness and anxiety seized upon me. I cannot 
 compare it to anything I had ever experienced before ; my pulse 
 nattered, my heart beat with a quickness and violence which 
 alarmed me, and a strange tremour shook my whole frame. I 
 1 1 tiicd hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a 
 sensation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I knew not what 
 occupied my mind, and vainly did I endeavour to shake it off. I 
 can compare my feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes 
 experience 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 my heart increased. Twice I was 
 on the point of calling to my sister, who then slept in an adjoining 
 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 diz/.iness, 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 1 1 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 die moon shining without, in full effulgence, on a 
 
 K.
 
 130 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 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. Bather 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 f^ort of a baton, 
 or short military staff, the summit of which was surmounted by a 
 silver falcon. Several antique chairs, similar in appearance to those 
 alre<idy mentioned, surrounded a massive oaken table, the length of 
 which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of 
 furniture stood the chair I occupied ; on the upper, was placed a 
 small chafing-dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth 
 occasionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the 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 
 effulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement- 
 window to which I have alluded, and with a few shelves loaded with 
 books, many of which were also strewed in disorder on the floor, 
 completed the list of the furniture in the apartment. Some strange- 
 looking instruments, of unknown form and purpose, lay on the 
 table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature 
 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
 
 THE LATE HENRY lIARIilS, D.D. 131 
 
 gown, made of some sad-coloured stuff, and confined at the waist by 
 a crimson girdle ; one of them, the shorter of the two, was occupied 
 in feeding the embers of the chafing-dish with a resinous powder, 
 which produced and maintained a brilliant but flickering blaze, to 
 the action of which his companion was exposing a long lock of dark 
 chestnut hair, that shrank and shrivelled as it approached the flame. 
 But, O God ! that hair ! and the form of him who held it ! that 
 face ! those features ! not for one instant could I entertain a doubt 
 it was He ! Francis ! the lock he grasped was mine, the very 
 ] tledge of affection I had given him, and still, as it partially 
 encountered 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 1 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 
 commensurate with that of the Patriarchs of old, never could its 
 detestable, its damning pollutions be effaced from my remembrance ; 
 and oh ! above all, never could I forget the diabolical glee which 
 sparkled 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 cibominations 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, 
 ft 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 1 had done so, her strongest efforts were.
 
 132 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 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 acquiescence 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. Whether that 
 firm belief might have eventually yielded to time, whether I might 
 at length have been brought to consider all that had passed, and 
 the circumstances which I could never cease to remember, as a mere 
 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 nattering illusion last night last night was the 
 whole horrible scene acted over again. The place the actors the 
 whole infernal apparatus were the same ; the same insults, tin- 
 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 disconcerted, 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 unhesitat- 
 ingly ; again and again was it proposed, with menaces I tremble 
 to think on but I refused ; the same sound was heard interrup- 
 tion 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
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 133 
 
 duties of my Christian calling, never had I been summoned to 
 such a conference before ! 
 
 "To the half -avowed, and palliated, confession of committed 
 guilt, I had often listened, and pointed out the only road to secure 
 its forgiveness. I had succeeded in cheering the spirit of despond- 
 ency, and sometimes even in calming the ravings of despair ; but 
 here I had a different enemy to combat, an ineradicable prejudice 
 to encounter, evidently backed by no common share of superstition, 
 and confirmed by the mental weakness attendant upon severe bodily 
 pain. To argue the sufferer out of an opinion so rooted was a 
 hopeless attempt. I did, however, essay it ; I spoke to her of the 
 strong and mysterious connection maintained between our waking 
 images and those which haunt us in our dreams, and more especially 
 during that morbid oppression commonly called nightmare. I was 
 even enabled to adduce myself as a strong, and living, instance of 
 the excess to which fancy sometimes carries her freaks on these 
 occasions ; while by an odd coincidence, the impression made upon 
 my own mind, which I adduced as an example, bore no slight 
 resemblance to her own. I .stated to her, that on my recovery from 
 the fit of epilepsy, which had attacked me about two years since, 
 just before my grandson Frederick left Oxford, it was with the 
 greatest difficulty I could persuade myself that I had not visited 
 him, during the interval, in his rooms at Bra/.enose, and even 
 
 conversed both with himself and his friend W , seated in his 
 
 arm-chair, and ga/ing through the window full upon the statue of 
 ( 'ain, 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 efforts 
 were all in vain ; she listened to me, indeed, with an interest almost 
 breathless, especially when I informed her of my having actually 
 experienced the very burning sensation in the brain alluded to, no 
 doubt a strong attendant symptom of this peculiar affection, and a 
 proof of the identity of the complaint ; but I could plainly perceive 
 that I failed entirely in shaking the rooted opinion which possessed 
 her, that her spirit had, by some nefarious and unhallowed means, 
 been actually subtracted for a time from its earthly tenement." 
 
 The next extract which I shall give from my old friend's 
 memoranda is dated August 24th, more than a week subsequent to 
 his first visit at Mrs. Graham's. He appears, from his papers, to 
 have visited the poor young woman more than once during the
 
 134 SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 interval, and to have afforded her those spiritual consolations which 
 no one was more capable of communicating. His patient, for so in 
 a religious 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 
 1 apers go on to say, 
 
 "I have just seen poor Mary Graham, I fear for the last time. 
 Nature is evidently quite worn out ; she is aware that she is dying, 
 and looks forward to the 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 the last three days her behaviour has been altered ; she has 
 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 flippances of her medical 
 
 attendant upon the subject, for Mr. I has, somehow or other, 
 
 got an inkling that she has been much agitated by a dream, and 
 thinks to laugh off the impression, in my opinion injudiciously ; 
 but though a skilful, and a kind-hearted, he is a young man, and of 
 a disposition, perhaps, rather 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 
 
 yesterday, 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 
 earnestness, '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 LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 135 
 
 the villain who has destroyed her sister. It is singular that she, a 
 young woman of good plain sense in ordinary matters, should so 
 easily adopt, and so pertinaciously retain a superstition so puerile 
 and ridiculous. This must be matter of a future conversation 
 between 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 justly 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." 
 
 Mary Graham, it appears, died the same night. Before her 
 departure 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 
 unworthy lover had practised upon her by forbidden arts. She once 
 more described the apartment with great minuteness, and even the 
 person of Francis's alleged companion, who was, she said, about the 
 middle height, hard-featured, with a rather remarkable scar upon 
 his left cheek, extending in a transverse direction from below the 
 eye to the nose. Several pages of my reverend friend's manuscript 
 are filled with reflections upon this 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 
 iv.-]><'rting the origin and nature of the illness itself. 
 
 His memoranda on this and other subjects are continued till about 
 the middle of September, when a break ensues, occasioned, no doubt, 
 by the unwelcome news of his grandson's dangerous state, which 
 induced him to set out forthwith for Holland. His arrival at 
 
 Leyden was, as I have already said, too late. Frederick S had 
 
 expired, after thirty hours' intense suflering, from a wound received 
 in 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 bei-n 
 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
 
 13<; SINGULAR PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 as second on the occasion, thus acquitting himself of an obligation of 
 the same kind due to the deceased, Avhose 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 toe 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 wi/re 
 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 sorrow before he retired to his 
 own. Madame Miiller accordingly led the way to an upper room, 
 which, being situated at the top of the house, had been, from its 
 privacy and distance from the street, selected by Frederick as his 
 study. The Doctor entered, and taking the lamp from his conduc- 
 tress motioned to be left alone. His implied wish was of course 
 complied with ; and nearly two hours had elapsed before his kind- 
 hearted hostess reascended, in the hope of prevailing upon him to 
 return with her and partake of that refreshment which lie had 
 in the first instance peremptorily declined. Her application for 
 admission was unnoticed ; she repeated it more than once without 
 success ; then, becoming somewhat alarmed at the continued silence, 
 opened the door and perceived her new inmate stretched on the floor 
 in a fainting fit. Eestoratives 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 
 acquaintance which his hosts had with the English language, the 
 greater part of what fell from him remained unknown, yet enough 
 was understood 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 property 
 of Frederick, and had more than once been seen by the Miillers in 
 his possession. To this the patient made continued reference, and 
 would not suffer it one moment from his sight. It was in his hand 
 when he expired. At my request it was produced to me. The
 
 THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 137 
 
 portrait was that of a young woman in an English morning dress, 
 whose pleasing and regular features, with their mild and somewhat 
 1 tensive expression, were not, I thought, altogether unknown to me. 
 Her age was apparently about twenty. A profusion of dark chestnut 
 hair was arranged in the Madonna style above a brow of unsullied 
 whiteness, a single ringlet 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 iu gold, and bore in a cipher the letters M. Ci. with the 
 date 18 . From the inspection of this portrait 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 was a lock, short, and deeply 
 tinged with grey, and had been token, I have little doubt, from the 
 head of my old friend himself; the other corresponded in colour 
 and appearance with that at the back of the miniature. It was not 
 till a few days had elapsed, and I had seen the worthy Doctor's 
 remains quietly consigned to the narrow house, that while arranging 
 his papers previous to my intended return upon the morrow, I 
 encountered the narrative I 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 
 puri.-hioner of my own, and at once recognised the original of the 
 female portrait as its owner. 
 
 I rose not from the perusal of his very singular statement till I 
 had gone through the whole of it. It was late, and the rays of the 
 single lamp by which I was reading did but very faintly illumine 
 the remoter parts of the room in which I sat. The brilliancy of an 
 unclouded November moon, then some twelve nights old, and shining 
 full into the apartment, did much towards remedying the defect. 
 My thoughts filled with the melancholy details I had read, I rose 
 and walked to the window. The beautiful planet rode high in the 
 firmament, and gave to the, snowy roofs of the houses and pendant 
 i' i' I' -, all the sparkling radiance of clustering gems. The stillness 
 of the scene harmonised 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 appear- 
 ance, 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 cony d'wil of
 
 138 THE LIFE UF THE LATE HENRY HARRIS, D.D. 
 
 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 in 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 fire-place opposite to me, with its 
 polished andirons, was surmounted by a large old-fashioned mantel- 
 piece, heavily carved in the Dutch style with fruits and flowers ; 
 above it frowned a portrait, in a Vandyke dress, with a peaked 
 beard and mustaches ; one hand of the figure rested on a table, 
 while the other bore a marshal's staff, surmounted with a silver 
 falcon ; and either my imagination, already heated by the scene, 
 deceived me, or a smile as of malicious triumph curled the lip and 
 glared in the cold leaden eye that seemed fixed upon my own. The 
 heavy, antique, cane-backed chairs, the large oaken table, the 
 book-shelves, the scattered volumes all, all were there ; while, to 
 complete the picture, to my right and left, as half-breathless I leaned 
 my back against the casement, rose on each side a tall, dark, ebony 
 cabinet, in whose polished sides the single lamp upon the table 
 shone reflected as in a mirror. 
 
 What am I to think ? Can it be that the story I have been read- 
 ing was written 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 1 where is he who alone may be 
 
 able to throw light on this horrible mystery 1 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 known 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 ! ! "
 
 THE JACKDAW OF L'HEIMS. 139 
 
 Father John Ingoldsby, to whoso papers I am largely indebted for 
 the Saintly records which follow, was brought up by his father, a 
 cadet of the family, in the Romish 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 
 Royal cause during the Protectorate, he was excepted by name out 
 of the acts against the Papists, became superintendent of the Queen 
 Dowager's chapel at Somerset House, and enjoyed a small pension 
 until his death, which took place in the third year of Queen Anne 
 (1704), at the mature age of ninety-six. He was an ecclesiastic of 
 great learning and piety, but from the stiff and antiquated phrase- 
 ology which he adopted, I have thought it necessary to modernise it 
 a little : this will account for certain anachronisms that have un- 
 avoidably crept in ; the substance of his narratives has, however, 
 throughout been strictly adhered to. 
 
 His hair-shirt, almost as good as new, is still preserved at Tapping- 
 ton, but nobody ever wears it. 
 
 THE JACKDAW OF RIIEIMS. 
 
 "Tune miser Corvus adiso conscii'iitire tithmilis compuncttis full, et cxeoratio 
 cum tantopcrecxi'aniflicavit, ut eximlctabescereineiperct, niack'iu cOfitraheret, 
 oiniium cibuni aversaretiir, nee anipliiis crocitartt : puima: pra-tuiva ci ilellut'- 
 liant, et ali.s pcndulis oninus facetias inturmi.sit, ct taiiimacer apparuit ut oinnes 
 (.jus ini.scrusceiit." ........ 
 
 "Tune abbas sacerdotibus inandavit ut rursus furcm absolvurunt ; quo facto, 
 Corvus, omnibus niirautibus, propedicin convaluit, ct pristinani sauitatem 
 rccuperavit." DC lllv.st. Ord. Cistcrc. 
 
 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 Primate on bended knee. 
 
 Never, I ween, Was a prouder seeji,
 
 140 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS, 
 
 Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, 
 Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims ! 
 
 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 cates, And dishes and plate>, 
 Cowl and cope, and rochet and pal], 
 Mitro. and crosier ! he hopp'd upon all ! 
 
 With a saucy air, He perch'd on the chair 
 Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat 
 In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat ; 
 
 And he peer'd in the face Of his Lordship's Grace, 
 With a satisfied look, as if he would say, 
 " We Two are the greatest folks here to-day ! " 
 
 And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw, 
 Said, " The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw ! ! " 
 
 The feast was over, the board was clcar'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 ! 
 A nice little boy held a golden ewer, 
 Emboss'd and fill'd with water, as pure 
 As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, 
 Which a nice, little boy stood ready to catcli 
 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, 
 AVhile 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 !
 
 THE JACKDAW OF KHEIMS. 141 
 
 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 Off each plum-colour'd shoe, 
 And left his red stockings exposed to the view ; 
 
 He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels ; 
 They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates, 
 They take up the poker and poke out the grates, 
 
 They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs : 
 
 But, no ! no such thing ; They can't find THE RING ! 
 And the Abbot declared that, " when nobody twigg'd it, 
 Home 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 ; 
 
 He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying ; 
 
 He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying, 
 
 He cursed him in living, he cursed him dying ! 
 Never was heard such a terrible 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 ; 
 
 When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, 
 Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw ! 
 
 No longer gay, As on yesterday ; 
 His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way ; 
 His pinions droop'd he could hardly stand, 
 His head was as bald as the palm of your hand ; 
 
 His eve so dim, So wasted each limb, 
 That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT HIM ! - 
 That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing ! 
 That's the thief that has got my Lord < 'animal's Ring ! " 
 
 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 '. '
 
 142 THE JACKDAW OF RUE IMS. 
 
 Slower and slower He lirnp'd on before, 
 Till they came to the back of the belfry-door, 
 
 Where the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and 
 
 the straw, 
 Was the RING, in the nest of that little Jackdaw ! 
 
 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 wagg'd with an impudent air, 
 No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair. 
 
 He hopp'd now about With a gait devout ; 
 At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out ; 
 And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, 
 He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads. 
 If any one lied, or if any one swore, 
 Or slumber'd in pray'r-time and happen'd to snore, 
 
 That good Jackdaw Would give a great " Caw ! " 
 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 canonised him by the name of Jem Crow !
 
 TIIK JACKDAW OK HHKI.MS.
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUN STAN. 145 
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 
 
 holj) chilbe jjpnnstan toa0 borne in j) e S*r* "^ ^ Qovbt 
 honbreb & xxv. that tpme regnjmge in this Jonbe gunge 
 sion. * * * 
 
 "eHhan it so teas that <Sagnt JSunsian teas toerj) at pragw: than 
 useb he to toerke in golbsmtjthcs tuerhe toith his otone haitbes for to 
 eschetoe gbelnes." Golden Legend. 
 
 ST. DUNSTAN stood in his ivied tower, 
 
 Alembic, crucible, all were there ; 
 When in came Nick to play him a trick, 
 
 In guise of a damsel passing fair. 
 
 Every one knows How the story goes : 
 He took up the tongs and caught hold of his nose, 
 But I beg that you won't for a moment suppose 
 That I mean to go through, in detail, to you 
 A story at least as trite as it's true ; 
 
 Nor do I intend An instant to spend 
 On the tale, how he treated his monarch and 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. DTCE, 
 At the Royal Academy, very well done, 
 And mark'd in the catalogue Four, seven, one. 
 
 You might there view the Saint, who in sable array'd is, 
 Coercing the Monarch away from 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, 
 Or, by Jingo, 1 ere morning, no longer alive, a 
 Sad victim you'll lie to your love for Elgiva ! " 
 
 No farther to treat Of this ungallant feat, 
 What t mean to do now is succinctly to paint 
 One particular fact in the life of the Saint, 
 
 1 St. Jingo, or Gengo (Gengulphus), sometimes styled "The Living Jingo," 
 from the great tenaciousness of vitality exhibited by hi.s severed members. 
 5'iej- his Legend, us recorded hereafter in the present volume. 
 
 L
 
 14G A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 
 
 Which somehow, for want of due care, I presume, 
 Has escaped the researches of Rapin and Hume, 
 In recounting a miracle, both of them men, who a 
 Great deal fall short of Jaques Bishop of Genoa, 
 An Historian who likes deeds like these to record 
 See his Aurea Legenda, by ffiSHgnJum tic SJJSorllc. 
 
 St. Dunstan stood again in his tower, 
 
 Alembic, crucible, all complete ; 
 He had been standing a good half hour, 
 And now he utter'd the words of power, 
 
 And call'd to his Broomstick to bring him a seat. 
 
 The words of power ! and what be they 
 
 To which e'en Broomsticks bow and obey ? 
 
 Why, 'twere uncommonly hard to say, 
 
 As the prelate I named has recorded none of them, 
 
 What they may be, But I know they are three, 
 And ABRACADABRA, I take it, is one of them : 
 For I'm told that most Cabalists use that identical 
 Word, written thus in what they call " a Pentacle." 
 
 !A.C ADA: 
 
 AC AJ3AB\R 
 
 C AD AB 
 A.C AD A 
 CAD 
 
 However that be, You'll doubtless agree 
 It signifies little to you or to me, 
 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 ; "
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 147 
 
 And in sooth, From my youth I remember a truth 
 Insisted on much in my earlier years, 
 To wit, " Little Pitchers have very long ears ! " 
 Now, just such a " Pitcher" as those I allude to 
 Was outside the door, which his " ears " appeared glued to. 
 
 Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, 
 
 Five feet one in his sandal- shoon, 
 While the saint thought him sleeping, 
 Was listening and peeping, 
 
 And watching his master the whole afternoon. 
 
 This Peter the Saint had pick'd out from his fellows, 
 To look to his fire, and to blow with the bellows, 
 To put on the Wall's-Ends and Lambtons whenever he 
 Chose to indulge in a little orfevrerie ; 
 
 Of course you have read, That St. Dunstan was bred 
 A Goldsmith, and never quite gave up the trade ! 
 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 Robert, 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, 
 
 Whom the Saint, as I said, Kept to turn down his bed, 
 Dress his palfreys and cobs, And do other odd jobs, 
 As reducing to writing Whatever he might, in 
 The course of the day or the night, be inditing, 
 And cleaning the plate of his mitre with whiting ; 
 Performing, in short, all those duties and offices 
 Abbots exact from Lay-brothers and Novices. 
 
 It occurs to me here You'll .perhaps think it queer 
 That St. Dunstan should have such a personage near, 
 
 When he'd only to say Those words, be what they may,- 
 And his Broomstick at once his commands would obey. 
 
 That's true but the fact is 'Twas rarely his practice 
 Such aid to resort to, or such means apply, 
 Unless he'd some "dignified knot" to untie,
 
 148 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 
 
 Adopting, though sometimes, as now, he'd reverse it, 
 
 Old Horace's maxim " nee Broomstick intersit." 
 
 Peter, the Lay-brother, meagre and thin, 
 
 Heard all the Saint was saying within ; 
 
 Peter, the Lay-brother, sallow and spare, 
 
 Peep'd through the key-hole, and what saw he there 1 
 
 Why, A BROOMSTICK BRINGING A RUSH-BOTTOM'D CHAIR. 
 
 What Shakspeare observes, in his play of King John, 
 Is undoubtedly right, That " ofttimes the sight 
 Of means to do ill deeds will make ill deeds done." 
 Here's Peter, the Lay-brother, pale-faced and meagre, 
 A good sort of man, only rather too eager 
 To listen to what other people are saying, 
 When he ought to be minding his business or praying, 
 Gets into a scrape, and an awkward one too, 
 As you'll find, if you've patience enough to go through 
 
 The whole of the story I'm laying before ye, 
 Entirely from having " the 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. Dunstan is quitting his ivied cell ; 
 
 Peter, I wot, Is off like a shot, 
 Or a little dog scalded by something that's hot, 
 For he hears his Master approaching the spot 
 Where he'd listened so long, though he knew he ought not 
 Peter remember'd his Master's frown 
 He trembled he'd not have been caught for a crown ; 
 
 Howe'er you may laugh, He had rather, by half, 
 Have run up to the top of the tower and jump'd down. 
 
 The Compline hour is past and gone, 
 Evening service is over and done ; 
 
 The monks repair To their frugal fare, 
 A snug little supper of something light 
 And digestible, ere they retire for the night.
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 149 
 
 For, in Saxon times, in respect to their cheer, 
 
 St. Austin's Rule was by no means severe, 
 
 But allowed, from the Beverley Roll 'twould appear, 
 
 Bread and cheese, and spring onions, and sound table-beer, 
 
 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 suffer'd 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 I 
 Extend the remark to Signer Ambrogetti. 
 For a monk of La Trappe is as thin as a rat, 
 While an Austin Friar was jolly and fat ; 
 Though, of course, the fare to which I allude, 
 With as good table-beer as ever was brew'd, 
 Was all " caviare to the multitude," 
 Extending alone to the clergy, together in 
 Hall assembled, and not to Lay-brethren. 
 St. Dunstan 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 Cruickshank's memoirs of that great man. 
 
 She shines on a turret remote and lone, 
 
 A turret with ivy and moss overgrown, 
 
 And lichens that thrive on the cold dank stone ; 
 
 Such a tower as a poet of no mean calibre 
 
 I once knew and loved, poor, dear Reginald Heber, 
 
 Assigns to oblivion 1 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, 
 
 1 And cold oblivion, midst the ruin laid, 
 Folds her dank wing beneath the ivy shade. 
 
 PALESTINE.
 
 150 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN 
 
 All sorts of instruments, all sorts of tools, 
 
 To name which, and their uses, would puzzle the Schools, 
 
 And make very wise people look very like fools ; 
 
 Pincers and hooks, And black-letter books, 
 All sorts of pokers, and all sorts of tongs, 
 And all sorts of hammers, and all that belongs 
 To Goldsmith's work, chemistry, alchymy, all, 
 
 In short that a Sage, In that erudite age, 
 Could require, was at hand, or at least within call. 
 In the midst of the room lies a Broomstick ! 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, I'll sit here, and I'll 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 Well, 
 
 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 
 Its contents, or enjoy what he thinks his good luck, 
 The Broomstick comes in with a tub in a truck ; 
 
 Continues to run At the rate it begun, 
 And, au pied de lettre, next brings in a tun ! 
 A fresh one succeeds, then a third, then another, 
 Discomfiting much the astounded Lay-brother ; 
 Who, had he possess'd fifty pitchers or stoups, 
 They all had been too few ; for, arranging in groups 
 The barrels, the Broomstick next started tht, hoops ; 
 
 The ale deluged the floor, But, still, through the door, 
 Said Broomstick kept bolting, and bringing in more. 
 
 E'en Macbeth to Macduff Would have cried " Hold ! 
 
 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 \-Sufficit I " 
 
 But ah, well-a-day ! The Devil, they say, 
 'Tis easier at all times to raise than to lay.
 
 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 151 
 
 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 eat. 
 The longer he 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 ! Like a dart Each part made a start, 
 And he found he'd been adding more fuel to fire, 
 For both now came loaded with Meux's entire ; 
 Combe's, Delafield's, Hanbury's, Truman's no stopping 
 Coding's, Charenton'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 fear*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 finish'd 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, 
 Who 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. 
 Poor Peter ! 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 flow'd, 
 Just as when the great Vat burst in Tot'n'am Court Road ; 
 The Lay-brothers nearest were up to their necks 
 In an instant, and swimming in strong doiible X ; 
 While Peter, who, spite of himself now had drank hard, 
 After floating awhile, like a toast in a tankard,
 
 152 A LAY OF ST. DUNSTAN. 
 
 To the bottom had sunk, And was spied by a monk, 
 Stone-dead, like poor Clarence, half drown'd and half drunk. 
 
 In vain did St. Dunstan exclaim, " Vade retro 
 Strongbeerum ! discede a Lay-fratre Petro ! "- 
 
 Queer Latin, you'll say, That prefix of " Lay," 
 And Strongbeerum ! I own they'd have call'd me a blockhead if 
 At school I had ventured to use such a Vocative ; 
 'Tis a barbarous Avord, and to me it's a query 
 If you'll find it in Patrick, Morell, or Moreri ; 
 But, the fact is, the Saint was uncommonly flurried, 
 And apt to be loose in his Latin when hurried ; 
 The Brown-stout, however, obeys to the letter, 
 Quite as well as if talk'd to, in Latin much better, 
 
 By a grave Cambridge Johnian, Or graver Oxonian, 
 Whose language, we all know, is quite Ciceronian. 
 It retires from the corpse, which is left high and dry ; 
 But, in vain do they snuff and hot towels apply, 
 And other means used by the faculty try. 
 
 When once a man's dead There's no more to be said ; 
 Peter's " Beer with an e " was his " Bier with an i ! ! " 
 
 Jttoral. 
 
 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 XXXs. 
 
 In Goldsmith's Hall there's a handsome glass-case, 
 
 And in it a stone figure, found on the place, 
 
 When, thinking the old Hall no longer a pleasant one, 
 
 They pull'd it all down, and erected 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.
 
 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS 153 
 
 Gengulphus, 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 145). Mr. 
 Simpkinson from Bath had kindly transmitted me a portion of a 
 primitive ballad, which has escaped the researches of Bitson and 
 Ellis, but is yet replete with beauties of no common order. I am 
 happy to say that, since these Legends first appeared, I have 
 recovered the whole of it. Vide infra. 
 
 "Q Jfrankljm's baggc lepeb xber a sigle, 
 $,nb hgs name tons littel ^gnga. 
 toth a 1 1 togth an &, 
 & togth a <g toith on <D, 
 lEheg tall'b hgm Jittel 
 
 'lEhgs Jyranklgit, <Sgrs, he bretoeb goobe a^lt, 
 he calleb it glare goobe <Stgngo ! 
 
 3ge call'b it glare 
 
 Jlotoe ie notte thg a prettie ng ? 
 I thinke it is bge Js n 9<J ! 
 J tojthe a 1-^, (S, <9- 
 I *toeare jt is bn Jgngo ! " 
 
 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 
 
 " Non multo post, Gengulphus, in domo sua dormiens, occisus est ii quodam 
 clerico qui cum uxore sua adulterate solebat. Cujus corpus dum, in fereto, in 
 scpulturam portaretur, multi infirnii de tactu sanati sunt." 
 
 " Cum hoc illius uxori referretur al> aucilla sua, scilicet dominum suum, 
 quam martyrem sanctum, miracula facere, irridens ilia, et subsurrans, ait, 
 ' Ita Gengulphus miracula facitat ut pulvinarium meum cantat,'" &c. &c. 
 
 WOLKH MEMORAB. 
 
 GENGULPHUS comes from the Holy Laud, 
 With his scrip, and his bottle, and sandal slioon, 
 
 Full many a day hath he been away, 
 
 Yet hia lady deems him return'd lull soon
 
 154 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 
 
 Full many a clay liatli lie been away, 
 Yet scarce had lie 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. 
 
 They would walk in the park, that spruce young Clerk, 
 With that frolicsome Lady so frank and free, 
 
 Trying 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, 
 Rich puddings and big, and a barbecued pig, 
 
 And oxtail soup in a China tureen. 
 
 There's a flagon of ale as large as a pail 
 
 When, cockle on hat, and staff in hand, 
 While 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, 1 ' 
 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 electrified 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 ; 1 
 She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad, 
 
 And did not know whether to laugh or to cry. 
 
 1 En tiitxpvfi ^t\.ff!t<rae,. IlOil.
 
 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS 155 
 
 Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid, 
 And she sends for a pint of the best Brown 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 bran, 
 
 To comfort his " poor dear " travel-worn feet. 
 
 " Nor night nor day since he'd been awa) r , 
 
 Had she had any rest," she " vow'd and declared." 
 
 She " never could eat one morsel of meat, 
 For thinking how ' poor dear ' Gengulphus fared." 
 
 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." 
 
 Now his palate she tickles with the chops and the pickles, 
 
 Till, so great the effect of that stiff 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 swell'd face, 
 
 And a Medical Crowner's a queer sort of thing ! " 
 
 So the Clerk and the wife, they each took a knife, 
 
 And the nippers that nipp'd the loaf-sugar for tea ; 
 With the edges and points they sever'd the joints 
 . At the clavicle, elbow, hip, ankle, and knee.
 
 156 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHU& 
 
 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 " flippers," 
 As the Clerk, very flippantly, termed his fists. 
 
 When they'd cut off his head, entertaining a dread 
 Lest folks should remember Gengulphus's face, 
 
 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. 
 
 But to see now how strangely things 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 ? 
 
 No doubt 'twould 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 Royal 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 rolling in ; 
 And to every guest his card had express'd 
 
 " Half- past " as the hour for' 1 " a greasy chin."
 
 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 157 
 
 Some thirty are seated, and handsomely treated 
 
 With the choicest Rhine wines in his Highness's stock ; 
 
 When a Count of the Empire, who felt himself heated, 
 Requested 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 Gtengulphus's head, from the well's bottom, said 
 In mild accents, " Do help us out, that's 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 roar'd 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 gentleman asks for his boots. 
 
 Kicking open the 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 unite, 
 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.
 
 158 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 
 
 Yes, they stared well they might at so novel a sight : 
 
 No one utter'd 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." 
 
 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 " Benedicite ! " 
 
 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 Rowantz through chalets and chateaux, 
 
 ToAvns, villages, hamlets, they told them to go, 
 
 And they stuck up placards on the walls of the Stadthaus. 
 
 "MURDER!! 
 
 " WHEREAS, a dead gentleman, surname unknown, 
 Has been recently found at his Highness's banquet, 
 
 Rather shabbily dressed 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 very far from the palace ; 
 
 " THIS is TO GIVE NOTICE ! Whoever shall seize, 
 And such person, or persons, to justice surrender, 
 
 Shall receive such REWARD as his Highness shall please, 
 On conviction of him, the aforesaid offender.
 
 A LAY OF GENGULPHUS. 159 
 
 " And, in order the matter more clearly to trace 
 
 To the bottom, his Highness, the Prince Bishop, further, 
 
 Of his clemency, offers free PARDON 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 Von Russell, 
 
 N.B. 
 
 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 run 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, 
 
 Scorned 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 Rittmeisters 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 Rheumatics, sciatica, tic-doloureux ! 
 
 Apply to his .shin-bones not one of them lingers ; 
 All bilious complaints in an instant withdrew, 
 
 If the patient was tickled with one of his lingers.
 
 160 A LAY OF ST. GENGULPHUS. 
 
 Much virtue was found to reside in his thumbs ; 
 
 When applied to the chest, they cured scantness of breathing, 
 Sea-sickness, and cholic ; 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 remain'd visible still of the knife, 
 
 Notwithstanding 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, 
 So 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 seem'd as if " Wonders had never done ceasing." 
 
 The Three Kings of Cologne began, it was known, 
 
 A sad falling off in their off'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 
 Prom exertions which each day more fruitless appear'd, 
 
 When Gengulphus himself, his fame still to increase, 
 Unravell'd the whole by the help of his beard ! 
 
 If you look back you'll see the aforesaid barbe gris, 
 
 When divorced from the chin of its murder'd proprietor, 
 
 Had been stuff d 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. 
 
 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 occurred almost frighten'd her senses away, 
 
 Beside scaring her hand-maidens, Gertrude and Betty.
 
 A "LAY OF ST. GENG ULPHUS. 161 
 
 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 Judceus ! " 
 
 " Those rascally liars, the Monks and the Friars, 
 To bring grist to their mill, these devices have hit on. 
 
 He works miracles ! pooh ! I'd believe it of you 
 Just as soon, you great Geese, or the Chair that I sit on ! " 
 
 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 011 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, 
 
 And the maids cried " Good gracious ! how very tenacious ! :> 
 They as well might endeavour to pull off her skin ! 
 
 She shriek'd with 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 very stones prate of his whereabouts ; ' 
 So this shocking bad wife heard a voice all her life 
 
 Crying "Murder ! " resound from the cushion, or thereabouts. 
 
 With regard to the Clerk, we are left in the dark 
 As to what his fate was ; but I cannot imagine he 
 
 Got off scot-free, though unnoticed 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, 
 
 " God's Revenge against Murder," by one Mr. Reynolds.
 
 1G2 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Now, you grave married Pilgrims, \vlio wander away, 
 Like Ulysses of old, 1 (vide Homer and Naso,) 
 
 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 " Vitas, Sanctorum ! " 
 
 Above all, you gay ladies, who fancy neglect 
 
 In your spouses, allow not your patience to fail ; - 
 
 But remember Gengulphus's wife ! 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 family, sated in Tipperary 
 
 " Ere the Lord Mayor stole his collar of gowld, 
 Aud sowld it away to a trader ? " 2 
 
 He is manifestly wrong ; but, as he very rationally observes, " No. 
 matter for that, she's a Saint any way ! " 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 
 
 ODILLE 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 within fifty miles of the place. 
 Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still 
 They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille. 
 
 1 Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes. 
 
 2 The "Inglorious Memory" of this ould ancient transaction is still, we 
 understand, kept up in Dublin Ly an annual proclamation at one of the city 
 gates. The jewel, which has replaced the abstracted ornament, is said to have 
 ]>een presented by King William, and worn by Daniel O'Connell, Esq.
 
 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 163 
 
 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 Rhine ; 
 
 But vain, their design, They are all left to pine, 
 Their ogliugs and smiles are all useless ; in fine, 
 Not one of these gentlefolks, try 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 Merman, 
 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 " O, 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 pr entire congtf, 
 I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away ! " 
 She unlock'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 in the face ; 
 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 Odille ? "- 
 
 Now I think I've been told, for I'm no sporting man, 
 That the " knowing-ones " call 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 off and ran, 
 Put her best leg before, Starting at score,
 
 164 THE LA Y OF ST. ODILLE. 
 
 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 Lochinvar who came out of the West/'' 
 "'Tis done ! I am gone ! over briar, brook, and rill ! 
 They'll be sharp lads who catch me ! " said young Miss Odillc. 
 
 But you've all read in ^Esop, or Plut'drus, or ( !ay, 
 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 patience 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 Avas 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, 
 (Which 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. 165 
 
 And so high that 'twas frightful indeed to look down 
 Upon Friburg, a place of some little renown, 
 That lay at its foot ; but imagine the frown 
 That contracted her brow, when full many a clown 
 She perceived coming up from that horrid post-town. 
 
 They had follow'd her trail, 
 
 And now thought without fail, 
 As little boys say, to " lay salt on her tail ; " 
 While the Count, who knew no other law but his will, 
 Swore that Herman that evening should marry Odille. 
 
 Alas, for Odille ! 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-col our'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 should 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. Ermengarde ! 
 
 Oh, from these vermin guard 
 Her whose last hope rests entirely on you ; 
 Don't let papa catch me, dear Saint ! rather kill 
 At once, sur-le-chamf), your devoted Odille ! " 
 
 It's delightful to see those who strive to oppress 
 
 Get baulk'd when they think themselves sure of success. 
 
 The Saint came to the rescue ! I fairly confess 
 
 I don't 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 Sheernesp, 
 
 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. 
 ! T\vas her voice ! but 'twas Vox et prceterca Nil ! 
 Nor could any one guess what was gone with Odille !
 
 166 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 
 
 Then burst from the mountain a splendour that quite 
 
 Eclipsed, in its brilliance, the finest Bude light, 
 
 And there stood St. Ermengarde, clrest 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 around 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 the knave to the knight, 
 Felt a very unpleasant sensation, call'd fright ; 
 
 While the Saint, looking down, With a terrible frown, 
 Said, " My Lords, you are done most remarkably brown ! 
 I am really ashamed of you both ; my nerves thrill 
 At your scandalous conduct to poor, dear Odille ! 
 
 " Come, make yourselves scarce ! it is useless to say, 
 
 You will gain nothing here by a longer delay. 
 
 ' Quick ! Presto ! Begone ! ' 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 1 -- 
 
 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 boys' heads, which, above and below, 
 
 As I told you a very few stanzas ago, 
 
 Had been flying about her, and jumping Jem Crow ; 
 
 Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe, 
 
 How they managed such antics, I really don't know ; 
 
 Be that as it may, they all " melted like snow 
 
 Off a dyke," as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro'. 
 
 And there stood the Count, Witli his men on the mount, 
 Just like " twenty-four jackasses all on a row." 
 What was best to be done 'twas a sad bitter pill 
 But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille. 
 
 The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan, 
 And said to himself, like a sensible man, 
 " I can't do as I would, I must do as I can ; 
 It will not do to lie under any Saint's ban,
 
 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 167 
 
 For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan , 
 So Count Herman must pick up some Betsy or Nan, 
 Instead of my girl, some Sue, Polly, or Fan ; 
 If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran, 
 And make shift with the pot if he can't have the pan." 
 
 With such proverbs as these He went down on his knees, 
 And said, " Blessed St. Ermengarde, just as you 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. 
 
 Now, 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 block, 
 Is split open, as though by some violent shock 
 From an earthquake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock 
 From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cock 
 Of a Germanised giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok : 
 
 And see how it rears Its two monstrous great ears, 
 For when once you're between them such each side appears ; 
 And list to the sound of the water one hears 
 Drip, drip, from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears, 
 Odille's, I believe, which have flowed all these years ; 
 I think they account for them so ; but the rill 
 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 our Hhe-Saints videlicet wives ! 
 
 (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.)
 
 168 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 Now, young ladies, to you ! Don't put on the shrew ! 
 And don't be surprised if your father looks blue 
 When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do ! 
 Be sure that you never elope ; there are few, 
 Believe me, you'll find what I say to be true, 
 Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew, 
 And come off at last with "a hole in their shoe ;" 
 Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville, 
 Can produce enough saints to save every Odille. 
 
 Uxgn ot gc t^tt 1 of $attcrae, teas home of rgche anb 
 gttttt, 
 ,3lnb hgs faber teas nameb (Epiphanus, anb his mober clohane." 
 
 He was born on a cold frosty morning, on the 6th of December, 
 (upon which day his feast is still observed,) but in what aniio 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's story of 
 Sancho's detecting a sum of money in a swindler's walking-stick, is 
 merely the Spanish version of a " Lay of St. Nicholas," extant " in 
 choice Italian " a century before honest Miguel was born. 
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 "Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellse pulchritndiiiis niirae, 
 et ecce Divus, fide catholica, et cruce, et aqua benedicta armatus venit, et 
 aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctae et Individuse Trinitatis, quam, quasi arden- 
 tem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit." 
 
 ROGER HOVEDEN. 
 
 " LORD ABBOT ! Lord Abbot ! I'd fain confess ; 
 
 I am a- weary, and worn with woe ; 
 Many a grief doth my heart oppress, 
 
 And haunt me whithersoever I go ! " 
 
 i Parish.
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 169 
 
 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 be ; 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 " 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 Ponthieu, 
 
 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 cheerfullie ; 
 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 peaceful walls ! " 
 
 Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot, 
 " Now rest thee, Fair Daughter, withouten fear ; 
 
 Nor Count nor Duke but shall meet the rebuke 
 Of Holy Church an he seek thee here :
 
 170 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 "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 nave," the fair maiden cried ; 
 " In sooth, Lord Abbot, that scarce may be ! 
 
 "Friends would whisper, and foes would frowri, 
 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 Roger 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 board 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 lucious or delicate fare. 
 
 But no pious stave he, no Pater or Ave 
 
 Pronounced, as he gazed on that maiden's face : 
 
 She ask'd him for stuffing, she ask'd him for gravy, 
 She ask'd him for 'dzzard : but not for Grace !
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 171 
 
 Yet gaily the Lord Abbot smiled, and press'd, 
 And the blood-red wine in the wine-cup fill'd ; 
 
 And he help'd his guest to a bit of the breast, 
 And he sent the drumsticks down to be grill'd. 
 
 There Avas no lack of old Sherris sack, 
 
 Of Hippocras fine, or of Malmsey bright ; 
 And aye, as he drain'd off 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. 
 
 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 perhaps was not very much out in his guess. 
 
 The Accusing Buyers l " flew up to Heaven's Chancery," 
 Blushing like scarlet with shame and concern ; 
 
 The Archangel took down his talc, 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 
 
 1 The Prince of Peripatetic Informers, and terror of Stage Coachmen 
 when such things were. Alack 1 alack ! the Railroads have rained his 
 
 " vested interest."
 
 172 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 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 snch doings been seen 
 
 There before, from the time that most excellent Prince 
 
 Earl Baldwin of Flanders, and other Commanders, 
 Had built and endowed it some centuries since. 
 
 But hark ! 'tis a sound from the outermost gate ! 
 
 A startling so\md from a powerful blow. 
 Who knocks so late 1 it is half after eight 
 
 By the clock, and the clock's five minutes too slow. 
 
 Never, perhaps, had such loud double raps 
 Been heard in St. Nicholas' Abbey before ; 
 
 All agreed " it was shocking to keep people knocking," 
 But none seem'd inclined to " answer the door." 
 
 Now a louder bang through the cloisters rang, 
 And the gate on its hinges wide open flew ; 
 
 And all were aware of a Palmer there, 
 
 With his cockle, hat, staff, and his sandal shoe. 
 
 Many a furrow, and many a frown 
 
 By toil and time on his brow were traced ; 
 
 And his long loose gown was of ginger brown, 
 And his rosary dangled below his waist. 
 
 Now seldom, I ween, 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 Avas a cup, and he lifted it up, 
 
 " Here's the Pope's good health with three ! ! "
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 173 
 
 Rang in their ears three deafening cheers, 
 
 " 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 empty my scrip ; 
 And nothing to speak of since yesterday noon 
 
 Of food, Lord Abbot, hath pass'd my lip. 
 
 " And 1 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, 
 
 Xow rede me aright the most wonderful sight, 
 Thou Palmer grey, that thine eyes have seen. 
 
 " Arede me aright the most wonderful sight, 
 Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, 
 
 And a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed, 
 And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be ! " 
 
 " Oh ! 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 iowl, 
 And hob-nobbing away with a Devil from Hell ! " 
 
 He felt in his gown of ginger-brown, 
 And he pull'd out a flask from beneath ; 
 
 It was rather tough work to get out the cork, 
 But he drew it at last with his teeth. 
 
 O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water 
 
 He made the sacred sign ; 
 And he dash'd the whole on the soi-disant daughter 
 
 Of old Plantagenet's line !
 
 174 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 
 
 Oh ! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek, 
 
 With a wild unearthly scream ; 
 And fizzl'd, and hiss'd, and produced such a mist, 
 
 They were all half-choked by the steam. 
 
 Her dove-like eyes turn'd to coals of tire, 
 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 ! 
 
 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 on to the small of his back. 
 
 And he 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 lepr was shorter thenceforth than his right ! 
 
 On the banks of the Rhine, 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-.
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS.
 
 A LAY OF ST. NICHOLAS. 177 
 
 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 with the sun, limping " dot and go one," 
 To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, 
 
 Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher 
 Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together ; 
 
 How a thirsty old codger, the neighbours called Roger, 
 With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine ! 
 
 What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, 
 Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine ! 
 
 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 four masses a head, 
 On the eve of that supper, and kick on the crupper 
 
 Which Satan received, for the souls of the dead ! 
 
 How folks long held in reverence their reliques and memories, 
 How the ci-dcrunt Abbot's obtain'd greater still, 
 
 When some cripples, on touching his fractured osfemoris, 
 Threw down their crutches, and danced a quadrille 1 
 
 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, stuck up as a motto, 
 "JSSho snppce toith the JStbillt sholbt habe a long styoontll"
 
 178 THE LADY EOHESIA. 
 
 Rohesia, 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 ROHESIA. 
 
 THE Lady Rohesia lay on her death-bed ! 
 
 So said the doctor, and doctors are generally allowed to be 
 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 1 " said Everard Ingoldsby. 
 
 "Is there no hope?" said Sir Guy de Montgomeri. He was the 
 Lady Rohesia'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 sinking pulse of his patient. Dr. Butts was a very 
 learned man. " Ars longa, vita brevis ! " said Doctor Butts. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it," quoth Sir Guy de Montgomeri. 
 
 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 neither sighed nor sobbed ; his grief was too deep-seated 
 for outward manifestation. 
 
 "And how long, Doctor ?" The afflicted husband could not 
 finish the sentence. 
 
 Doctor 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. 
 
 " What's become of Father Francis ? " whimpered Beatrice. 
 
 "The last consolations of the clmrcli " suggested Everard. 
 
 A darker shade came over the brow 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.
 
 THE LADY ROHESIA. 179 
 
 " Pa.c vubiscum .' " said Father Francis, as lie entered the chamber 
 of death. 
 
 " Vita brevis ! " 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 lonya ! " 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, 
 whoever he was, he deserved well of his country and of Christen- 
 dom. 
 
 Ah ! our ancestors were not such fools, after all, as we, their 
 degenerate children, conceit them to have been. The passing bell ! 
 a most solemn warning to imps of every description, is not to be 
 regarded with impunity : the most impudent Succubus 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 sets 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 
 Rohesia : 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 sharper ; nothing, as he 
 averred, could be more distinct than the words, "A thousand marks 
 to the priory of St. Mary Rouncivul." 
 
 Now the Lady Rohesia 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 "
 
 180 THE LADY ROHESIA. 
 
 " If she did, I'll be shot ! " said Guy de Montgomeri. 
 
 " A thousand marks !" continued the Confessor, fixing his cold 
 grey eye upon the knight, as he went on heedless of the intc-r- 
 ruption ; "a thousand marks! and as many A vcs and Paten 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 ; his brother-in-law and the friar 
 were gone ; he was left alone with his departing lady and Beatrice 
 Grey. 
 
 Sir Guy de Montgomeri stood pensively at the foot of the bed : 
 his arms were crossed upon his bosom, his chin was sunk upon his 
 breast ; his eyes were filled with tears ; the dim rays of the fading 
 watch-light gave a darker shade to the furrows on his brow, and a 
 brighter tint to the little bald patch on the top of his head, for 
 Sir Guy was a middle-aged gentleman, tall and portly withal, with 
 a slight bend in his shoulders, but that not much : his complexion 
 was somewhat florid, especially about the nose ; but his lady was 
 in crtrcmis, 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 
 affliction ; she let it fall, all but one corner, which remained 
 between her finger and thumb. She looked at Sir Guy ; drew the 
 thumb and forefinger of her other hand slowly along its border, 
 till they reached the opposite extremity. She sobbed aloud : " So 
 kind a lady ! " said Beatrice Grey. " So excellent a wife ! " 
 responded Sir Guy. "So good!" said the damsel. "So dear!" 
 said the knight. " So pious ! " said she. " So humble ! " said he. 
 "So good to the poor !" "So capital a manager !" "So punctual 
 at matins ! " " Dinner dished to a moment ! " " So devout 1 " said
 
 THE LADY ROHESIA. 181 
 
 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 
 Antistrojdie of a Greek play. The cardinal virtiies 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 
 enumeration 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-ye-yes ! " sobbed Beatrice. 
 
 " I did not deserve her ! " said the knight. 
 
 " No-o-o-o ! " cried the damsel. 
 
 " Not but that I made her an excellent husband, and a kind ; but 
 she is going, and and where, or when, or how shall I get such 
 another?" 
 
 " Not in broad England not in the whole wide world ! " 
 responded Beatrice Grey ; " that is, not jiist 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 handkerchief ; 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. 
 
 " Bim ! borne ! " went the bell. Bandy-legged Hubert had been 
 tolling for half an hour ; he began to grow tired, and St. Peter 
 fidgety. 
 
 " Beatrice Grey ! " said Sir Guy de Montgomeri, " what's to be 
 done ? What's to become of Montgomeri Hall ? and the buttery, 
 and the servants? And what what's to become of me, Beatrice 
 Grey ? " There was pathos in his tones, and a solemn pause suc- 
 ceeded. " I'll turn monk myself ! " said Sir Guy. 
 
 " Monk ? " said Beatrice. 
 
 " I'll be a Carthusian ! " repeated the knight, but in a tone less 
 assured : he relapsed into a reverie. Shave his head ! he did not 
 so much mind that, he was getting rather bald already ; but,
 
 182 THE LADY ROHESIA. 
 
 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 
 damsel at his side, beautiful in her grief. 
 
 Her tears had ceased ; but her eyes were cast down, and mourn- 
 fully 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 her 
 face in an angle of fifteen degrees. 
 
 " I don't think I shall take the vows, Beatrice ; but what's to 
 become of me 1 Poor, miserable, old that is, poor, miserable, 
 middle-aged man that I am ! No one to comfort, no one to care 
 for me ! " Beatrice's tears flowed afresh, but she opened not her 
 lips. "Ton my life!" continued he, "I don't believe there is a 
 creature now would care a button if I were hanged to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Oh ! don't say so, Sir Guy ! " sighed Beatrice ; " you know 
 there's there's Master Everard, and and Father Francis 
 
 " Pish ! " cried Sir Guy testily. 
 
 " And there's your favourite old bitch." 
 
 " I am not thinking of old bitches ! " quoth Sir Guy de Mont- 
 gomeri. 
 
 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 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 light hand 
 of the other : in such an attitude, what the deuce can the gentleman 
 do with his left? Sir Guy closed his till it became an absolute 
 fist, and his knuckles rested on the bed a little in the rear of his 
 companion.
 
 THE LADY ROHEXIA. 183 
 
 "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. 
 
 " Tliere'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 disposing of, found itself, nobody 
 knows how, all at once, encircling the gimp 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 meet, 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, 
 u prescription Father Francis had taken infinite pains to translate 
 for him : he waa about to repeat it, but the dose was interrupted 
 in transits. Doubtless the adage, 
 
 " There is many a slip 
 'Twixt the cup and the lip," 
 
 hath reference to medicine. Sir Guy's lip was again all but in con- 
 junction with that of his bride elect. 
 
 It has been hinted already that there was a little round polished 
 patch on the summit of the knight's pericranium, from which his 
 locks had gradually receded ; a sort of oasis, or rather a Mont Blanc 
 in miniature, 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 
 "Whack!" 
 
 Sir Guy started upon his feet ; Beatrice Grey started upon hers ;
 
 184 THE LADY ROHESIA. 
 
 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 
 defunct Rohesia 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 Doctor 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 Rohesia'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 town residence of Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 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 Keymis, who sailed next morning on the Virginia 
 voyage. 
 
 A brass plate, some eighteen inches long, may yet be seen in 
 Denton chancel, let into a broad slab of Bethersden marble ; it 
 represents a lady kneeling, in her wimple and hood ; her hands are 
 clasped in prayer, and beneath is an inscription in the characters of 
 the ae^ 
 
 " Pratt for gc aotole of ge 
 
 for alle Christen sotoles !" 
 
 The date is illegible ; but it appears that she survived King Henry
 
 THE TRAGEDY. 185 
 
 the Eighth, and that the dissolution of monasteries had lost St. Mary 
 Rouncival her thousand marks. As for Beatrice Grey, it is well 
 known that she was alive in 1559, and then had virginity enough 
 left to be a maid of Honour to " good Queen Bess." 
 
 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 TKAGEDY. 
 
 Quseque ipse miserrima vidi. VIRGIL. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 Was lovely and young, With a rather sharp tongue, 
 And she wedded a Noble of high degree 
 With the star of the order of St. Esprit ; 
 
 But the Duke de Guise Was, by many degrees, 
 Her senior, and not very easy to please ; 
 He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye, 
 And a frown on his brow, and he look'd like a Guy, 
 
 So she took to intriguing With Monsieur St. Megrin, 
 A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth, 
 But with no great pretensions to fortune or birth ; 
 
 He would sing, fence, and dance 
 
 With the best man in France, 
 And took his rappee with genteel nonchalance ; 
 He smiled, and he flatterM, and flirted with ease, 
 And was very superior to Monseigneur de Guise. 
 
 Now Monsieur St. Megrin was curious to know 
 If the Lady approved of his passion or no ; 
 
 So without more ado, He put on his surtont, 
 And went to a man with a beard like a Jew, 
 
 One Signer Ruggieri, A Cunning-man near, he
 
 186 THE TRADEDY. 
 
 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 With his wand in his hand, 
 Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command, 
 Saying solemnly "Presto I Hey, quick ! Gock-a-lorum ! !" 
 When the Duchess immediately popp'd up before 'em. 
 
 Just then a Conjunction of Venus and Mars, 
 
 Or something peculiar above in the stars, 
 
 Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri, 
 
 Who " bolted," and left him alone with his deary. 
 
 Monsieur St. Megrin went down on his knees, 
 
 And the Duchess shed tears large as marrow- fat peas, 
 
 When, fancy the shock, A loud double knock, 
 Made the Lady cry "Get up, you fool ! there's De Guise ! " 
 
 'Twas his Grace, sure enough ; So Monsieur, looking bluff*. 
 Strutted by, with his hat on, and fingering his ruff, 
 While, unseen by either, away flew the Dame 
 Through the opposite key-hole, the same way she came ; 
 
 But, alack ! and alas ! A mishap came to pass, 
 In her hurry she, some how or other, let fall 
 A new silk Bandana she'd worn as a shawl ; 
 
 She xised it for drying Her bright eyes while crying, 
 And blowing her nose, as her Beau talk'd of dying ! 
 
 Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her, 
 And he knew the great C with the Crown 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 ! " The Lady look'd blue ; 
 But replied with much firmness " Hang me if I do ! " 
 
 De Guise grasped her wrist With his great bony fist, 
 And pinched it, and gave it so painful a twist, 
 That his hard, iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in, 
 She did not mind death, but she could not stand pinching ; 
 
 So she sat down and wrote This polite little note : 
 
 " Dear Mister St. Megrin, The Chiefs of the League in 
 Our house mean to dine This evening at nine ; 
 I shall, soon after ten, Slip away from the men, 
 And you'll find me upstairs in the drawing-room then :
 
 THE TRAGEDY. 187 
 
 Come up the back way, or those impudent thieves 
 Of Servants will see you ; Yours 
 
 CATHERINE OP CLEVES." 
 
 She directed and sealed it, all pale as a ghost, 
 And De Guise put it into the Twopenny Post. 
 
 St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin 
 For joy that day when the post came in ; 
 
 He read the note through, Then began it anew, 
 And thought it almost too good news to be true. 
 
 He clapp'd on his hat, And a hood over that, 
 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." 
 
 Now the Duchess's Page, About twelve years of age, 
 For so little a boy was remarkably sage ; 
 And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, 
 Poppa 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 tit-m"; Uncommonly fierce, 
 But not Beel/ebub'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 and Burked him. 
 The poor little Page, too, himself got no quarter, but 
 
 Was served the same way, And was found the next day 
 With his heels in the air, and his head in the water-butt ;
 
 188 MB. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S 
 
 Catherine of Cleves Roar'd " Murder ! " and " Thieves ! " 
 From the window above While they murder'd her love ; 
 Till, finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter, 
 She drank Prussic 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 Ruggieri. 
 
 When alone in your room, shut the door close, and lock it ; 
 
 Above all, KEEP YOUR HANDKERCHIEF SAFE IN YOUR POCKET ! 
 
 Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Levenson Gower, he 
 
 Be call'd on, sad poet ! to tell your sad story ! 
 
 It was in the summer of 1838 that a party from Tapping ton 
 reached the metropolis with a view of witnessing the coronation of 
 their youthful Queen, whom God long preserve ! This purpose they 
 were fortunate enough to accomplish, by the purchase of a peer's 
 ticket, from a stationer in the Strand, who was enabled so to dispose 
 of some, greatly to the indignation of the hereditary Earl Marshal. 
 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 were thus communicated to his associates in the 
 Servants' Hall upon his return, to the infinite delectation of 
 Mademoiselle Pauline over a Cruiskeen of his own concocting. 
 
 MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 CORONATION. 
 
 AIR " The (Jrmes 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 !
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. 189 
 
 'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen 
 
 Making a skrimmage at half after four, 
 Ami the Lords and Ladies, and the Miss O'Gradys, 
 
 All standing round before the Abbey door. 
 
 Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning 
 
 Themselves adorning, all by the candle-light, 
 With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, 
 
 And gould, and jewels, and rich di'monds bright. 
 And then approaches five hundred coaches, 
 
 With Gineral Dullbeak. Och ! 'twas mighty fine 
 To see how asy bould Corporal Casey, 
 
 With his sword drawn, prancing, made them kape the line. 
 
 Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums, 
 
 All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes, 
 Opening the massy doors to the bould Ambassydor?, 
 
 The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews ; 
 'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy 
 
 All joo'ls from his jasey to his di'mond boots, 
 With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer, 
 
 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, 1 
 
 (They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name,) 
 Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading 
 
 The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair, 
 And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of Pell-Mello, 
 
 The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair. 
 
 Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russian?. 
 
 In fine laced jackets with their goulden cuffs, 
 And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, 
 
 And Everythingarians all m furs and muffs. 
 Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker, 
 
 All in the Gallery yoxi 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 Swartzenburg, and many more, 
 Och ! I'd be bother'd and entirely smother'd 
 
 To tell the half of 'em was to the fore ; 
 With the swate Peeresses, in their crowns and dresses, 
 
 And Aldermanesses, and the Boord of Works ; 
 But Mehemet AH said, quite gintaly, 
 
 " I'd be proud to see the likes among the Turks ! "
 
 190 ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION. 
 
 Then the Queen, Heaven bless her ! och ! they did dress her 
 
 In her purple garments and her goulden Crown ; 
 Like Venus or Hebe, or the Queen of Sheby, 
 
 With eight young ladies houlding up her gown, 
 Sure 'twas grand to see her, also for to he-ar 
 
 The big drums bating, and the trumpets blow, 
 And Sir George Smart ! Oh ! he play'd a Consarto, 
 
 With his 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, retrating, 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 Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing, 
 
 " Heaven send your Majesty a glorious reign ! ;> 
 And Sir Cladius 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 Surrey, all in his hurry, 
 
 Throwing the thirteen?, hit him in his eye. 
 
 Then there was preaching, and good store of speeching, 
 
 With 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 with their silver tones ; 
 But Lord Eolle 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 poultherer's shop ; 
 With lobsters and white-bait, and other swate-meats, 
 
 And wine and nagus, and Imparial Pop ! 
 There was cakes and apples in all the Chapels, 
 
 With fine polonies, and rich mellow pears, 
 Och ! 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 ! " 
 Och ! if myself should live to be a hundred, 
 Sure it's the proudest day that I'll have seen !
 
 THE "MONSTRE* BALLOON. 191 
 
 And now, I've ended, what I pretended, 
 
 This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, 
 Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher, 
 
 Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry ! 
 
 As a pendant to the foregoing, I shall venture to insert Mr. 
 Sirnpkinson'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 
 prevailed generally among the Sons of Science at that memorable 
 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 an awful monsoon 
 
 It was blown out to sea it was blown to the moon 
 
 They ought to have put off their journey till June ; 
 
 Sure none but a donkey, a goose, or baboon 
 
 Would go up in November in any balloon ! " 
 
 Then they talk'd about Green " Oh ! where's Mister Green ? 
 And where's Mister Hollond who hired the machine? 
 And where is Monk Mason, the man that has been 
 Up 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 1 
 Have they got to Grand Cairo, or reach'd Aberdeen ? 
 Or Jerusalem Hamburgh or Ballyporeen ? 
 No ! they have not been seen 1 Oh 1 they haven't been 
 seen ! "
 
 192 THE MON8TRE" BALLOON. 
 
 Stay ! here's Mister Gye Mr. Frederick Gye 
 "At Paris," says he, " I've been up very high, 
 A couple of hundred of toises, or nigh, 
 A cockstride the Tuilleries' pantiles, to spy, 
 With Dollond's best telescope stuck at my eye, 
 And my umbrella under my arm like Paul Pi'}', 
 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 I ! " 
 
 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 flock'd to peruse 
 At Squier's bazaar, the same evening, in crews 
 Politicians, news- mongers, town-council, and blues, 
 Turks, Heretics, Infidels, Jumpers, and Jews, 
 Scorning Bachelor's papers, and Warren's reviews ; 
 But the wind was then blowing towards Helvoetsluys, 
 And my father and I are in terrible stews, 
 For 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 ! "- 
 
 Oh ! 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 1 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 ? "-
 
 THE "MONSTRE" BALLOON. 193 
 
 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 " po-shay" 
 
 And get on to Paris by Lisle and Tournay ; 
 
 Where they boldly declare, any wager they'll lay, 
 
 If the gas people there do not ask them to pay 
 
 Such a sum as must force them at once to say " Nay," 
 
 They'll inflate the balloon in the Champs-Elysees, 
 
 And be back again here the beginning of May. 
 
 Dear me ! what a treat for a juvenile fete ! 
 
 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 ) iold : 
 How they thought the boil'd beef worth its own weight in gold ; 
 And how Mr. Green was beginning to scold 
 Because Mr. Mason would try to lay hold 
 Of the moon, and had very near overboard roll'd ! 
 
 And there they'll be seen they'll be all to be seen ! 
 
 The great-coats, the coft'ee-pot, mugs, and tureen ! 
 
 With the tight rope, and fire- works, and dancing between, 
 
 If the weather should only prove fair and serene, 
 
 And there, on a beautiful transparent screen, 
 
 In the middle you'll see a large picture of Green, 
 
 Mr. Hollond on one side, who hired the machine, 
 
 Mr. Mason on t'other, describing the scene ; 
 
 And Fame, on one leg, in the air, like a queen, 
 
 With three wreaths and a trumpet, will over them lean ; 
 
 AVhile Envy, in serpents and black l>oml>azin, 
 
 Looks on from below with an air of chagrin !
 
 194 HON. MR. SUOKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. 
 
 Then they'll play up a tune in the Royal Saloon, 
 
 And the people will fiance by the light of the moon, 
 
 And keep up the ball till the next clay 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 late Mr. 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, " Quorum para mayna 
 fui." 
 
 HON. MR. SUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. 
 
 TEE EXECUTION. 
 
 A SPORTING ANECDOTE. 
 
 MY Lorci 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 top 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 ? n 
 
 My Lord Tomnoddy he raised his head, 
 And thus to Tiger Tim he said, 
 
 " Malibran s dead, Duvernay's fled,
 
 THE EXECUTION. 195 
 
 Taglioni has not yet arrived in her stead ; 
 
 Tiger Tim, come tell me true, 
 
 What may a Nobleman find to do ? " 
 
 Tim look'd up, and Tim look'd down, 
 
 He paused, and he put on a thoughtful frown, 
 
 And he held up his hat, and he peep'd in the crown ; 
 
 He bit his lip, and he scratch'd his head, 
 
 He let go the handle, and thus he said, 
 
 As the door, released, behind him bang'd : 
 
 " An't please you, my Lord, there's a man to be hang'd." 
 
 My Lord Tomnoddy jump'd up at the news, 
 
 " Run to M'Fuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, 
 
 And run to Sir Carnaby Jenks, of the Blues. 
 Rope-dancers a score I've seen before 
 
 Madame Sacchi, Antonio, and Master Black-more ; 
 But to see a man swing At the end of a string, 
 
 With his neck in a noose, will be quite a new thing ! ;> 
 
 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. 
 A down 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 with 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, 
 Ami, merely just catching a glimpse- of St. Paul's, 
 
 Turns down the Old Bailey, 
 
 When- in front of the gaol, he 
 Pulls up at the door of the gin-shop, and ii\y 
 Cries, "What must 1 fork out lo-night, my trump, 
 Kor the whole firsHloor of the Magpie and Stump 1 " 
 
 The clock strikes twelve it is dark midnight 
 Yet the Magpie and Stump is one blaze of light.
 
 196 HON. MR. BUCKLETHUMBKIN'S STORY. 
 
 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, without carpets or rugs, 
 
 Cold fowl and cigars, Pickled onions in jars, 
 Welsh 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 ! " 
 
 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 ev'ry thing, and ev'ry body. 
 The clock strikes Two ! and the clock strikes Three ! 
 " Who so merry, so merry as we 1 " 
 
 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 ! Eound 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 stinks. 
 
 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 nigh, 
 On all save the wretch condemn'd to die I 
 Alack ! that ever so fair a Sun 
 As that which its course has now begun,
 
 THE EXECUTION. 197 
 
 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 .sound 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 HK 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 agony, 
 
 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 Spirit's unknown career ; 
 
 Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er 
 
 Shall be lifted again, not even in prayer ; 
 
 That heaving chest ! Enough 'tis done ! 
 
 The bolt has fallen ! the spirit is 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. 
 
 A;_yiin that clock ! 'tis time, 'tis time ! 
 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 uncommonly brown ! " 
 
 What was to be done ? 'twas perfectly plain 
 That they could not well hang the man over again : 
 What was to be clone ? The man was dead ! 
 Nought could be done nought could be said ; 
 So my Lord Tomnoddy went home to bed !
 
 198 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 
 
 The following communication will speak for itself : 
 " On their own actions modest men are dumb ! " 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 
 
 IN A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, LIEUT. SEAFORTH, 
 H.P., LATE OF THE HON. E.I.C.'s 2ND REGT. OF BOMBAY FENCIBLES. 
 
 " The play's the thing ! " 
 
 Tin-istock Hotel, Nov. 1839. 
 DEAR CHARLES, 
 
 In reply to your letter, and Fanny's, 
 
 Lord Brougham, it appears, isn't dead, though Queen Anne is ; 
 ; T\vas a " plot " and a " farce " you hate farces, you say 
 Take another " plot," then, viz. the plot of the Play. 
 
 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'ii kisses are sweet ! " 
 
 But they have their alloy Fate assumed, to annoy 
 Miss 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 hand 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'n in his dreams, 
 That 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
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 199 
 
 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 off, and thanks Heaven that he's rid of her. 
 
 Relieved from his cares, The old Peer now prepares 
 To arrange in good earnest his worldly affairs ; 
 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 ; 
 But per contra, he'd lately endow'd a new Chantry 
 For Priests, with ten marks, and the run of the pantry. 
 
 Be that as it may, It's sufficient to say 
 That his tomb in the chancel stands there to this day, 
 Built of Bethersden marble a dark bluish grey. 
 The figure, a fine one of pure alabaster, 
 Some cleanly churchwarden has cover'd with plaster ; 
 
 While some Vandal or Jew, With a taste for virtu, 
 Has knock'd off his toes, to place, I suppose, 
 In some Pickwick Museum, with part of his nose ; 
 
 From his belt arid his sword And his misericorde 
 The enamel's 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 Newcome" 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.
 
 200 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 
 
 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 Gaussen " 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 Rapparee Tories,) 
 
 He so work'd on the lad, That he left, which was bad, 
 The only true friend in the world that he had, 
 Father Onslow, a priest, though to quit him most loth, 
 Who in childhood had furnish'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 drown'd, 
 For 'twas nonsense to think he could swim to dry ground, 
 
 If "A very great Warmau, 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 relinquished the prize ; 
 So he pick'd up the lad, 1 swabb'd, and dry-rubb'd, and mopp'd 
 
 him, 
 And, having no children, resolv'd to adopt him. 
 
 Full many a year Did he hand, reef, and steer, 
 And by no means consider'd himself as small beer, 
 
 1 An incident very like one in Jack Sheppard 
 A work some have lauded, and others have pepper'd 
 Where a Dutch pirate kidnaps, and tosses Thames Barrel 
 Just so in the sea, and he's saved by a barrel, 
 On the coast, if I recollect rightly, it's flung whole, 
 And the hero, half-drown'd, scrambles out of the bung-hole. 
 
 [It aint no sich thing ! the hero aint bung'd in no barrel at all. He's picked 
 up by a Captain, just as Norman was arterwards. PRINT. DEV.]
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 201 
 
 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 reached 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 Beevor, 
 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, 
 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 
 Ts return'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 saved 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 know 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 " No ! 
 Fair sir, you are welcome. Do, pray, stop and dine 
 You will take our pot-luck and we've decentish wine." 
 lie bows, looks at Miss, and he does not decline.
 
 202 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 After dinner the Captain recounts, 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 a while, 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 forced 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 batter'd In short, he so chatter'd, 
 Now lively, now serious, so ogled and flatter'd, 
 That the ladies much 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 ! " 
 
 Unable to smother His hate of his brother, 
 He rails at his cousin, and blows up his mother. 
 "Fie ! fie ! " says the first. Says the latter, " In sooth, 
 This is sharper by far than a keen serpent's tooth ! " 
 (A remark, by the way, which King Lear had made years ago, 
 When he ask d for his Knights, and his Daughter said, " Here's 
 
 ago!")- 
 
 This made Ashdale ashamed ; But he must not be blamed 
 Too much for his warmth, for, like many young fellows, he 
 Was apt to lose temper when tortur'd by jealousy. 
 
 Still speaking quite gruff, He goes off in a huff ; 
 Lady A., who is now what some call " up to snuff," 
 
 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.
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 203 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 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, a 
 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 Xorman, before he has wrested 
 From the hand of the Priest, as Sir Maurice requested, 
 The marriage certificate duly attested. 
 Norman kneels by the clergyman fainting and gory, 
 And begs he won't die till he's told him his story ; 
 
 The Father complies, Re-opens his eyes, 
 And tells him all how and about it and dies ! 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Norman, 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 Pas wedded Spouse, She questions his vov;, 
 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 off 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, 
 Rings the bell for the servant to open the door, 
 And leaves his Mamma in a fit on the floor.
 
 204 SOME ACCOUNT OF A NEW PLAY. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Now comes the catastrophe ! Ashdale, who's wrapt in 
 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 lie 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, 
 Yields his coronet up with a pretty good grace ; 
 Norman vows he won't have it the 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 heir?, 
 And old Maurice Beevor is bundled 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 every thing 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 it's stead that's worth nothing at all !
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 205 
 
 " 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 true, 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 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 Nights" is the last I shall 
 offer. The subject, I fear me, is not over new, but will remind 
 my friends 
 
 " Of something better they have seen before." 
 
 MR. PETERS'S STORY. 
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 
 Stant littore Puppies ! VIRGIL. 
 
 IT was a litter, a litter of five, 
 
 Four 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 to 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 bicn instrwit, 
 
 Or possess'd 01 such natural talent as he ; 
 And as he grew older, Every beholder 
 
 Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder.
 
 206 MR. PETER&S STORY. 
 
 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 turning 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 SAvearing 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 strange, 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. 
 It is spacious, and seems to be built on the 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, Rogers, 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 BAGMAN'S DOG. 207 
 
 " The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! 
 That is the place where we all wish to be, 
 llolling about on it merrily ! " 
 
 So all sing and say By night and by day, 
 In the boudoir, the street, at the concert, and play, 
 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 affected devotion, Promulgates his notion, 
 Of being a " Rover" and " child of the Ocean " 
 Whate'er their age, sex, or condition 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, before 
 The " Wessel" they " Woyage" in has made half her way 
 Between Shell-Ness Point and the pier at Herne Bay, 
 Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree, 
 They'll be all of them heartily sick of " the Sea ! " 
 
 I've stood in Margate, 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 youi choice his tiny hack, 
 Vaunting its excellence ; and, should you hire one, 
 
 For 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 turn'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 I 
 Who would believe yon sickly-looking man's a 
 
 London Jack Tar, a Cheapside Buccaneer ! "- 
 But hold, my Muse ! for this terrific stanza 
 Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza. 
 
 " So now we'll go up, up, up, 
 
 And now we'll go down, down, down, 
 And now we'll go backwards and forwards, 
 
 And now we'll go roun', roun', roun'."
 
 208 MIL PETERS S STORY. 
 
 I hope you've sufficient decernment 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 I 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 Dutch packet is fairly at sea, 
 With the sands called the Goodwin's a league on her lee. 
 
 And now, my good friends, I've a fine opportunity 
 To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity, 
 
 And talking of " caulking," And " quarter-deck walking," 
 
 " Fore and aft," And " abaft," 
 "Hookers," "barkeys," and "craft," 
 (At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laught,) 
 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 taffrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces, 
 And " Shiver my timbers ! " and other odd phrases 
 Employed by old pilots with hard-featured faces j 
 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 Cliamier, 
 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 suffer, 
 Till the Sailors themselves cried, in pity, " Poor Buffer ! "
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 209 
 
 Still 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 very queer, too, 
 And seem'd not to know what exactly to do, 
 And they who'd the charge of them wrote in the logs, 
 " Wind N.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," 1 
 
 When the winds, in their sport, 
 
 Drove aside from its port 
 
 The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court, 
 And swamp'd it to give " the King's Son, Ferdinand," a 
 Soft moment or two with the Lady Miranda, 
 While her Pa met the rest, and severely rebuked 'em 
 For unhandsomely doing him out of his Dukedom. 
 You don't want me, however, to paint you a Storm, 
 As so many have done, and in colours so warm ; 
 Lord Byrori, for instance, in manner facetious, 
 Mr. Ainsworth more gravely, see also Lucretius, 
 A writer who gave me no trifling vexation 
 When a youngster at school on Dean Colet's foundation. 
 
 Suffice it to say That the whole of that day, 
 And the next, and the next, they were scudding away 
 
 Quite out of their course, Propell'd by the force 
 Of those flatulent folks known in Classical story as 
 Aquilo, Libs, Notus, Auster, and Boreas, 
 
 Driven quite at their mercy 
 
 'Twixt Guernsey and Jersey, 
 
 Till at length they came bump on the rocks and the shallows, 
 In West longitude, One, fifty-seven, near St. Maloes ; 
 
 There you will not be surprised 
 
 That the vessel capsized, 
 
 Or that Blogg, who had made, from intestine commotions, 
 His specifical gravity less than the Ocean's, 
 
 Should go floating away, Midst the surges and spray, 
 Like a cork in a gutter, which, swoln by a shower, 
 Runs down Holbom-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, 
 
 1 See Appendix. 
 P
 
 210 MR. PETERS' ti STORY. 
 
 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 U-ll u.s, 
 Old Nick's Nonpareils play at bob with poor Tantalus. 
 Stay ! I'm not clear, But I'm rather out here ; 
 'Twas the water itself that slipp'd from him, I fear ; 
 Faith, I can't recollect and I haven't Lempriere. 
 No matter, poor Blogg went on ducking and bobbing, 
 Sneezing out the salt water, and gulping and sobbing, 
 Just as Clarence, in Shakspeare, describes all the qualms he 
 Experienced while dreaming they'd drown'd him in Malmsey. 
 
 " O Lord," he thought, " what pain it was to drown ! " 
 And saw great fishes with great goggling eyes, 
 
 Glaring as he was bobbing up and down, 
 
 And looking as they thought him quite a prize ; 
 
 When as he sank, and all was growing dark, 
 
 A something seized him with its jaws ! A shark 1 
 
 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'ler, and really can't boast 
 That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast, 
 
 But I've often heard say That e'en to this day, 
 The people of Granville, St. Maloes, and thereabout 
 Are a class that society doesn't much care about ; 
 Men who gain their subsistence by contraband dealing, 
 And a mode of abstraction strict people call " stealing ; " 
 Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech, 
 Above all to a stranger who comes within reach ; 
 
 And they were so to Blogg, When the curly-tail'd dog 
 At last dragg'd him out, high and dry on the beach. 
 
 But we all have been told, By the proverb of old, 
 By no means to think " all that glitters is gold ; ;; 
 
 And, in fact, some advance That most people in France 
 Join the manners and air of a Maltre 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 very polite. 
 
 A suspicious observer perhaps might have traced 
 The petites soins, tendered with so much good taste,
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 211 
 
 To the sight of an old-fashion'd 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 Rude hut, in a dingle 
 That led away inland direct from the shingle, 
 Its sides clothed with underwood, gloomy and dark, 
 Some two hundred yards above high- water mark ; 
 
 And thither the party, So cordial and hearty, 
 Viz. an old man, his wife, and two lads, made a start, he, 
 
 The Bagman, proceeding, With equal good breeding, 
 To express, in indifferent French, all he feels, 
 The great curly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels. 
 They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin, 
 All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Mon-Dieu-in, 
 Grimacing, and what sailors call parley-woing. 
 
 Is it Paris, or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts 
 
 You, whenever your stomach's at all out of sorts, 
 
 To try, if you find richer viands won't stop in it, 
 
 A basin of good mutton broth with a chop in it 1 
 
 (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 nungry, and tired, and don't know what to do. 
 Now just such a mess of delicious hot pottage 
 Was 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 fire was a pot 
 Well replenish'd, but really I can't say with what ; 
 For, 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, whoa offer'd I rarely refu.su, 
 Any more than poor Blogg did, when, seeing the reeky 
 Repast placed before him, scarce able to speak, he 
 In ecstasy mutter'd " By Jove, Cocky-leeky ! " 
 
 In an instant, as soon As they gave him a spoon,
 
 212 MR. PETERS S STORY. 
 
 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 bouilli. 
 
 Meanwhile that old man standing by, 
 
 Subducted his long coat-tails on high, 
 
 With his back to the fire, as if to dry 
 
 A part of his dress which the watery sky 
 
 Had visited rather inclemently. 
 
 Blandly he smil'd, but still he look'd 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 turn'd 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 clothes. 
 
 Yet still, as I told you, he smiled on all present, 
 And did all that lay in his power to look pleasant. 
 
 The old woman, too, Made a mighty ado, 
 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 garpons too strove to express 
 Their sympathy towards the " Child of distress " 
 With a great deal of juvenile French politesse; 
 
 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 diable I 
 
 I've seen an old saw, which is well worth repeating, 
 That says, 
 
 Beserbeth . 
 
 You'll find it so printed by (paxtflit or Sitjmkgtt, 
 And a very good proverb it is to my thinking. 
 
 Blogg thought so too ; As he finish'd his stew, 
 His ear caught the sound of the word " Morbleu I " 
 Pronounced by the old woman under her breath. 
 Now, not knowing what she could mean by " Blue Death ! >:
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 213 
 
 He conceiv'd she referr'd to a delicate brewing 
 Which is almost synonymous, namely, " Blue Ruin." 
 So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee, 
 In his cockneyfyd accent, responded " Oh, Vee ! " 
 
 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, when 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, 
 Roar 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 ; 
 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 tichnaps. 
 
 Mr. Blogg, besides being uncommonly dry, 
 Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy, 
 
 " Did not like to deny " " Felt obliged to comply " 
 Every time that she ask'd 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, firm at his post, 
 During all the long meal had continued to toast 
 
 That garment 'twere rude to Do more than allude to, 
 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) " Moumeer, surivvy maw f " 
 
 And " marshall'd " him so " The way he should go," 
 Upstairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low,
 
 214 MB. PETERS'S STORY. 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 Puts the light on the floor, Walks to the door, 
 Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more ; 
 When just as the ear 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 very 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, arid 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 
 Of one of those ruffians who murder and fleece men, 
 It's your uncle, or one of the " Rural Policemen ; "- 
 
 Then the blood flows again Through artery and vein ; 
 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 his 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 ! " 
 
 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 affection each other they greet !
 
 THE BAGMAN'S LOG. 215 
 
 Especially too, as we very well know, 
 
 If there seems any chance of a little cadeau, 
 
 A " Present from Brighton," or " Token " to show, 
 
 In the shape of a work-box, ring, bracelet, or so, 
 
 That our friends don't forget us, although they may go 
 
 To Ramsgate, or Rome, 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 ! " 
 
 But nothing could stop his mute fav'rite's caressing, 
 Who, in fact, seem'd 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 scratched him off from the bed by sheer strength. 
 
 Extremely annoy'd by the " tarnation, whop," as it 
 's call'd in Kentuck, on his head and its opposite, 
 
 Blogg show'd 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-col our'd stains, as of blood newly spilt, 
 lleveal'd by the dog's having scratch'd off the quilt, 
 Which hinted a story of horror and guilt ! 
 'Twas "no mistake," He was "wide awake"
 
 216 MB. PETERS'S STORY. 
 
 In an instant ; for, when only decently drunk, 
 Nothing 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 al ? 
 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 siifficient 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. 
 
 Then, just as the villain Crept, stealthily still, in, 
 And you'd not have iusur'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, 
 
 And say the first person Was call'd James M'Pherson, 
 While, as to the second, they stoutly declare 
 He was no one knows who, and born no one knows where,) 
 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 Muses, 
 More skill' d 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 ;
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 217 
 
 Not inferior in " bottom " to aught you have read of, 
 Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneux' head off. 
 But my dainty Urania says, " Such things are shocking ! " 
 
 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 roll'd over them, and they roll'd over Blogg ; 
 
 While what's called " The Claret " Flew over the garret : 
 
 Merely stating the fact, As each other they whack'd, 
 The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd ; 
 Making both the yarqons, 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 jupon ; 
 Then the old man turn'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho's 
 Tore out the whole seat of his striped Calimancoes. 
 
 Really, which way This desperate fray 
 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 ; 
 
 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 I spent a short time in the old Courageux; 
 
 I think that they say 
 
 She had been, in her day, 
 
 A First-rate, but was then what they term a ItasJe, 
 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 tis done ; But the system is one 
 Of which Sancho's exploit would increase the facility. 
 And, from all I can learn, I'd much rather be robb'd 
 Of the little I have in my purse, than be "cobb'd ;"-
 
 218 MR. PETERS' S STORY. 
 
 That's mere matter of taste : 
 
 But the Frenchman was placed 
 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 rough 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 Reader, before that I say 
 Farewell fo.r 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, 
 INGRATUM si DIXERIS, OMNIA DIXTI ! ! ! 
 
 L'Envoye. 
 
 I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of him, 
 I never once thought to inquire what became of him ; 
 If you want to know, Reader, the way, I opine, 
 
 To achieve your design, Mind, it's no wish of mine,- 
 Is, (a penny will clo't,) by addressing a line 
 To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne. 
 
 APPENDIX. 1 
 
 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 rml " Bermoothes," 
 In the Mediterranean, now called Lampedos;i : 
 
 See page 209.
 
 THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 219 
 
 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's " Staff;" 
 But 'twas useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axe. 
 Colonel Pasley, however, 'tis everywhere said, 
 Now he's blown up the old Royal George at Spithead, 
 And the great cliff at Dover, of which we've all read, 
 Takes his whole apparatus, and goes out to look 
 And see if he can't try and blow up " the Book." 
 Gentle Reader, farewell ! If I add one more line, 
 " He'll be, in all likelihood, blowing up mine!"
 
 SECOND SERIES 
 
 221
 
 Cfie 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 TO RICHARD BENTLEY, ESQ. 
 
 MY DEAH SIR, 
 
 You tell me that " a generous and enlightened Public " has given 
 a favourable reception to those extracts from our family papers, 
 which, at your suggestion, were laid before it some two years 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. correspondence 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 accom- 
 panying histories, while my inestimable friend Simpkinson has bent 
 all the powers of his mighty mind to the task. From Father John's 
 stores I have drawn largely. Our "Honourable" friend Suckle- 
 thumbkin 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 
 Pauline), whose horror of Mrs. Botherby's cap has no jot diminished, 
 furnishes me with the opening Legend of the series from the histor- 
 iettcK of her own Mlv France. 
 
 Why will you not run down to Tappington this Christmas ? We 
 have been rather busy of late in carrying into execution the enclosure 
 
 223
 
 224 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 of Swingfield Minnis under the auspices of my Lord Radnor, 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 avenue, 
 
 and, as A told Sucklethumbkin, was much taken with the 
 
 picturesque appearance of our old gable-ends. Unluckily we were 
 all at Canterbury that morning, or proud indeed should we have 
 been to offer his Royal Highness the humble hospitalities of the Hall, 
 and then fancy Mrs. Botherby's "My Gracious ! " By the way, 
 the old lady tells me you left your night-cap 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 
 pseudonymously dignify with the title of "Bitter Ale." Make a 
 start, then : pitch printers'-ink to old Harry, and come and spend 
 a fortnight with 
 
 Yours, till the crack of doom, 
 
 THOMAS INGOLDSBY. 
 
 Tappington Everard, 
 Dec. 16th, 1842. 
 
 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 
 
 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 debonnaire, 
 And shrugg'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, shew'd so much of the true spavoir faire, 
 All the ladies in Paris were wont to declare, 
 
 That could any one draw Them from Dian's strict law, 
 Into what Mrs. Ramsbottom calls a " Fox Paw," 
 It would be Frangois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix. 
 
 Now, I'm sorry to say, At that time of day, 
 The Court of Versailles was a little too gay ; 
 The Courtiers were all much addicted to Play, 
 To Bourdeaux, Chamber-tin, Frontignac, St. Peray, 
 
 Lafitte, Chateau Margaux, And-Sillery (a cargo 
 On which John Bull sensibly (?) lays an embargo),
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 225 
 
 While Louis Quatorze Kept about him, in scores, 
 What the Noblesse, in courtesy, term'd his " Jane Shores," 
 They were call'd by a much coarser name out of doors. 
 
 This, we all must admit, in A King's not befitting ! 
 For such courses, when followed by persons of quality, 
 
 Are apt to detract on the score of morality. 
 
 Francois Xavier Auguste acted much like the rest of them, 
 Dress d, drank, and fought, and chassee'd with the best of them ; 
 
 Took his ceil de perdrix Till he scarcely 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 Raw,") 
 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 Voltaire, 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, Frai^ois 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 O U 5 s, 
 Till he lost e'en the credit he had with the Jews ; 
 And, a parallel if I may venture to draw 
 Between Fra^ois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix, 
 And his namesake, a still more distinguished Fra^ois, 
 
 Who wrote to his "gceur " l From Pavia, " Mon Cceur, 
 I have lost all I had in the world fors Fhonneur." 
 
 1 Mrs. Ingoldsby, who is deeply read in Robertson, informs me that this 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 
 admitting that " it is worse than a fault it's a blunder ! " for which enormity, 
 as honest old Pepys says when he records having kissed his cookmaid, " 1 
 humbly beg pardon of Heaven, and Mrs. lugoldsby ! "
 
 226 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 So St. Foix might have wrote No dissimilar note, 
 " Vive la bagatelle ! totijours cjai idem semper 
 I've lost all I had in the world but ray temper ! " 
 
 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, 
 Frangois Xavier Auguste was too prone to indulge in. 
 
 But what could be done 1 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 
 Francois Xavier Auguste, the gay Black Mousquetaire. 
 
 Patience par force ! He considered, of course, 
 But in vain he could hit on no sort of resource 
 
 Love ? Liquor ? Law ? Loo ? 
 
 They would each of them do, 
 
 There's excitement enough in all four, but in none he 
 Could hope to get on sans I'argent i.e. money. 
 Love 1 no ; ladies like little cadeaiu from a suitor. 
 Liquor 1 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 articles, 
 Shewing his Greek up so, is not known very well ; 
 Many 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 Frangois Xavier Auguste de St. Foix !
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 227 
 
 Loo ? no ; that lie had tried ; 'Twas, in fact, his weak 
 
 side, 
 
 But required more than any a purse well supplied. 
 " Love ? Liquor ? Law ? Loo ? No ! ''tis all the same story. 
 Stay! I have it Ma foil (that's 'Odd's Bob's!') there is 
 GLORY ! 
 
 Away with dull care ! Vive le Roi ! Vive la Guerre ! 
 Peste ! I'd almost forgot I'm a Black Mousquetaire ! 
 
 When a man is like me, Sans six saus, 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 1 
 
 What a famous thought this is ! I'll go as Ulysses 
 Of old did like him I'll see manners, and know countries ; x 
 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 Turenue 
 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 Spaniards, or Dutch, 
 A fact which has stamped him a rather " Cool hand," 
 Being nearly related to Louis le Grand 
 It had been all the same had that King been his brother ; 
 He fought sometimes with one, and sometimes with another ; 
 
 For war, so exciting, He took such delight in, 
 He did not care whom he fought, so he iras fighting. 
 And, as I've just said, had amused himself then 
 By tickling the tail of Field-Marshal Turenne ; 
 Since which, the Field- Marshal's most pressing concern 
 Was to tickle some other Chiefs tail in his turn. 
 
 What a fine thing a battle is ! not one of those 
 Which one saw at the late Mr. Andrew Ducrow's, 
 Where a dozen of scene-shifters, drawn up in rows, 
 Would a dozen more scene-shifters boldly oppose, 
 
 Taking great care their blows Did not injure their iocs, 
 And alike, save in colour and cut of their clothes, 
 Which were varied, to give more effect to " Tiilli-nn.i-" 
 
 While Stickney the Great Flung the gauntlet to Fate, 
 
 1 Qui mores liominum innltorum viilit et urlje.s. 
 Who viewed men's manners, Loudons, Yorks, anil Derbys.
 
 228 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 And made us all tremble, so gallantly did lie come 
 On to encounter bold General Widdicombe 
 But a real, good fight, like Pultowa, or Liitzen, 
 (Which Gustavus the great ended all his disputes in,) 
 Or that which Suwarrow engaged without boots in, 
 Or Dettingen, Fontenoy, Blenheim, or Minden, 
 Or the one Mr. Campbell describes, Hohenlinden, 
 
 Where " the sun was low," The ground all over snow, 
 And dark as mid- winter the swift Iser's flow, 
 Till its colour was alter'd 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 oiie- 
 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, Fiancois Xavier Auguste, 
 After making some scores of his foes " bite the dust," 
 Got a mouthful himself of the very same crust ; 
 And though, as the Bard says, "No law is more just 
 Than for 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, 
 Where those, who scorn'd to fly or yield, 
 
 In one promiscuous carnage lie ; 
 
 When the cannon's roar Is heard no moiv, 
 And the thick dun smoke has roll'd away, 
 And the victor comes for a last survey 
 Of the well-fought field of yesterday !
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 229 
 
 No triumphs flush that haughty brow, 
 
 No proud exulting look is there, 
 His eagle glance is humbled now, 
 
 As, earth- ward bent, in anxious care 
 It seeks the form whose stalwart pilde 
 But yester-morn was by his side ! 
 
 And there it lies ! on yonder bank 
 Of corses, which themselves had breath 
 
 But yester-morn now cold and dank. 
 With other dews than those of death ! 
 
 Powerless as it had ne'er been born 
 
 The hand that clasp'd his yester-morn ! 
 
 And there are widows wand'ring there, 
 That roam the blood-besprinkled plain, 
 
 And listen hi their dumb despair 
 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 growing sentimental ; 
 Besides, such things we 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-brow'd hag, With a knife and a bag, 
 And an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses 
 The ginger complexion, and one of those noses 
 Peculiar to females named Levy and Moses, 
 Such as nervous folks still, when they come in their way, shun, 
 Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion. 
 
 You remember, I trust, Francois Xavier Augusts, 
 Had uncommon fine limbs, and a very fine 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 knee, 
 Which affects female hearts, in no common degree, 
 With emotions in which many feelings combine, 
 Very easy to fancy, though hard to define ;
 
 230 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 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, 
 The horrible calling e'en now she is plying, 
 Despoiling the dead, and despatching the dying ! 
 For these " nimble Conveyancers," after such battles, 
 Regarding as treasure trove all goods and chattels, 
 Think 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, whate'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 Avhat, I suppose, I must call his culotte ; 
 
 And his pockets, no doubt, Being turned inside out, 
 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 elf, 
 The virago at last lifts the soldier himself, 
 And, like a She-Samson, at length lays him down 
 In a hospital forni'd in the neighbouring town ! 
 
 I am not very sure, But I think 'twas Namur ; 
 And there she now leaves him, expecting a cure. 
 
 I ABOMINATE physic I care not who knows 
 
 That there's nothing on earth I detest like " a close ''- 
 
 That yellowish-green-looking fluid, whose hue 
 
 I consider extremely unpleasant to view, 
 
 With its sickly appearance, that trenches so near 
 
 On what Homer defines the complexion of Fear ; 
 
 Xhapov Seo?, 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.
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 231 
 
 I repeat, I abominate physic ; but then, 
 
 If folks will go campaigning about with such men 
 
 As the Great Prince de Conde, and Marshal Turenne, 
 
 They may fairly expect To be now and then check'd 
 By a bullet, or sabre-cut. Then their best solace is 
 Found, I admit, in green potions, and boluses ; 
 
 So, of course, I don't blame St. Foix, wounded and lame, 
 If he swallowed a decent quant, sw/f. 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 ptisamie, 
 And gently to chafe the patella (knee-pan). 
 
 " Oh, woman ! " Sir Walter observes, " when the brow 
 's wrung with pain, what a minist'ring Angel art thou ! " 
 Thou'rt a " minist'ring Angel " in no less degree, 
 I can boldly assert, when the pain's in the knee ; 
 
 And medical friction Is, past contradiction, 
 Much better performed by a She than a He. 
 A fact which, indeed, comes within my own knowledge, 
 For I well recollect, when a youngster at College, 
 
 And, therefore, can quote A surgeon of note, 
 Mr. Grosvenor of Oxford, who not only wrote 
 On the subject a very fine treatise, but, still as his 
 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, When 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 teens, 
 Some call " Sisters of Charity," others " Beguines." 
 They don't take the vows ; but, half-Nun and half- Lay, 
 Attend you ; and when you've got better, they say, 
 " You're exceedingly welcome ! There's nothing to pay. 
 
 Our task is now done. You are able to run. 
 We never take money ; we cure you for fun ! " 
 Then they drop you a court'sy, and wish you good day, 
 And go off to cure somebody else the same way. 
 A great many of these, at the date of my tale, 
 In Namur walked 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.
 
 232 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 These were partially seen through the veil which they wore 
 
 all; 
 
 Her teeth were of pearl, and her lips were of coral ; 
 Her eyelashes silken ; her eyes, fine large blue ones, 
 Were sapphires (I don't call these similes new ones ; 
 But, in metaphors, freely confess I've a leaning 
 To such, new or old, as convey best one's meaning). 
 Then, for figure 1 In faith it was downright barbarity 
 
 To muffle a form Might an anchorite warm 
 In the fusty stuff gown of a Sceur de la Charite; 
 And no poet could fancy, no painter could draw 
 One more perfect in all points, more free from a flaw, 
 Than her's who now sits by the couch of St. Foix, 
 
 Chafing there, With such care, And so dove-like an air, 
 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 pillows. 
 And leaving poor maidens to weep and wear willows, 
 Is not to be classed among mere peccadillos,) 
 His "faults," I should say I don't think Fra^ois 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.
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 233 
 
 "When Woman," as Goldsmith declares, "stoops to folly, 
 And finds out too late that false man can betray," 
 
 She is apt to look dismal, and grow " melan-choly," 
 And, in short, to be anything rather than gay. 
 
 He goes on to remark that " to punish her lover, 
 Wring his bosom, and draw the tear into his eye, 
 
 There is but one method " which he can discover 
 That's likely to answer that one is " to die ! " 
 
 He's wrong the wan and withering cheek ; 
 
 The thin lips, pale, and drawn apart ; 
 The dim yet tearless eyes, that speak 
 
 The misery of the breaking heart ; 
 
 The wasted form, th' enfeebled tone 
 
 That whispering mocks the pitying ear ; 
 Th' imploring glances heaven- ward thrown, 
 
 As heedless, helpless, hopeless here ; 
 
 These wring the false one's heart enough, 
 If " made of penetrable stuff." 
 
 And poor Therese Thus pines and decays, 
 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 dinner, 
 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 breath'd one deep sigh, threw one look up to Heaven, 
 
 And all was o'er ! Poor Therese was no more 
 She was gone ! the last breath that she managed to draw 
 Escaped in one half-utterVl word 'twas " St. Foix ! " 
 
 Who can -fly from himself? Bitter cares, when you feel 'em, 
 
 Are not cured by travel as Horace says, " Ccelum 
 
 Nan airi'iitui/i mutant qui currunt trans mare!" 
 
 It's climate, not mind, that by roaming men vary 
 
 Remorse for temptation to which you have yielded, is 
 
 A shadow you cau't sell as Peter Schlemil did his ;
 
 234 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 It haunts you for ever in bed and at board, 
 
 Ay, e'en in your dreams. And you can't find, it seem*, 
 Any proof that a guilty man ever yet snored ! 
 It is much if lie slumbers at all, which but few, 
 Francois Xavier Auguste was an instance can do. 
 Indeed, from the time He committed the crime 
 Which cut off poor Sister Therese in her prime, 
 He was not the same man that he had been his plan 
 Was quite changed in wild freaks he no more led the van ; 
 He'd scarce sleep a wink in A week ; but sit thinking, 
 From company shrinking He quite gave up drinking. 
 At the mess-table, too, where now seldom he came, 
 Fish, fricassee, fricandean, potaye, or game, 
 Dindon aux truffes, 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 appetite fail'd him no matter how rare 
 And recherche the dish, how delicious the fare, 
 What he used to like best he no longer could bear ; 
 
 But he'd there sit and stare With an air of despair : 
 Took no care, but would wear Boots that wanted repair ; 
 Such a shirt too ! you'd think he'd no linen to spare. 
 He omitted to shave ; he neglected his hair, 
 And looked more like a Guy than a gay Mousquetaire. 
 
 One thing, above all, most excited remark : 
 In the evening he seldom sat long after dark. 
 Not that then, as of yore, he'd go out for "a lark" 
 
 With his friends ; but when they, After taking caff, 
 Would have broiled bones and kidneys brought in on a tray, 
 Which I own I consider a very good way, 
 If a man's not dyspeptic, to wind up the day 
 No persuasion on earth could induce him to stay ; 
 But he'd take up his candlestick, just nod his head 
 By way of " Good evening ! " and walk off to bed. 
 Yet even when there he seem'd no better off, 
 For he'd wheeze, and he'd sneeze, and he'd hem ! and he cough ; 
 
 And they'd hear him all night, Sometimes, sobbing outright, 
 While his valet, who often endeavour'd to peep, 
 Declared that " his master was never asleep ! 
 But would sigh, and would groan, slap his forehead, and weep ; 
 
 That about ten o'clock His door he would lock, 
 And then never would open it, let who would knock ! 
 
 He had heard him," he said, " Sometimes jump out of bed, 
 And talk as if speaking to one who was dead ! 
 
 . 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
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 
 
 To hear him exclaim so, and call upon Heaven ; 
 Then The bother began always just at eleven ! " 
 
 Francois Xavier Auguste, as I've told you before, 
 I believe, was a popular man in his corps, 
 
 And his comrades, not one Of whom knew of the Nun, 
 Now began to consult what was best to be done. 
 
 Count Cordon Bleu And the Sieur de la Eoue 
 Confess'd they did not know at all what to do : 
 But the Chevalier Hippolyte Hector Achille 
 Alphonso 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 
 
 Mart de ma vie ! " Here he took some rapee 
 " Be the cause what it may, he shall tell it to me ! " 
 He was right, sure enough in a couple of days 
 He worms out the whole story of Sister Therese, 
 Now entomb'd, poor dear soul ! in some Dutch Pere la Chaise. 
 " But the worst thing of all," Fra^ois Xavier declares, 
 " Is, whenever I've taken my candle up-stairs, 
 There's Therese sitting there upon one of those chairs ! 
 
 Such a frown, too, she wears, And so frightfully glares, 
 That I'm really prevented from saying my pray'rs, 
 While an odour, the very reverse of perfume, 
 More like rhubard 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 Sans Foi, 
 
 A man whom they had, you see, Mark'd as a Sadducee,- 
 Iii 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 turn'd up his eyes, 
 And he thought with himself that he could not do less 
 Than lay the whole matter before the whole Mess. 
 
 Repetition'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 cars, 
 And received the account, some with fears, some with sneers ;
 
 23C THE EL A CK MO UXQ UETAIRE. 
 
 How the Sieur de la Roue Said to Count Cordon Bleu, 
 " Mafoi c'est bien drole Monseigneur, what say you?"- 
 How Count Cordon Bleu Declared he " thought so too ; "- 
 How the Colonel affirm'd that " the case was quite new ; " 
 
 How the Captains and Majors Began to lay wagers 
 How far the Ghost part of the story was true ; 
 How, at last, when asked, "What was the l>est 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 Achille 
 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 
 Than those he had, early in life, found to fail, 
 When he strove to lay salt on some little bird's tail. 
 
 In vain did he try With strong waters to ply 
 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 " Finrm\" 
 (It's " Blarney " in Irish I don't know the Scotch,) 
 He fell to admiring his friend's English watch. 1 
 
 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, jiist to take a peep in it, and 
 Seized the occasion to pop back the minute-hand. 
 With a demi-conge', and a shrug, and grin, he 
 Returns the bijou and c'est une affaire finie 
 " I've done him," thinks he, " now I'll wager a guinea ! " 
 
 "Tompion's, I presume?" FARQUHAR.
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 237 
 
 It happen'cl that day They were all very gay, 
 'TVas 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, 
 He cried, "Come that won't do, my fine fellow, St. Foix, 
 Give us five minutes longer and drink Vive le Roi." 
 
 Fran9ois 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 greAV stiff as a post, 
 
 His jaw dropp'd his eyes 
 
 Swell'd to twice their own size 
 And he stood as a pointer would stand at a Ghost ! 
 Then shriek'd, as he fell on the floor like a stone. 
 " Ah ! Sister Therese ! now do let me alone ! " 
 
 It's amazing by sheer perseverance what men do, 
 
 As Avaters wear stone by the " Scvpe cadendo," 
 
 If they stick to Lord Somebody's motto, "Agenda !" 
 
 Was it not Kobert Bruce ? I declare I've forgot, 
 
 But I think ife was Robert 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 
 hist below his left eye, which relieving the pain, 
 He stood up, like a trump, with an air of disdain, 
 
 While his " backer " was fain, 
 
 For he could not refrain 
 
 (He was dress'd in pea-green, with a pin and gold chain, 
 And I think I heard somebody call him " Squire Hayne,") 
 To whisper ten words one should always retain, 
 "TAKE A SUCK AT THE LEMON, AND AT HIM AGAIN ! ! ! "- 
 A hint ne'er surpassed, though thus spoken at random, 
 Since Teucer's apostrophe Nil desperandwm ! 
 (Irandville acted on it, and ordt-r'd his Tandem.
 
 238 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIEE. 
 
 He had heard St. Foix say, That no very great way 
 From Namur was a snug little town call'd Grandpre, 
 Near which, a few miles from the banks of the Maese, 
 Dwelt a pretty twin-sister of poor dear Therese, 
 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, 
 Late of contraband ychnaps an unlicensed distiller, 
 And her name was Des Moulins (in English, Miss Miller). 
 
 Now, though Hippolyte Hector Could hardly expect her 
 To feel much regard for her sister's " protector," 
 When she'd seen him so shamefully leave and neglect her ; 
 
 Still, he very well knew In this world there are few 
 But are ready much Christian forgiveness to shew, 
 For other folk's wrongs if well paid so to do 
 And he'd seen to what acts "He? aurju.fitw" compel beaux 
 And belles, whose affairs have once got out at elbows, 
 With the magic effect of a handful of crowns 
 Upon people whose pockets boast nothing but " brown.-? ; " 
 
 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, 
 Coine each night, with her pale face, his guilt to upbraid ; 
 That if once introduced to his room, thus array d, 
 And then unmask'd as soon as she'd long enough stay'd, 
 : 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 Dundas's " Manoeuvres. 1 ' 
 
 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 inix'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,
 
 .1 LEGEND OF FRANCE. 230 
 
 Five stories high, The first floor from the sky, 
 And lofty enough to afford great facility 
 For playing a game, with the youthful nohility 
 
 Of " crack corps " a deal in Bequest, when they're feeling, 
 In dull country quarters, ennui on them stealing ; 
 
 A wet wafers applied To a sixpence's side, 
 Then it's spun with the thumb up to stick on the ceiling ; 
 Intellectual amusement, which custom allows old troops, 
 I've seen it here practised at home by our Household troops. 
 
 He'd a table, and bed, And three chairs ; and all's said. 
 A bachelor's barrack, where'er you discern it, you're 
 Sure to find not overburthen'd with furniture. 
 
 Franois Xavier Auguste lock'd and bolted his door 
 With just the same caution he'd practised before ; 
 
 Little he knew That the Count Cordon Bleu, 
 With Hector Achille, and the Sieur de la Roue, 
 Had been up there before him, and drawn ev'ry screw ! 
 
 And now comes the moment the watches and clocks 
 
 All point to dtrcn /the bolts and the locks 
 
 Give way and the party turn out their bag-fox ! 
 
 With 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 say grace, 1 
 To sit down to his haggis, and can't find a place ; 
 
 You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-chair, 
 Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there, 
 And how, after saying " What man dares I dare ! " 
 
 He proceeds to declare He should not so much t-aiv 
 If it came in the shape of a "tiger" or "bear," 
 But he don't like its shaking its long gory hair ! 
 
 May tfooil digestion wait ou appetite, 
 Ami health on both. Macbeth.
 
 240 THE BLACK MOUSQUETAIRE. 
 
 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 Lenox and Kosse 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 ; 
 So, perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion 
 Of what must have been Franois Xavier's emotion, 
 
 If you fancy what troubled Macbeth to be doubled, 
 And, instead of one Banquo to stare in his face 
 Without " speculation," suppose he'd a brace ! 
 
 I wish I'd poor Fuseli's pencil, who ne'er I bel- 
 ieve was succeeded in painting the terrible, 
 
 Or that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who was so a- 
 droit in depicting it vide his piece 
 Descriptive of Cardinal Beaufort's decease, 
 
 Where that prelate is lying Decidedly dying, 
 
 With the King and his 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 up in the corner. 
 But painting's an art I confess I am raw in, 
 The fact is, I never took lessons in drawing : 
 
 Had I done so, instead Of the lines you have read, 
 I'd have giv'n you a sketch should have fill'd you with dread : 
 Francois Xavier Auguste squatting up in his bed, 
 
 His hands widely spread, His complexion like lead, 
 Ev'ry hair that he has standing up on his head, 
 As when, Agnes des Moulins first catching his view, 
 Now right, and now left, rapid glances he threw, 
 Then shriek'd witli a wild and unearthly halloo, 
 Man Dieu ! v'la deux ! ! 
 
 BY THE POPE THERE ARE TWO ! ! ! " 
 
 He fell back one long aspiration he drew. 
 
 In flew De la Roue, And Count Cordon Bleu, 
 Pommade, Pomme-de-terre, and the rest of their crew. 
 He stirr'd not, he spoke not, he none of them knew ! 
 
 And Achille cried " Odzooks ! I fear, by his look?, 
 Our friend, Francois Xavier, has popp'd off the hooks ! " 
 
 'Twas too true ! Malhearvi" ' .' 
 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 ! !
 
 THE BLACK MOCSQV ETAIBE.
 
 A LEGEND OF FRANCE. 243 
 
 A moral more in point I scarce could hope 
 Than this, from Mr. Alexander Pope. 
 
 If ever chance should bring some Cornet gay, 
 
 And pious Maid, as, possibly, it may, 
 
 From Knightsbridge Barracks, and the shades serene 
 
 Of Clapham Rise, as far as Kensal Green ; 
 
 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 he reads the words, " Ci git St. Foi:e!" 
 
 She, that the tombstone which her eye surveys 
 
 Bears this sad line, "Hicjacet Sceur Therese!"- 
 
 Then shall they sigh, and weep, and murmuring say, 
 
 " Oh ! may we never play such tricks as they ! " 
 
 And if at such a time some Bard there be, 
 
 Some sober Bard, addicted much to tea 
 
 And sentimental song like Ingoldsby 
 
 If such there be who sings and sips so well, 
 
 Let him this sad, this tender story tell ! 
 
 Warn'd by the tale, the gentle pair shall boast, 
 
 " I've 'scaped the Broken Heart ! " " and I the Ghost ! ! " 
 
 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 won't 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 Hitter 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."
 
 244 NIB RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 
 
 SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 
 
 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 
 
 ^m 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," 
 Unstain'cl by dishonour, unsullied by fear, 
 All his neighbours pronounced him a prtux chf-rulier. 
 
 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 in 
 A night, but addict himself sadly to drinking, 
 
 And, what moralists say Is as naughty to play, 
 To Rouge et Noir, Hazard, Short Whist, 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, " O, sir, It's some time ago, sir. 
 Since ought through my hands reach'd the baker or grocer, 
 And the tradesmen in general are grown great complainers." 
 Sir Rupert the brave thus addressed his retainers : 
 
 " My friends, since the stock Of my father's old hock 
 Is out, with the Kiirchwasser, Barsac, Moselle, 
 And we're fairly reduced to the pump and the well, 
 
 I presume to suggest, We shall all find it best 
 For each to shake hands with his friends ere he goes, 
 Mount his horse, if he has one, and follow his nose ; 
 
 As to me, I opine, Left sans money or wine, 
 My best way is to throw myself into the Rhine, 
 Where pitying trav'lers may sigh, as they cross over, 
 ' Though he lived a roitf, 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.
 
 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 245 
 
 Full sweetly she sang to a sparkling guitar, 
 With silver cords 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 seemed to swallow her, 
 And slowly she sunk, sounded fainter and hollower ; 
 
 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, 
 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, 
 Rose above and about him ; great fishes and small 
 Came thronging around him, regardless of danger, 
 And seemed 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 expos'd in his shop. 
 
 But little reck'd Rupert these queer-looking brutes, 
 
 Or the efts and the newts That crawled up his boots, 
 
 For a sight, beyond any of which I've made mention, 
 
 In a moment completely absorb'd his attention. 
 
 A huge crystal bath, which, witli water far clearer 
 
 Than George Robins' filters, or Thorpe's (which are dearer), 
 Have ever distill'd, To the summit was fill'd, 
 
 Lay stretch'd out before him, and every nerve thrill'' I 
 
 As scores of young women Were (living and swimming, 
 
 Till the vision a perfect quandary put him in ; 
 
 All slightly accoutred in gauzes and lawns, 
 
 Thry caniL- floating about him like so many prawns.
 
 246 SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 
 
 Sir Eupert, who (barring the few peccadilloes 
 Alluded to,) ere he lept into the billows 
 Possess'd irreproachable morals, began 
 To feel rather queer, as a modest young man ; 
 When forth stepp'd a dame, whom he recognised 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, and bowed, As he ogled the crowd 
 Of subaqueous beauties, then answer'd aloud : 
 " Ma'am, you do me much honour, I cannot express 
 The delight I shall feel if you'll pardon my dress- 
 May I venture to say, when a gentleman jumps 
 In the river at midnight for want of ' the dumps,' 
 He rarely puts on his knee-breeches and pumps ; 
 If I could but have guess'd what I sensibly feel 
 Your politeness I'd not have come en dishabille, 
 But have put on my silk tights in lieu of my steel." 
 Quoth the lady, " Dear sir, no apologies, pray, 
 You will take our ' pot-luck ' in the family way ; 
 
 We can give you a dish Of some decentish fish, 
 And our water's thought fairish ; but here in the Rhine, 
 I can't say we pique ourselves much on our wine." 
 
 The Knight made a bow more profound than before, 
 When a Dory-faced page oped the dining-room door, 
 
 And said, bending his knee, "Madame, on a servi!" 
 Rupert tender'd his arm, led Lurline to her place, 
 And a fat little Mer-inan stood up arid said grace. 
 
 What boots it to tell of the viands, or how she 
 Apologiz'd much for their plain water-souchy, 
 
 Want of Harvey's, and Cross's, And Burgess's sauces ? 
 Or how Rupert, 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,
 
 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 247 
 
 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 iny rascally Jews ! " 
 
 When dinner was done, at a sign to the lasses, 
 
 The table was clear'd, and they put on fresh glasses ; 
 
 Then the lady addrest Her redoubtable guest 
 Much as Dido, of old, did the pious Eneas, 
 "Dear sir, what induced you to come down and see us 1 ?" 
 
 Rupert gave her a glance most bewitchingly tender, 
 LolI'd back in his chair, put his toes on the fender, 
 
 And told her outright How that he, a young Knight, 
 Had never been last at a feast or a fight ; 
 
 But that keeping good cheer Every day in the year, 
 And drinking neat wines all the same as small-beer, 
 
 Had exhausted his rent, And, his money all spent, 
 How he borroVd large sums at two hundred per cent. ; 
 
 How they follow'd and then, The once civillest of men, 
 Messrs. Howard and Gibbs, made him bitterly rue it he 
 3 d 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 ; 
 
 Rupert, hearing her sigh, Look'd uncommonly sly, 
 And said, with some emphasis, " Ah ! miss, had I 
 
 A few pounds of those metals You waste here on kettles, 
 
 Then, Lord once again Of my spacious domain, 
 A free Count of the Empire once more I might reign, 
 
 With Lurline at my side, My adorable bride, 
 (For the parson should come, and the knot should be tied ;) 
 No couple so happy on earth should be seen 
 As Sir Rupert the brave and his charming Lurline ; 
 Not that money's my object No, hang it! I scorn it 
 And as for my rank but that you'd so adorn it 
 
 I'd abandon it all To remain your true thrall, 
 And, instead of 'the Great,' be call'd 'Rupert the Small;' 
 To gain but your smiles, were I Sardanapalus, 
 I'd descend from my throne, and be boots at an alehouse." ] 
 
 Lurline hung her head, Turned pale, and then red, 
 < ! rowing faint at this sudden proposal to wed, 
 As though his abruptness, in "popping the question" 
 So soon after dinner, disturb'd her digestion. 
 
 " Sardanapalus " and " Boots," the Xenith and Nadir of human society.
 
 248 SIH RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 Upstarted the Knight, Half mad with delight, 
 Kound her finely-form'd waist He immediately placed 
 One arm, which the lady most closely embraced, 
 Of her lily-white fingers the other made capture, 
 And he press'd his adored to his bosom with rapture. 
 " And, oh ! " he exclaim'd, " let them go catch my skiff, I 
 '11 be home in a twinkling, and back in a jiffy, 
 Nor one moment procrastinate longer my journey 
 Than to put up the banns and kick out the attorney." 
 
 One kiss to her lip, and one squeeze to her hand, 
 And Sir Rupert already was half-way to land, 
 
 For a sour-visaged Triton, With features would frighten 
 Old Nick, caught him up in one hand, though no light one, 
 Sprang up through the waves, popp'd him into his funny, 
 YVhich some others already had half-fill'd with money ; 
 In fact, 'twas so heavily laden with ore 
 And pearls, 'twas a mercy he got it to shore ; 
 
 But Sir Rupert was strong, And, while pulling along, 
 Still he heard, faintly sounding, the water-nymphs' song. 
 
 LAY OP THE NAIADS. 
 
 " Away ! away ! to the mountain's brow, 
 
 Where the castle is darkly frowning ; 
 And the vassals, all in goodly row, 
 
 Weep for their lord a-drowning ! 
 Away ! away ! to the steward's room, 
 
 Where law with its wig and robe is ; 
 Throw HS out John Doe and Richard Roe, 
 
 And sweetly we'll tickle their tobies ! " 
 
 The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, 
 When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling. 
 
 What rejoicing was there ! How the vassals did stave ! 
 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 trowsers, nor thought of repining, 
 Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining. 
 
 But oh ! what dismay Fill'd the tribe of Ua Sn, 
 When they found he'd the cash, and intended to pay ! 
 Away went " cognovit*," "bills," "bonds," and escheats," 
 Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts.
 
 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 249 
 
 Now no more he sends out For pots of brown stout 
 Or schnaps, but resolves to do henceforth without, 
 Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, 
 Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society, 
 
 All riot eschew, Begin life anew, 
 And new-cushion and hassock the family pew ! 
 Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life, 
 He boldly determines to take him a wife. 
 
 Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice 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 ; 
 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 much time is saved in the billing and cooing 
 The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves, 
 And all the et cetera which crown people's loves ; 
 A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker, 
 And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, 
 That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, 
 A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries. 
 
 'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, 
 With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, 
 And the bridemaids fair with their long lace veils, 
 As 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 open'd his awful book, 
 
 And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant ? 
 
 And if " he knew any just cause or impediment 1 " 
 
 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'ershadoVd the church, and the party, and crowd ;
 
 250 SIR RUPERT THE FEARLESS. 
 
 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 caxon. 
 
 Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, 
 
 Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected, 
 
 And endeavoured to cheer His bride, in her ear 
 
 Whisp'ring tenderly, " Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear ; 
 
 Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're 
 
 Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." 
 But now, from without A trustworthy scout 
 Rush'd hurriedly in, Wet through to the skin, 
 
 Informing his master " the river was rising, 
 
 And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising." 
 
 He'd no time to say more, For already the roar 
 Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door, 
 While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen, 
 Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline ; 
 And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy, 
 She was stung by the spretm injurid 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 roll'd more and more in ; 
 
 Ere the close of the day All was clean washed away 
 One only survived who could hand down the news, 
 A little old woman that open'd the pews ; 
 
 She was borne off, but stuck, By the greatest good luck. 
 In an oak-tree, and there she hung, crying and screaming, 
 And saw all the rest swallow'd up the wild stream in ; 
 
 In vain, all the week, Did the fishermen seek 
 For the bodies, and poke in each cranny and creek ;
 
 A LEGEND OF GERMANY. 251 
 
 In vain was their search After ought 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 tortoise-shell spectacles. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 This tale has a moral. Ye youths, oh, beware 
 
 Of liquor, and how you run after the fair ! 
 
 Shun playing at shorts avoid quarrels and jars 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Don't sit up much later than ten or eleven ! 
 
 Be up in the morning by half after seven ! 
 
 Keep from flirting nor risk, warned by Rupert's miscarriage, 
 
 An action for breach of a promise of marriage ; 
 
 Don't fancy old 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 
 discover from any recorded memoranda that " Uncle Perry " was 
 ever in Venice, even in Carnival time that he ever saw Garrick 
 in Shylock I do not believe, and am satisfied that he knew nothing 
 of Shakspeare, a circumstance that would by no means disqualify 
 him from publishing an edition of that Poet's works. I can only 
 conclude that, in the course of his Continental wanderings, Sir 
 Peregrine had either read, or heard of the following history, 
 especially as he furnishes us with some particulars of the eventual 
 destination of his dramatis personw 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."
 
 252 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 HE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 A LEGEND OP ITALY. 
 
 ... Of the Merchant of Venice there are two 4to. editions in 1600, 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 importantly. 
 
 . . . It must be acknowledged that this is a very easy and happy emendation, 
 which does not admit of a moment's donbt or dispute. 
 
 . . . Readers in general are not all aware of the nonsense they have in many 
 cases been accustomed to receive as the genuine text of Shakspeare ! 
 
 Reasons for a new edition of Skakspeare's Works, by J. Payne Collier. 
 
 I BELIEVE there are few But have heard of a Jew, 
 Named Shylock, of Venice, as errant a " Screw " 
 In money transactions, as ever you knew ; 
 An exorbitant miser, who never yet lent 
 A ducat at less than three hundred per cent., 
 Insomuch that the veriest spendthrift in Venice, 
 Who'd take no more care of his pounds than his pennies, 
 When press'd for a loan, at the very first sight 
 Of his terms, would back out, and take refuge in Flight. 
 It is not my purpose to pause and inquire 
 If he might not, in managing thus to retire, 
 Jump out of the frying-pan into the fire ; 
 Suffice it, that folks would have nothing to do, 
 Who could possibly help it, with Shylock the Jew. 
 
 But, however discreetly one cuts and contrives, 
 
 We've been most of us taught, in the course of our lives, 
 
 That " Needs must when the Elderly Gentleman drives ! " 
 
 In proof of this rule, A thoughtless young fool, 
 Bassanio, a Lord of the Tom-noddy school, 
 Who, by shewing at Operas, Balls, Plays, and Court, 
 A "swelling" (Payne Collier would read "swilling") "port," 
 And inviting his friends to dine, breakfast, and sup, 
 Had shrunk his "weak means," and was "stump'd" and 
 " hard up," 
 
 Took occasion to send To his very good friend 
 Antonio, a merchant whose wealth had no end, 
 And who'd often before had the kindness to lend 
 Him large sums, on his note, which he'd managed to spend. 
 
 " Antonio," said he, " Now listen to me : 
 I've just hit on a scheme which, I think, you'll agree, 
 All matters considered, is no bad design, 
 And which, if it succeeds, will suit your book and mine.
 
 A LEGEND OF ITALY. 253 
 
 " In the first place, you know all the money I've got, 
 Time and often, from you has been long gone to pot, 
 And in making those loans you have made a bad shot ; 
 Now do as the boys do when, shooting at sparrows 
 And torn-tits, they chance to lose one of their arrows,' 
 Shoot another the same way I'll watch well its track, 
 And, turtle to tripe, I'll bring both of them back ! 
 
 So list to my plan, And do what you can 
 To attend to and second it, that's a good man ! 
 
 " There's a Lady, young, handsome beyond all compare, at 
 A place they call Belmont, whom, when I was there, at 
 The suppers and parties my friend Lord Mountferrat 
 Was giving last season, we all used to stare at. 
 Then, as to her wealth, her Solicitor told mine, 
 Besides vast estates, a pearl-fishery, and gold mine, 
 
 Her iron strong box Seems bursting its locks, 
 It's stuffed so with shares in ' Grand Junctions ' and ' Docks, 
 Not to speak of the money she's got in the Stocks, 
 
 French, Dutch, and Brazilian, Columbian, and Chilian, 
 In English Exchequer-bills full half a million, 
 Not ' kites,' manufactured to cheat and inveigle, 
 But the right sort of ' flimsy,' all sign'd by Monteagle. 
 Then I know not how much in Canal-shares and Railways, 
 And more speculations I need not detail, ways 
 Of vesting which, if not so safe as some think 'em, 
 Contribute a deal to improving one's income ; 
 In short, she's a Mint ! Now I say, deuce is in't 
 If, with all my experience, I can't take a hint, 
 And her ' eye's speechless messages,' plainer than print 
 At the time that I told you of, know from a squint. 
 
 In short, my dear Tony, My trusty old crony, 
 Do stump up three thousand once more as a loan I 
 Am sure of my game though, of course, there are brutes, 
 Of all sorts and sizes, preferring their suits 
 To her you may call the Italian Miss Coutts, 
 Yet Portia she's named from that daughter of Cato's 
 Is not to be snapp'd up like little potatoes, 
 
 And I have not a doubt I shall rout every lout 
 Ere you'll whisper Jack Robinson cut them all out 
 Surmount every barrier, Carry her, marry her 1 
 Then hey ! my old Tony, when once fairly noosed, 
 For her Three-and-a-half per Cents New and Reduced ! 
 
 With a wink of his eye His friend made reply 
 In his jocular manner, sly, caustic, and dry, 
 " Still the same boy, Bassanio never say ' die' ! 
 Well I hardly know how I shall do't, but I'll try,
 
 254 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Don't suppose my affairs are at all in a hash, 
 But the fact is, at present I'm quite out of cash ; 
 The bulk of my property, merged in rich cargoes, is 
 Tossing about, as you know, in my Argosies, 
 Tending, of course, my resources to cripple, I 
 've one bound to England, another to Tripoli 
 Cyprus Masulipatam and Bombay ; 
 
 A sixth, by the way, I consigned t'other day, 
 To Sir Gregor M'Gregor, Cacique of Poyais, 
 A country where silver's as common as clay. 
 
 Meantime, till they tack, And come, some of them, back, 
 What with. Custom-house duties, and bills falling due, 
 My account with Jones Loyd and Co. looks rather blue ; 
 While, as for the ' ready,' I'm like a Church-mouse, 
 I really don't think there's five pounds in the house. 
 
 But, no matter for that, Let me just get my hat, 
 And my new silk umbrella that stands on the mat, 
 And we'll go forth at once to the market we two, 
 And try what my credit in Venice can do ; 
 I stand well on 'Change, and, when all's said and done, I 
 Don't doubt I shall get it for love or for money." 
 
 They were going to go, When, lo ! down below, 
 In the street, they heard somebody crying, " Old Clo' ! " 
 " By the Pope, there's the man for our purpose ! I knew 
 We should not have to search long. Solanio, run you, 
 Salarino, quick ! haste ! ere he get out of view, 
 And call in that scoundrel, old Shylock the Jew ! " 
 
 With a pack, Like a sack 
 
 Of old clothes, at his back, 
 
 And three hats on his head, Shylock came in a crack, 
 Saying, " Rest you fair, Signior Antonio ! vat, pray, 
 Might your vorship be pleashed for to vant in ma vay ? " 
 
 " Why, Shylock, although, As you very well know, 
 I am what they call ' warm,' pay my way as I go, 
 And, as to myself, neither borrow nor lend, 
 I can break through a rule, to oblige an old friend ; 
 And that's the case now Lord Bassanio would raise 
 Some three thousand ducats well, knowing your ways, 
 And that nought's to be got from you, say what one will, 
 Unless you've a couple of names to the bill, 
 
 Why, for once, I'll put mine to it, 
 
 Yea, seal and sign to it 
 
 Now, then, old Sinner, let's hear what you'll say 
 As to ' doing ' a bill at three months from to-day ?
 
 A LEGEND OF ITALY. 255 
 
 Three thousand gold ducats, mind all in good bags 
 Of hard money no sealing-wax, slippers, or rags?" 
 
 " Veil, ma tear," says the Jew, " I'll see vat I can do ! 
 lint Mishter Antonio, hark you, 'tish funny 
 You say to me, ' Shylock, ma tear, ve'd have money ! ' 
 
 Ven you very veil knows How you shpit on ma clothes, 
 And use naughty vords call me Dog and avouch 
 Dat I put too much int'resht py half in ma pouch, 
 And vhile I, like de resht of ma tribe, shrug and crouch, 
 You find fault mit ma pargains, and say I'm a Smouch. 
 
 Veil ! no matters, ma tear, Von vord in your ear ! 
 I'd be friends mit you bote and to make dat appear, 
 Vy, I'll find you de monies as soon as you vill, 
 Only von littel joke musht be put in de pill ; 
 
 Ma tear, you musht say, If on such and such day 
 Such sum, or such sums, you shall fail to repay, 
 I shall cut vere I like, as de pargain is proke, 
 A fair pound of your flesh chest by vay of a joke." 
 
 So novel a clause Caused Bassanio to pause ; 
 But Antonio, like most of those sage "Johnny Raws" 
 
 Who care not three straws About Lawyers or Laws, 
 And think cheaply of " Old Father Antic," because 
 They have never experienced a gripe from his claws, 
 " Pooh pooh'd " the whole thing. " Let the Smouch have his 
 
 way- 
 Why, what care I, pray, For his penalty 1 Nay, 
 It's a forfeit he'd never expect me to pay ; 
 
 And, come what come may, I hardly need say 
 My ships will be back a full month ere the day." 
 So, anxious to see his friend off on his journey, 
 And thinking the whole but a paltry concern, he 
 
 Affixed with all speed His name to a deed, 
 Duly stamp'd and drawn up by a sharp Jew attorney. 
 Thus again furnished forth, Lord Bassanio, instead 
 Of squandering the cash, after giving one spread, 
 With fiddling and masques at the Saracen's Head, 
 
 In the morning " made play," And, without more delay, 
 Started off in the steam-boat for Belmont next day. 
 
 But scarcely had he From the harbour got free, 
 And left the Lagunes for the broad open sea, 
 Ere the 'Change and Rialto both rung with the news 
 That he'd carried off more than mere cash from the Jew's. 
 
 Though Shylock was old, And, if rolling in gold, 
 \V;is as ugly a dog as you'd wish to behold,
 
 :>5(> THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 For few in his tribe 'mongst their Levis and Moseses 
 Sported so Jewish an eye, beard, and nose as his, 
 Still, whate'er the opinions of Horace and some be, 
 Your aquilce generate sometimes Columbce. 1 
 Like Jephthah, as Hamlet says, he'd " one fair daughter,'' 
 And every gallant, who caught sight of her, thought her 
 A jewel a gem of the very first water ; 
 
 A great many sought her, Till one at last caught her, 
 And, upsetting all that the Rabbis had taught her, 
 To feelings so truly reciprocal brought her, 
 
 That the very same night Bassanio thought right 
 To give all his old friends that farewell "invite," 
 And while Shylock was gone there to feed out of spite, 
 On " wings made by a tailor " the damsel took flight. 
 
 By these " wings " I'd express A grey duffle dress, 
 With brass badge and muffin cap, made, as by rule, 
 For an upper class boy in the National School. 
 Jessy ransack'd the house, popped her breeks on, and when so 
 Disguised, bolted off with her beau one Lorenzo, 
 An " Unthrift," who lost not a moment in whisking 
 
 Her into the boat, And was fairly afloat 
 Ere her Pa had got rid of the smell of the griskin. 
 
 Next day, while old Shylock was making a racket, 
 And threatening how well he'd dust every man's jacket 
 Who'd helped her in getting aboard of the packet, 
 Bassanio at Belmont was capering and prancing, 
 And bowing, and scraping, and singing, and dancing, 
 Making eyes at Miss Portia, and doing his best 
 To perform the polite, and to cut out the rest ; 
 And, if left to herself, he, no doubt, had succeeded, 
 For none of them waltz'd so genteelly as he did ; 
 
 But an obstacle lay, Of some weight, in his way, 
 The defunct Mr. P., who was now turned to clay, 
 Had been an odd man, and, though all for the best he meant, 
 Left but a queer sort of " Last will and testament," 
 
 Bequeathing her hand, With her houses and land, 
 &c., from motives one don't understand, 
 As she rev'renced his memory, and valued his blessing. 
 To him who should turn out the best hand at guessing '. 
 
 Like a good girl, she did Just what she was bid ; 
 In one of three caskets her picture she hid, 
 And clapped a conundrum a-top of each lid. 
 
 1 Nee imbellem feroces 
 Progenerant aquilze columbam. HOR.
 
 A LEGEND OF ITALY. 257 
 
 A couple of Princes, a black and a white one, 
 
 Tried first, but they both failed in choosing the right one. 
 
 Another from Naples, who shoed his own horses ; 
 
 A French Lord, whose graces might vie with Count D'Orsay's ; 
 
 A young English Baron ; a Scotch Peer his neighbour : 
 
 A dull drunken Saxon, all mustache and sabre ; 
 
 All followed, and all had their pains for their labour. 
 
 Bassanio came last happy man be his dole ! 
 
 Put his conjuring cap on, considered the whole, 
 
 The gold put aside as Mere " hard food for Midas, 
 The silver bade trudge As a " pale common drudge ; 
 Then choosing the little lead box in the middle, 
 Came plump on the picture, and found out the riddle. 
 
 Now you're not such a goose as to think, I dare say, 
 Gentle Eeader, that all this was done in a day, 
 
 Any more than the dome Of St. Peter's at Rome 
 Was built in the same space of time ; and, in fact, 
 
 Whilst Bassanio was doing His billing and cooing, 
 Three months had gone by ere he reach'd the fifth act ; 
 Meanwhile, that unfortunate bill became due, 
 Which his Lordship had almost forgot, to the Jew, 
 
 And Antonio grew In a deuce of a stew, 
 For he could not cash up, spite of all he could do ; 
 (The bitter old Israelite would not renew), 
 What with contrary winds, storms, and wrecks, and embargoes," 
 
 his 
 
 Funds were all stopped, or gone down in his argosies, 
 None of the set having come into port, 
 And Shylock's attorney was moving the Court 
 For the forfeit supposed to be set down in sport. 
 
 The serious news Of this step of the Jew's, 
 And his fix'd resolution all terms to refuse, 
 Gave the newly-made Bridegroom a fit of " the Blues," 
 Especially, too, as it came from the pen 
 Of his poor friend himself on the wedding-day, then, 
 When the Parson had scarce shut his book up, and when 
 The Clerk was yet uttering the final A men. 
 
 " Dear Friend," it continued, " all's up with me I 
 
 Have nothing on earth now to do but to die ! 
 
 And, as death clears all scores, you're no longer my debtor ; 
 
 I should take it as kind Could you come never mind 
 If your love don't persuade you, why don't let this letter ! " 
 
 a
 
 258 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 I hardly need say this was scarcely read o'er 
 
 Ere a post-chaise and four 
 
 Was brought round to the door, 
 
 And Bassanio, though, doubtless, he thought it a bore, 
 Gave his Lady one kiss, and then started at score. 
 
 But scarce in his night Had he got out of sight, 
 Ere Portia, addressing a groom, said, " My lad, you a 
 Journey must take on the instant to Padua ; 
 Find out there Bellario, a Doctor of Laws, 
 Who, like Follett, is never left out of a cause, 
 
 And give him this note, Which I've hastily wrote, 
 Take the papers he'll give you then push for the ferry 
 Below, where I'll meet you you'll do't in a wherry, 
 If you can't find a boat on the Brenta with sails to it- 
 Stay ! bring his gown too, and wig with three tails to it." 
 
 Giovanni (that's Jack) Brought out his hack, 
 Made a bow to his mistress, then jump'd on its back, 
 Put his hand to his hat, and was off in a crack. 
 The Signora soon follow 1 d herself, taking as her 
 Own escort Nerissa her maid, and Balthazar. 
 
 " The Court is prepared, the Lawyers are met, 
 
 The Judges all ranged, a terrible show ! " 
 As Captain Macheath says, and when one's in debt, 
 
 The sight's as unpleasant a one as I know, 
 Yet still not so bad after all, I suppose, 
 As if, when one cannot discharge what one owes, 
 They should bid people cut off one's toes or one's nose ; 
 
 Yet here, a worse fate, Stands Antonio, of late 
 A Merchant, might vie e'en with Princes in state, 
 With his waistcoat unbutton'd, prepared for the knife, 
 Which, 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 snicker-snee in his hands ; 
 Between them, equipt in a wig, gown, and bands, 
 With a very smooth face, a young dandified Lawyer, 
 Whose air, ne'ertheless, speaks him quite a top-sawyer, 
 Though his hopes are but feeble, Does his possible 
 To make the hard Hebrew to mercy incline, 
 And in lieu of his three thousand ducats take nine, 
 Which Bassanio, for reasons we well may divine, 
 Shows in so many bags all drawn up in a line. 
 But vain are all efforts to soften him still 
 
 He points to the bond He so often has conn'd, 
 And says in plain terms he'll be shot if he will.
 
 260
 
 A LEGEND OF ITALY. 2til 
 
 So the dandified Lawyer, with talking grown hoarse, 
 Says, " I can say no more let the law take its course." 
 
 Just fancy the gleam of the eye of the Jew, 
 
 As he sharpen'd his knife on the sole of his shoe 
 
 From the toe to the heel, And grasping the steel, 
 With a business-like air was beginning to feel . , 
 
 Whereabouts he should cut, as a butcher would veal, 
 When the dandified Judge puts a spoke in his wheel. 
 
 " Stay, Shylock," says he, " Here's one thing you see 
 This bond of yours gives you here no jot of blood ! 
 the words are ' A pound of flesh,' that's clear as mud 
 Slice away, then, old fellow but mind ! if you spill 
 One drop of his claret that's not in your bill, 
 I'll hang you like Haman ! by Jingo I will ! " 
 
 When apprized of this flaw, You never yet saw 
 Such an awfully marked elongation of jaw 
 As in Shylock, who cried, " Plesh ma heart ! ish dat law ? " 
 
 Off went his three hats, And he look'd as the cats 
 Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw. 
 " Isli't the law ? "why the thing won't admit of a query 
 
 " No doubt of the fact, Only look at the act ; 
 Ado qt'.into, cap: tertio, Dogi Falieri 
 Nay, if, rather than cut, you'd relinquish the debt, 
 The Law, Master Shy, has a hold on you yet. 
 See Foscari's ' Statutes at large ' ' If a Stranger 
 A ( 'itizen'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 ivisy wersy." 
 
 What need to declare How pleased they all were 
 At so joyful an end to so sad an affair 1 
 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 late, 
 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 giVn to her spouse, 
 With injunctions to keep it, on leaving the house ? 
 
 How when he, and the spark Who appeared as his clerk,
 
 262 THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Had thrown off their wigs, and their gowns, and their jetty coats, 
 There stood Nerissa and Portia in petticoats 1 
 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 night, 
 Like the one in which Troilns, the brave Trojan knight, 
 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, I'll merely relate what, in spite of the pains 
 I have taken to rummage among his remains, 
 No edition of Shakspeare, I've met with, contains ; 
 But, if the account which I've heard be the true one, 
 We shall have it, no doubt, before long, in a new one. 
 
 In an MS., then, sold For its full weight in gold, 
 And knock'd down to my friend, Lord 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, 
 Ran away with a Scotchman, and, crossing the main, 
 Became known by the name of the " Flower of Dumblane." 
 
 That Antonio, whose piety caused, as we've seen, 
 Him to spit upon every old Jew's gaberdine, 
 
 And whose goodness to paint All colours were faint, 
 Acquired the well-merited prefix of " Saint," 
 And the Doge, his admirer, of honour the fount, 
 Having given him a patent, and made him a Count, 
 He went over to England, got nat'ralis'd there, 
 And espous'd a rich heiress in Hanover Square. 
 That Shylock came with him, no longer a Jew, 
 But converted, I think may be possibly true, 
 But that Walpole, as these self-same papers aver, 
 By changing the y in his name into er, 
 Should allow him a fictitious surname to dish up, 
 And in Seventeen-twenty-eight make him a Bishop, 
 I cannot believe 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 LEGEND OF ITALY. 263 
 
 A maxim, 'bove all other stories, this one drums, 
 
 " PITCH GREEK TO OLD HARRY, AND STICK TO CONUNDRUMS ! ! " 
 
 To new-married Ladies this lesson it teaches, 
 
 " You're ' no that far wrong ' in assuming the breeches ! " 
 
 Monied men upon 'Change, and rich Merchants it schools 
 To look well to assets nor play with edge-tools ! 
 
 Last of all, this remarkable History shews 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 Ryswick, there is extant a long correspond- 
 ence of his to prove. Various passages in it countenance the 
 supposition that his tour was partly undertaken for political 
 purposes ; and this opinion is much strengthened by certain 
 allusions in several of his letters, addressed, in after life, to his 
 friend Sir Horace Mann, then acting in the capacity of Envoy 
 to the Court of Tuscany. Although the Knight spent several 
 months in Spain, and visited many of her principal cities, there 
 is no proof of his having actually "seen Seville," beyond the 
 internal evidence incidentally supplied by the 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 difficulty ; not that this inconvenient accumulation of
 
 204 THE A UTO-DA-FE. 
 
 prefixes is peculiar to the country in question, witness my excellent 
 friend Field-Marshal Count Herman Karl Heinrich Socrates von 
 der Nodgerrie zii Pfefferkorn, whose appellations puzzled the record- 
 ing 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 moiety 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, 
 if any, may perhaps have originated but then again the Spanish 
 Queen to whom he was Confessor was called Isabella, and not 
 Blanche it is a puzzling affair altogether. 
 
 From his own silence on the subject, it may well be doubted 
 whether the worthy transcriber knew, himself, the date of the 
 transactions he has recorded ; the 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-F& 
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIX. 
 
 WITH a moody air, from morn till noon, 
 King Ferdinand paces the royal saloon ; 
 
 From morn till eve He does nothing but grieve ; 
 Sighings and sobbings his midriff heave, 
 And he wipes his eyes with his er mined sleeve, 
 And he presses his feverish hand to his brow, 
 And he frowns, and he looks T can't tell you how ; 
 And the Spanish Grandees In their degrees, 
 Are whispering about in twos and in threes, 
 And there is not a man of them seems at his ease, 
 But they gaze on the monarch, as watching what he does, 
 With their very long whiskers, and longer Toledos. 
 Don Gaspar, Don Gusman, Don Juan, Don Diego, 
 Don Gomez, Don Pedro, Don Bias, Don Rodrigo, 
 Don Jerome, Don Giacomo join Don Alphonso 
 
 In making inquiries Of grave Don Ramirez, 
 The Chamberlain, what it is makes him take on so ; 
 A Monarch so great that the soundest opinions 
 Maintain the sun can't set throughout his dominions ;
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIX. 265 
 
 But grave Don Ramirez In guessing no nigher is 
 Than the other grave Dons who propound these inquiries ; 
 When, pausing at length, as beginning to tire, his 
 Majesty beckons, with stately civility, 
 
 To Senor Don Lewis Conde" d'Aranjuez, 
 Who in birth, wealth, and consequence second to few is, 
 And Senor Don Manuel, Count de Pacheco, 
 A lineal descendant from King Pharaoh Neeo, 
 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 years ago, 
 Being then, for a King, no indifferent Beau, 
 At the altar I took, like my forbears of old, 
 
 The Peninsula's paragon, Fair Blanche of Aragon, 
 For better, for worse, and to have and to hold 
 
 And you're fully aware, When the matter took air, 
 How they shouted, and fired the great guns in the Square, 
 Cried ' Viva ! ' and rung all the bells in the steeple, 
 
 And all that sort of thing The mob do when a King 
 Brings a Queen-Consort home for the good of his people. 
 
 " Well ! six years and a day Have flitted away 
 Since that blessed event, yet I'm sorry to say 
 In fact it's the principal cause of my pain 
 I don't see any signs of an Infant of Spain ! 
 
 Now I want to ask yon, Cavaliers true, 
 And Counsellors sage what the deuce shall I do ? 
 The State don't you see 1 hey ? an heir to the throne 
 Every monarch you know should have one of his own 
 Disputed succession hey ? terrible Go ! 
 Hum ! hey 1 Old fellows you see ! don't you know 1 " 
 
 Now, Reader, dear, If you've ever been near 
 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 bill for beer, 
 And his butcher and baker, with faces austere, 
 
 Ask him to clear Off, for furnish'd good cheer, 
 Bills, they say, " have been standing for more than a 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 ! "
 
 266 THE A UTO-DA-FE. 
 
 Or if ever you've seen An Alderman, keen 
 
 After turtle, peep into a silver tureen, 
 In search of the fat call'd par excellence " green," 
 When there's none of the meat left not even the lean ! 
 Or if ever you've witness'd the face of a sailor 
 Return'd from a voyage, and escaped from a gale, or 
 Poetice " Boreas," that " blustering railer," 
 To find that his wife, when he hastens to " hail " her, 
 Has j ust 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 pourtray'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 Counsellors, several and joint, 
 On so delicate, grave, and important a point. 
 
 Senor Don Lewis Conde d'Aranjuez 
 At length forced a smile 'twixt the prim and the grim, 
 And look'd at Pacheco Pacheco at him 
 Then, making a rev'rence, and dropping his eyes, 
 Cough'd, hemm'd, and deliver'd himself in this wise : 
 
 "My Liege ! unaccustom'd as I am to speaking 
 In public an art I'm remarkably weak in 
 I feel I should be quite unworthy the name 
 Of a man and a Spaniard and highly to blame, 
 
 Were there not in my breast What can't be exprest,- 
 And can therefore, your Majesty, only be guess'd 
 What I mean to say is since your Majesty deigns 
 To ask my advice on your welfare and Spain's, 
 And on that of your Majesty's Bride that is, Wife 
 It's the as I may say proudest day of my life ! 
 But as to the point on a subject so nice 
 It's a delicate matter to give one's advice, 
 
 Especially, too, When one don't clearly view 
 The best mode of proceeding, or know what to do ; 
 My decided opinion, however, is this, 
 And I fearlessly say 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 (Irandee Made that sort of eonge'e, 
 Which, as Hill used to say, " I once happen'd to sir'' 
 The great Indian conjuror, Kamo Samee, 
 Make, while swallowing what all thought a regular choker, 
 Viz. a small sword as long and as stiff as a poker.
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 267 
 
 Then the Count de Paclieco, Whose turn twas to speak, o- 
 -mitting all preface, exclaim'd with devotion, 
 " Sire, I beg leave to second Don Lewis's motion ! " 
 
 Now a Monarch of Spain Of course could not deign 
 To expostulate, argue, or, much less, complain 
 Of an answer thus giv'n, or to ask them again ; 
 So he merely observ'd, with an air of disdain, 
 "Well, Gentlemen, since you both shrink from the task 
 Of advising your Sovereign pray, whom shall 1 ask 1 " 
 
 Each felt the rub, And in Spain not a Sub, 
 Much less an Hidalgo, can stomach a snub, 
 
 So the noses of these Castilian Grandees 
 Rise at once in an angle of several degrees, 
 Till the under-lip's almost becoming the upper, 
 Each perceptibly grows, too, more stiff in the crupper, 
 
 Their right hands rest On the left side the breast, 
 While the hilts of their swords, by their left hands deprest, 
 Make the ends of their scabbards to cock up behind, 
 Till they're quite horizontal instead of inclined, 
 And Don Lewis, with scarce an attempt to disguise 
 The disgust he experiences, gravely replies, 
 "Sire, ask the Archbishop his Grace of Toledo ! 
 He understands these things much better than we do ! " 
 
 Pauca Verbal 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," 
 
 And all the Court Nobles, who form the ring, 
 
 Have a spoony appearance, of course, like the King, 
 
 All" of them eyeing King Ferdinand 
 
 As he goes up and down, with his watch in his hand, 
 
 Which he claps to his ear as he walks to and fro, 
 
 "What is it can make the Archbishop so slow?" 
 
 Hark ! at last there's a sound in the courtyard below, 
 
 Where the Beefeaters all are drawn up in a row ? 
 
 I would say the "Guards," for in Spain ihey're m chief eaters 
 
 Of omelette* and garlick, and can't lie oil I'd Beefeaters ; 
 
 In fact, of the few Individuals 1 knew 
 Who ever had happened to travel in Spain, 
 There has scarce been a person who <lid not complain 
 Of their cookery and dishes a.s all bad in grain, 
 And no one I'm sure will deny it who's tried a 
 Vile compound they have that's called Ollapodrida.
 
 208 THE A UTO-DA-FE. 
 
 (This, by the bye, 's a mere rhyme to the eye, 
 For in Spanish the i is pronounced like an e, 
 And they've not quite our mode of pronouncing the <l. 
 In Castille, for instance, it's giv'n through the teeth, 
 And what we call Madrid they sound more like Madreei/i,) 
 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 Reverend Don Garcilasso Quevedo 
 
 Was just at this time, as he Now held the Primacy, 
 (Always attached to the See of Toledo,) 
 A man of great worship Officii mrtute 
 Versed in all that pertains to a Counsellor's duty, 
 
 Well skill'd to combine Civil law with divine ; 
 As a statesman, inferior to none in that line ; 
 
 As an orator, too, He was equalled by lew ; 
 Uniting, in short, in tongue, head-piece, and pen, 
 The very great powers of three very great men, 
 Talleyrand, who will never drive down Piccadilly more 
 To the Traveller's Club- House ! Charles Phillips and Phillimore. 
 
 Not only at home But even at Rome 
 There was not a Prelate among them could cope 
 With the Primate of Spain in the eyes of the Pope. 
 (The Conclave was full, and they'd not a spare hat, or he 
 'd long since been Cardinal, Legate d latere, 
 A dignity fairly his due, without flattery, 
 So much he excited among all beholders 
 
 Their marvel to see At his age thirty-three 
 Such a very old head on such very young shoulders,) 
 No wonder the King, then, in this his distress, 
 Should send for so sage an adviser express, 
 
 Who, you'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 Archbishop conies up the back way, 
 Set apart for such Nobles as have the entree, 
 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
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 269 
 
 To the Crown, if a Grandee uncovers, it's quite 
 
 As a matter of option, and not one of right ; 
 
 A thing not conceded by our Royal Masters, 
 
 Who always make Noblemen take off their " castors," 
 
 Except the heirs male Of John Lord Kinsale, 
 A stalwart old Baron, who, acting as Henchman 
 To one of our early Kings, kill'd a big Frenchman ; 
 A feat which his Majesty deigning to smile on, 
 Allow'd him thenceforward to stand with his " tile " on ; 
 And all his successors have kept the same privilege 
 Down from those barbarous times to our civil age. 
 
 Returning his bow with a slight demi-bob, 
 
 And replacing the watch in his hand in his fob, 
 
 " My Lord," said the King, " here's a rather tough job, 
 
 Which it seems, of a sort is To puzzle our C'oiies. 
 And since it has quite flabbergasted that Diet, I 
 Look to your Grace with no little anxiety 
 
 Concerning a point Which has quite out of joint 
 Pnt 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 would have backt 
 Out at once, as the Noblemen did, and, in fact, 
 He was, at the first, rather pozed how to act 
 
 One moment no more ! Bowing then, as before, 
 He said, " Sire, 'twere superfluous for me to acquaint 
 The ' Most Catholic King ' in the world, that a Saint 
 
 Is the usual resource In these cases, of course 
 Of their influence your Majesty well knows the force ; 
 If I may be, therefore, allow'd to suggest 
 The plan which occurs to my mind as the best, 
 
 Your Majesty may go At once to St. Jago, 
 Whom, as Spain's patron Saint, I pick out from the rest ; 
 
 If your Majesty looks Into Guthrie, or Brooks, 
 In all the approved Geographical books, 
 You will find Compostella laid down in the maps 
 Some two hundred and sev'nty miles off ; 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 distinguished a Pilgrim, especially when he 
 Considers the boon will not cost him one penny ! "
 
 270 THE A UTO-DA-FK 
 
 His speech ended, his Grace bow'd, and put on his mitre 
 As tight as before, and perhaps a thought tighter. 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " says the King, " I shall do no such thing ! 
 It's nonsense, Old fellow you see no use talking 
 The peas set apart, I abominate walking 
 Such a deuced way off, too hey 1 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 Majesty's shirt ; 
 Then a rope round your collar instead of a laced band, 
 A few nettles tuck'd into your Majesty's waistband, 
 Asafcetida 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 3oz6 de Hurnez, the King's privy-purse-keeper, 
 (Many folks thought it could scarce have a worse keeper) 
 Came to the rescue, and said with a smile, 
 " Sire, your Majesty can'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 back 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 glanced on Humez as if he'd say " Stuff ! " 
 But seeing the King seem'd himself in a huff, 
 He changed his demeanour, and grew smooth enough ; 
 Then taking his chin 'twixt his finger and thumb, 
 As a help to reflection, gave vent to a " Hum ! " 
 'Twas the pause of an instant his eye assumed fast 
 That expression which says, " Come, I've got it at last ! " 
 
 " 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 tAvo ? 
 
 Of all cookeries, most The Saints love a roast ! 
 And a Jew's, of all others, the best dish to toast ;
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 271 
 
 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 ; 
 ( )f his Rev'rence's functions there is not one weightier 
 Than Heretic-burning in fact, 'tis his metier. 
 
 Besides Alguazils Who still follow his heels, 
 He has always Familiars enough at his beck at homo, 
 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'U 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 Auto-da-fe 
 Is much better fun than a ball or a play ! " 
 
 So the waiTant was made out without more delay, 
 Drawn, seal'd, and delivered, and 
 
 (Signed) 
 
 YO EL RE ! 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 THERE is not a nation in Europe but labours 
 To toady itself, and to humbug its neighbours 
 " Earth has no such folks no folks such a city, 
 So great, or so grand, or so fine, or so pretty," 
 
 Said Louis Quatorze, " As this Paris of ours ! " 
 Mr. Daniel O'Connell exclaims, " By the Pow'rs, 
 Quid Ireland's on all hands admitted to be 
 The first flow'r of the earth, and first Gim of the sea ! " 
 Mr. Bull will inform you that Neptune, a lad he, 
 With more of affection than rev"rence, styles " Daddy," 
 
 Did not scruple to " say To Freedom, one day," 
 That if ever he changed his aquatics for dry land, 
 His home should be Mr. B.'s "Tight little Island." 
 
 He adds, too, that he, The said Mr. B., 
 Of all possible Frenchmen can fight any three ; 
 That, with no greater odds, he knows well how to treat thorn, 
 To meet them, defeat them, and beat them, and eat them. 
 In Italy, too, 'tis the same to the letter ; 
 
 There each Lazzarone Will cry to his crony, 
 "See Naples, then die ! 1 and the sooner the better 1" 
 
 1 " Vedi Napoli c poi niori ! "
 
 272 THE AUTO-DA-FE. 
 
 The Portuguese say, as a well understood thing, 
 
 " Who has not seen Lisbon l has not seen a good thing ! "- 
 
 While an old Spanish proverb runs glibly as under, 
 
 " QUIEN NO HA VISTO SEVILLA 
 No HA VISTO MARAVILLA ! " 
 
 " He who ne'er has view'd Seville has ne'er view'd a Wonder ! " 
 And from all I can learn this is no such great blunder. 
 
 In fact, from the river, The fam'd Guadalquiver, 
 Where many a knight's had cold steel through his liver, 2 
 The prospect is grand. The Iglesia Mayor 
 Has a splendid effect on the opposite shore, 
 With its lofty Giralda, 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, 
 With its horse-shoe shaped arches of Arabesque tracery, 
 Which the architect seems to have studied to place awry, 
 
 Saracenic and rich ; And more buildings, "the which," 
 As old Lilly, in whom I've been looking a bit o' late, 
 Says, " You'd be bored should I now recapitulate ; " 3 
 
 In brief, then, the view Is so fine and so new, 
 It would make you exclaim, 'twould so forcibly strike ye, 
 If a Frenchman, " Superbe ! " if an Englishman, " Crikey ! ! : ' 
 
 Yes ! thou art " WONDERFUL ! " but oh, 
 
 'Tis sad to think, 'mid scenes so bright 
 As thine, fair Seville, sounds of woe, 
 
 And shrieks of pain, and wild affright, 
 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, 
 
 1 " Quern nao tern visto Lisboa 
 
 Nao tern visto cousa boa." 
 
 2 "Rio verde, Rio verde, etc." 
 " Glassy water, glassy water, 
 
 Down whose current clear and strong, 
 Chiefs, confused in mutual slaughter, 
 
 Moor and Christian, roll along." Old Spanish Romance. 
 3 Cum multis aliis quse mine perscribere longum est. 
 
 Propria qwc manias.
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 273 
 
 With cold unalter'd looks are by 
 To gaze, with an unpitying eye, 
 On wretches in their agony. 
 
 All speak thee "WONDERFUL" the phrase 
 
 Befits thee well the fearful blaze 
 
 Of yon piled faggots' lurid light, 
 
 Where writhing victims mock the sight, 
 
 The scorch'd limb shrivelling in its chains, 
 
 The hot blood parch'd in living veins, 
 
 The crackling nerve the fearful knell 
 
 Rung 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 ; 
 
 His pouncet-box goes To and fro at his nose, 
 As somewhat misliking the smell of old clothes, 
 And seeming to hint, by this action emphatic, 
 That Jews, e'en when roasted, are not aromatic ; 
 
 There, too, fair Ladies From Xeres, and Cadiz, 
 Catalinas, and Julias, and fair 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 wafers 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 Ineses 
 With a three-corner'd Sandwich, and soupqon of " Guinness's ; ''
 
 274 THE AUTO-DA-FE. 
 
 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 Torqueinada, 
 Renown'd Father Dominic, famous for twisting dom- 
 -ostic and foreign necks all over Christendom ; 
 
 Morescoes or Jews, Not a penny to choose, 
 If a dog of a heretic dared 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, 
 Xo matter with whom in opinion partaker, 
 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 Papal supremacy, 
 
 By the Pope, but he'd make her ! 
 
 From error awake her, 
 
 Or else pop her into an oven and bake her ! 
 Xo one, in short, ever came half so near as he 
 Did, to the full extirpation of heresy ; 
 And if, in the times of which now I am treating, 
 There had been such a thing as a " Manchester Meeting,'' 
 "Pretty pork" he'd have made "Moderator" and "Minister, 5 
 Had he but caught them on his side Cape Finisterre ; 
 Pye Smith, and the rest of them once in his bonfire, hence- 
 -forth you'd have heard little more of the " CONFERENCE/' 
 And there on the opposite side of the ring, 
 He, too, sits " in his GLORY," confronting the King, 
 With his cast-iron countenance frowning austerely, 
 That matched with his en bon point 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,"
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 275 
 
 Below and around stand a terrible band ad- 
 dling much to the scene, viz. The " Holy Hermandad," 
 That's " Brotherhood," each looking grave as a Grand-dad. 
 
 Within the arena Before them is seen a 
 Strange, odd-looking group, each one dress'd in a garment 
 Not " dandified " clearly, as certainly " varment," 
 Being all over vipers and snakes, and stuck thick 
 With multiplied silhouette profiles of NICK. ; 
 
 And a cap of the same, All devils and flame, 
 Extinguisher-shaped, much like Salisbury Spire, 
 Except that the latter's of course somewhat higher ; 
 
 A long yellow pin-a-fore Hangs down, each chin afore, 
 On which, ere the wearer had donn'd it, a man drew 
 The Scotch badge, a Saltire, or Cross of St. Andrew ; 
 Though I fairly confess I am quite at a loss 
 To guess why they should choose that particular cross, 
 
 Or to make clear to you What the Scotch had to do 
 At all with the business in hand, though it's true 
 That the vestment aforesaid, perhaps, from its 1m e, 
 Viz. yellow, in j uxta-position with blue, 
 (A tinge of which latter tint could but accrue 
 On the faces of wretches, of course, in a stew 
 As to what their tormentors were going to do,) 
 Might make people fancy, who no better knew, 
 They were somehow connected with Jeffrey's Review ; 
 
 Especially too As 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 Polito. 
 
 And thrice happy they, l Dress'd out in this way 
 To appear with Jclat at the Auto-da-Fe, 
 Thrice happy indeed whom the good luck might fall to 
 ( )f devils tail upward, and " Fuego revolto," 
 
 For, only see there, In the midst of the Square, 
 Where, perch'd up on poles six feet high in the air, 
 Sit, chained to the stake, some two, three, or four pair 
 Of wretches, whose eyes, nose, complexion, and hair 
 Their Jewish descent but too plainly declare, 
 Each clothed in a garment more frightful by far, a 
 Smock-frock sort of gaberdine, call'd a Samarra, 
 With three times the number of devils upon it, 
 A proportion observed on the sugar-loaf'd bonnet, 
 1 fortunati nimium sua si bona ndrint !
 
 276 THE AUTO-DA-F&. 
 
 "With this farther distinction of mischief a proof 
 That every fiend Jack stands upright on his hoof ! 
 
 While the pictured flames, spread Over body and head, 
 Are three times as crooked, and three times as red ! 
 All, too, pointing upwards, as much as to say, 
 " Here's the real bonne bouche of the Auto-da-fe" ! " 
 
 Torquemada, meanwhile, "With his cold, cruel smile, 
 Sits looking on calmly, and watching the pile, 
 As his hooded " Familiars " (their names, as some tell, come 
 From their being so much more "familiar" than "welcome,") 
 
 Have, by this time, begun To be " poking their fun," 
 And their firebrands, as if they were so many posies 
 
 Of lilies and roses, Up to the noses 
 Of Lazarus Levi, and Money Ben Moses ; 
 "While similar treatment is forcing out hollow moans 
 From Aby Ben Lasco, and Ikey Ben Solomons, 
 Whose beards this a black, that inclining to grizzle 
 Are smoking, and 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 o'er ! 
 The tragedy's done ! and we now draw a veil 
 O'er a scene which makes outraged humanity quail ; 
 The last fire's exhausted, and spent 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 is, 
 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,"
 
 277
 
 A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 279 
 
 Had made up her mind, Although \vell inclined 
 Towards galas and shows of no matter what kind, 
 
 For once to retire, And bribe the Saints higher 
 Than merely by sitting and seeing a fire, 
 A sight, after all, she did not much admire ; 
 
 So she locked herself up, Without platter or cup, 
 In her Oriel, resolved not to take bite or sup, 
 Not so much as her matin-draught (our " early purl "), 
 Nor put on her jewels, nor e'en let the girl, 
 Who help'd her to dress, take her hair out of curl, 
 But to pass the whole morning in telling her beads, 
 And in reading the lives of the Saints, and their deeds, 
 And in vowing to visit, without shoes or sandals, 
 Their shrines, with unlimited orders for candles, 
 Holy water, and Masses of Mozart's, and Handel's. 1 
 
 Vnd many a Pater, and Ave, and Credo 
 
 Did She, and her Father Confessor, Quevedo, 
 
 (The clever Archbishop, 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 clear to me but their very ability 
 
 Might, Spain throughout, Have been brought into doubt, 
 Had the Royal bed still remain'd curs'd with sterility ; 
 St. Jago, however, who always is jealous 
 In Spanish affairs, as their best authors tell us, 
 
 And who, if he saw Anything like a flaw 
 In Spain's welfare, would soon sing "Old Rose, burn the bellows ! ;; 
 Set matters to rights like a King of good fellows ; 
 
 By his interference, Three-fourths of a year hence, 
 There was nothing but capering, dancing, and singing, 
 Cachucas, Boleros, and bells set a ringing, 
 
 In both the Castilles, Triple-bob-major peale, 
 Rope-dancing, and tumbling, and somerset-flinging, 
 
 Seguidillas, Fandangos, While ev'ry gun bang goes ; 
 And all the way through, from Gibraltar to Biscay, 
 Figueras and Sherry make all the Dons frisky, 
 (Save Moore's "Blakes and O'Donnells," who stick to the whisky ;) 
 
 1 "That is, She would have order'd them but none are known, I fear, 
 
 as his, 
 
 For Handel never wrote a Mass and so She'd David Perez's 
 Bow ! wow ! wow ! Fol, lol, &c. &c." 
 
 (Posthumous Xotc by the Uhost of James Smith, Esq.)
 
 THE AUTO-DA-FE. 
 
 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 ! hip ! hurray ! " 
 The Escurial, however, is not quite so gay, 
 For, whether the Saint had not perfectly heard 
 The petition the Queen and Archbishop preferr'd, 
 Or whether his head, from his not being used 
 To an Aido-da-fd, 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 
 Royal Twins though fine babies, proved both little LADIES ! ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Reader ! Not knowing what your " persuasion " may be, 
 
 Mahometan, Jewish, or even Parsee, 
 
 Take a little advice which may serve for all three ! 
 
 First " When you're at Rome, do as Rome does ! " and note 
 
 all her 
 Ways drink what She drinks ! and don't turn Tea-totaler ! 
 
 In Spain, raison de phis, 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 lees 
 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 Robert, " 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
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 281 
 
 of them from a very early period, various " storied panes " of stained 
 glass, which, as Blue Dick's x 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 between three eagles' misses, sable, is blazoned quarterly 
 with the engrailed saltire of the Ingoldsbys. Mr. Simpkinson from 
 Bath, whose merits as an antiquary as so well known and appre- 
 ciated as to make eulogy superfluous, not to say impertinent, has 
 been for some time bringing his heraldic lore to bear on those monu- 
 menta vetusta. He pronounces the coat in question to be that of a 
 certain Sir Ingoldsby Bray who flourished temp. Ric. I., and founded 
 the Abbey of Ingoldsby, in the county of Kent and diocese of 
 Rochester, early in the reign of that monarch's successor. The 
 history of the origin of that pious establishment has been rescued 
 from the dirt and mildew in which its chartularies have been 
 slumbering for centuries, and is here given. The link of connexion 
 between the two families is shown by the accompanying extract 
 from our genealogical tree. 
 
 Peter de Ingoldsby, Lord of Tappington 
 temp: Stephen, killed attthe battle of Lin- 
 coln ex parte regis. 
 
 Vitalis dey Alice de Geoffrey ~Joan Richard Ingoldsby, of Tap- 
 
 only pington aforesaid. A quo 
 
 dau. HODIEENUS INGOLDSBY. 
 
 Engaiue. Lizures, de Brai. 
 I 2dwife. 
 
 Alicia= Ingoldsby de Bray, Chiv'ler, Reginald de Bray, 2d sou, 
 
 dau. & afterwards assumed his mo- heir to his brother, from whom 
 
 heir, ther's name, founder of In- descended Edmund Lord Bray, 
 
 sus: goldsby Abbey, A.D. 1202, summoned to parliament 21 
 
 per ob. s. p. circiter 1214. to 28 Hen. 8. 
 
 coll A 
 
 In this document it will be perceived that the death of Lady 
 
 1 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 cserulean worthy called " rattling down 
 proud Becket's glassie bones."
 
 28S THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 
 
 Alice Ingoldsby is attributed to strangulation superinduced by suspen- 
 sion, 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) Mrs. Otway Cave, 
 in whose favour the abeyance of the old Barony of Bray has 
 recently been determined by the Crown. To this same Barony we 
 ourselves were not without our pretensions, and, teste Simpkinson, 
 had "as good a right to it as any body else." The "Collective 
 wisdom of the Country " has, however, decided the point, and placed 
 us among that very numerous class of claimants who are " wrong- 
 fully 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 Duke of Monmouth, and positively 
 deny that he has ever represented Walter Lord Clifford, (father to 
 Fair Rosamond,) as the leader of the 0. P. row. 
 
 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE ! 
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE AND WEST KENT. 
 
 I'll devise thee brave punishments for him ! 
 
 SHAKSPERE. 
 
 OUT and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 A stalwart knight, I ween, was he, 
 
 " Come east, come west, Come lance in rest, 
 Come faulchion 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, 
 
 And they hammer'd away At Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 Fall back, fall edge, cut, thrust, and point, 
 But he topp'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 Squire, 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 ! "
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 283 
 
 Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 
 " What news 1 what news ? come, tell to me ! 
 What news ? what news, thou little Foot-page 1 
 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 1 " 
 Sir Ingoldsby Bray, he said in his rage, 
 " What news ? what news ? thou naughty Foot-page ! " 
 
 That little Foot-page full low crouch'd he, 
 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 : 
 
 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 vest, 
 What scroll is that, false Page, I see 1 " 
 
 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 Eichard's confessor, I ween, is he, 
 
 And tidings rare To him do I bear, 
 And news of price from his rich Ab-bee ! " 
 
 " Now nay, now nay, thou naughty Page ! 
 No learned clerk, I trow, am I, 
 
 But well, I ween, May there be seen 
 Dame Alice's hand with half an eye ; 
 Now nay, now nay, thou naughty Page,
 
 284 THE INGOLDSBY PENANGE. 
 
 From Abingdon Abbey comes not thy news ; 
 
 Although no clerk, Well may I mark 
 The particular turn of her P's and her Q's ! " 
 
 Sir Ingoldsby Bray, in his fury and rage, 
 
 By the back of the neck takes that little Foot-page ; 
 
 The scroll he seizes, The page he squeezes, 
 And buffets, and pinches his nose till he sneezes ; 
 Then he cuts with his dagger the silken threads 
 Which they used in those days 'stead of little Queen's-heads. 
 
 When the contents of the scroll met his view, 
 Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a passion grew, 
 
 Backward he drew His mailed shoe, 
 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, 
 Stiff and stark on that crimson'd lea ! 
 
 Twenty and three ? Stay let me see ! 
 
 Stretched in his gore There lieth one more ! 
 By the Pope's triple crown there are twenty and four ! 
 Twenty-four trunks, I ween, are there, 
 But their heads and their limbs are no-body knows where ! 
 Ay, twenty-four corses, I rede, there be, 
 Though one got away, and ran up a tree ! " 
 
 " Look nigher, look nigher, My trusty Squire ! "- 
 " One is the corse of a barefooted Friar ! ! " 
 
 Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 
 " A boon, a boon, King Richard," quoth he, 
 
 " Now HeaVn 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 1 ' 
 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 !
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 285 
 
 Rise up, rise up, them hast thy boon ; 
 But mind you make haste, and come back again soon ! 
 
 FYTTE II. 
 
 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, I fear me, in evil case : 
 
 A scroll of shame From a faithless dame 
 Did that naughty Foot-page to a paramour bear ; 
 
 1 gave him a ' lick ' With a stick, And a kick, 
 That sent him I can't tell your Holiness where ! 
 Had he as many necks as hairs, 
 
 He had broken them all down those perilous stairs ! " 
 
 " Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 Rise up, rise up, I say to thee ; 
 
 A soldier, I trow, Of the Cross art thou ; 
 Rise xip, rise up from thy bended knee ! 
 Ill 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, 
 ( J row 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 wife, The bane of my life, 
 
 1 have left, I fear me, in evil case ! 
 A scroll of shame in my rage I tore, 
 Which that caitiff Page to a paramour bore ; 
 'Twere bootless to tell how I storm' d 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 !
 
 286 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 
 
 Danie 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 ! " 
 
 " Well-a-day ! well-a-day ! Sir Ingoldsby Bray, 
 Why really I hardly know what to say : 
 Foul sin, I trow, a fair Ladye to slay, 
 Because she's perhaps been a little too gay. 
 Monk must chaunt and Nun must pray ; 
 For each mass they sing, and each pray'r they say, 
 
 For a year, and a day, Sir Ingoldsby Bray 
 A fair rose-noble must duly pay ! 
 So may his qualms of conscience cease, 
 And the soul of Dame Alice may rest in peace ! " 
 
 ' Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave, 
 
 Holy Father, pardon and grace ! 
 
 No power could save That paramour knave ; 
 
 1 left him, I wot, in evil case ! 
 
 There, 'midst the slain Upon Ascalon plain, 
 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 ! '' 
 
 " 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 chauntry 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' nights 
 None of your rascally 'dips' but sound, 
 Hound, 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 ! " quoth Sir Ingoldsby Bray. 
 " No champion free of the Cross was he : 
 No belted Baron of high degree :
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 287 
 
 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 pate ! " 
 
 " Now Thunder and turf ! " Pope Gregory said, 
 
 And his hair raised his triple crown right off his head- 
 
 " Now Thunder and turf ! and out and alas ! 
 
 A horrible thing has come to pass ! 
 
 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 .slu; . 
 Is half so good as a holy Friar ? ' 
 
 0, turpissime ! Vir nequissime ! 
 Sceleratusime ! quissime ! issime ! 
 Never, I trow, have the Servi servorum 
 
 Had before 'em Such a breach of decorum, 
 Such a gross violation of morum bonorum, 
 And won't have again scecula sceculorum! 
 
 Come hither to me, My Cardinals three, 
 
 My Bishops in partibus, Masters in Artibus, 
 
 Hither to me, A.B. and D.D. 
 
 Doctors and Proctors of every degree ! 
 Go fetch me a book ! 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 culpd ! in sooth I'm in pitiful case. 
 
 Peccavi! peccavi! I've done very wrong ! 
 
 But my heart it is stout, and my arm it is strong. 
 
 And I'll fight for Holy Churchill the day long; 
 
 And the Ingoldsby lands 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 somewnat 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,
 
 288 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 
 
 Why, 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, 
 And 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 sound, 
 Best superfine wax- wicks, four to the pound ; 
 
 And Monk and Nun Shall pray, each one, 
 For the soul of the Prior of Abingdon ! 
 And Sir Ingoldsby Bray, so bold and so brave, 
 Never shall wash himself, comb, or shave, 
 
 Nor adorn his body, Nor drink gin-toddy, 
 
 Nor indulge in a pipe, But shall dine upon tripe, 
 And blackberries gathered before they are ripe, 
 And for ever abhor, renounce, and abjure 
 Rum, 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 
 More repetition of 0, med culpd /) 
 
 " 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 whip-cord and wire ; 
 And nor he, nor his heir 1 Shall take, use, or bear 
 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! 
 
 His brother Reginald, it would seem by the pedigree, disregarded this 
 prohibition.
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 289 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 FYTTE ill. 
 
 Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see, 
 
 It hath manors a dozen, and royalties three, 
 
 With right of free-warren (whatever that be) ; 
 
 Rich pastures in front, and green woods in the rear, 
 
 All in full leaf at the right time of year ; 
 
 About Christmas 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. 1 
 
 So charming a spot, It's rarely one's lot 
 To see, and when seen it's as rarely forgot. 
 
 Yes, Ingoldsby Abbey is fair to see, 
 
 And its Monks and its Nuns are fifty and three, 
 
 And there they all stand each in their degree, 
 
 Drawn up in the front of their eacred abode, 
 
 Two by two, in their regular mode, 
 
 While a funeral comes down the Rochester road. 
 
 1 Alas ! one might almost say that of this sacred, and once splendid, edifice, 
 pcrierunt eiiam ruinae. An elderly gentleman, however, of ecclesiastical cut, 
 who oscillates between the Garrick Club and the Falcon in Graveseud, and is 
 said by the host to be a " foreigneering Bishop," does not scruple to identify 
 the ruins still to be seen by the side of the high Dover road, about a mile and 
 a half below the town, with those of the haunted Sactllum. The general 
 features of the landscape certainly correspond, and tradition, as certainly, 
 countenances his conjecture. 
 
 U
 
 290 THE INGOLDSBY PENANCE. 
 
 Palmers twelve, from a foreign strand, 
 Cockle in hat, and staff in hand, 
 Come marching in pairs, a holy band ! 
 Little boys twelve, dressed all in white, 
 Each with his brazen censer bright, 
 And singing^ away with all their might, 
 Follow the Palmers a goodly sight ; 
 
 Next high in air Twelve Yeomen bear 
 On their sturdy necks, with a good deal of care, 
 A patent sarcophagus firmly rear'd, 
 Of Spanish mahogany (not veneer'd), 
 And behind walks a Knight with a very long beard. 
 
 Close by his side Is a Friar, supplied 
 With a stout cat o' niuetails of tough cow-hide, 
 
 While all sorts of queer men Bring up the rear Men- 
 -at-arms, Nigger captives, and Bow-men, and Spear-men. 
 
 It boots not to tell What you'll guess very well, 
 How some sang the requiem, some toll'd the bell ; 
 
 Suffice it to say, 'Twas on Candlemas-day 
 The procession I speak about reached the Sacellum ; 
 
 And in lieu of a supper The Knight on his crupper 
 Received the first taste of the Father's fiagellum ; 
 
 That, as chronicles tell, He continued to dwell 
 All the rest of his days in the Abbey he'd founded, 
 By the pious of both sexes ever surrounded, 
 And, partaking the fare of the Monks and the Nuns, 
 Ate the cabbage alone, without touching the buns ; 
 That year after year, having run round the Quad 
 With his back, as enjoin'd him, exposed to the rod, 
 Having not only kiss'd it, but bless'd it, and thank'd it, he 
 Died, as all thought, in the odour of sanctity, 
 When, strange to relate ! and you'll hardly believe 
 What I'm going to tell you, next Candlemas Eve 
 The Monks and the Nuns in the dead of the night 
 Tumble, all of them, out of their beds in affright, 
 
 Alarm'd by the bawls, And the calls, and the squalls 
 Of some one who seem'd running all round the walls ! 
 
 Looking out, soon By the light of the moon 
 There appears most distinctly to ev'ry one's view, 
 And making, as seems to them, all this ado, 
 The form of a Knight with a beard like a Jew, 
 As bkck as if steep'd in that " Matchless ! " of Hunt's, 
 And so bushy, it would not disgrace Mr. Muntz ; 
 A bare-footed Friar stands behind him, and shakes 
 A flagellum, whose lashes appear to be snakes ;
 
 A LEGEND OF PALESTINE. 291 
 
 While, more terrible still, the astounded beholders 
 Perceive the said Friar has NO HEAD ON HIS SHOULDERS, 
 
 But is holding his pate In his left hand, out straight, 
 As if by a closer inspection to find 
 Where to get the best cut at his victim behind, 
 With the aid of a small " bull's-eye lantern," as placed 
 By our own New Police, in a belt round his waist. 
 
 All gaze with surprise, Scarce believing their eyes, 
 When the Knight makes a start like a race-horse, and flies 
 From his headless tormentor, repeating his cries, 
 In vain, for the Friar to his skirts closely sticks, 
 " Banning after him," so said the Abbot, " like Bricks ! " 
 
 Thrice three times did the Phantom Knight 
 Course round the Abbey as best he might, 
 Be-thwack'd and be-smack'd by the headless Sprite, 
 While his shrieks so piercing made all hearts thrill, 
 Then a whoop and a halloo, and all was still ! 
 
 Ingoldsby Abbey has passed away, 
 
 And at this time of day One can hardly survey 
 Any traces or track, save a few ruins, grey 
 With age, and fast mouldering into decay, 
 Of the structure once built by Sir Ingoldsby Bray ; 
 But still there are many folks living who say 
 That on every Candlemas eve, the Knight, 
 
 Accoutred, and dight In his armour bright, 
 With his thick black beard, and the clerical Sprite, 
 With his head in his hand, and his lantern alight, 
 Run round the spot where the old Abbey stood, 
 And are seen in the neighbouring glebe-land and wood ; 
 More especially still, if it's stormy and windy, 
 You may hear them for miles kicking up their wild shindy 
 
 And that once in a gale Of wind, sleet, and hail, 
 They frighten'd the horses, and upset the mail. 
 
 What^tis breaks the rest Of those souls unblest 
 Would now be a thing rather hard to be guess'd, 
 Though some say the Squire, on his death-bed, confess'd 
 
 That on Ascalon plain, When the bones of the slain 
 Were collected that day, and packed up in a chest, 
 
 Caulk'd, and made water-tight, 
 
 By command of the Knight, 
 
 Though the legs and the arms they'd got all pretty right, 
 And the body itself in a decentish plight, 
 Yet the Friars Pericranium was nowhere in sight ; 
 So, to save themselves trouble, they'd pick'd up instead, 
 And popp'd on the shoulders a Saracen's Head !
 
 292 THE INGOLDBBY PENANCE. 
 
 Thus the Knight in the terms of his penance had fail'd, 
 And the Pope s absolution, of course, nought avail'd. 
 
 Now, though this might be, It don't seem to agree 
 With one thing which, I own, is a poser to me, 
 I mean, as the miracles wrought at the shrine 
 Containing the bones brought from far Palestine 
 Were so great and notorious, 'tis hard to combine 
 This fact with the reason these people assign, 
 Or suppose that the head of the murder'd Divine 
 Could be aught but what Yankees would call " genu-ine." 
 'Tis a very nice question but be't as it may, 
 The Ghost of Sir Ingoldsby (ci-devant Bray), 
 It is boldly affirm'd, by the folks great and small 
 About Milton, and Chalk, and around Cobham Hall, 
 Still on Candlemas-day haunts the old ruin'd wall, 
 And that many have seem him, and more heard him squall. 
 So I think, when the facts of the case you recall, 
 My inference, reader, you'll fairly forestall, 
 
 Viz. : that, spite of the hope Held out by the Pope, 
 Sir Ingoldsby Bray was d d after all ! 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 Foot-pages, and Servants of ev'ry degree, 
 
 In livery or out of it, listen to me ! 
 
 See what comes of lying ! don't join in a league 
 
 To humbug your master, or aid an intrigue ! 
 
 Ladies ! married and single, from this understand 
 
 How foolish it is to send letters by hand ! 
 
 Don't stand for the sake of a penny, but when you 
 
 've a billet to send To a lover or friend, 
 Put it into the post, and don't cheat the revenue ! 
 
 Keverend gentlemen ! you who are given to roam, 
 Don't keep up a soft correspondence at home ! 
 But while you're abroad lead respectable lives ; 
 Love your neighbours, and welcome, but don't love their wives ! 
 And, as bricklayers cry from the tiles and the leads 
 When they're shovelling the snow off, "TAKE CARE OF YOUR 
 HEADS !" 
 
 Knights ! whose hearts are so stout, and whose arms are so 
 
 strong, 
 
 Learn, to twist a wife's neck is decidedly wrong ! 
 If your servants offend you, or give themselves airs, 
 Rebuke them but mildly don't kick them down stairs !
 
 A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE. 293 
 
 To " Poor Richard's " homely old proverb attend, 
 
 " If you want matters well managed, Go ! if not, Send ! " 
 
 A servant's too often a negligent elf ; 
 
 If it's business of consequence, Do IT YOURSELF ! 
 
 The state of society seldom requires 
 People now to bring home with them unburied Friars, 
 But they sometimes do bring home an inmate for life ; 
 Now don't do that by proxy ! but choose your own wife ! 
 For think how annoying 'twould be, when you're wed, 
 
 To find in your bed, On the pillow, instead 
 Of the sweet face you look for A SARACEN'S HEAD ! 
 
 Alas, for Ingoldsby Abbey ! Alas that one should have to say 
 
 Perierunt etiam Ruinae ! 
 Its very Ruins now are tiny . 
 
 There is a something in the very sight of an old Abbey family 
 associations apart as Ossiaii says (or Macpherson for him), " pleasing 
 yet mournful to the soul ! " nor could I ever yet gaze on the roofless 
 walls and ivy-clad towers of one of these venerable monuments of 
 the piety of bygone days, without something very like an unbidden 
 tear rising to dim the prospect. Something of this, I think, I 
 have already hinted in recording our pic-nic with the Seaforths at 
 Bolsover. Since then I have paid a visit to the beautiful remains of 
 what once was Netley, and never experienced the sensation to which 
 I have alluded in a stronger degree ; if its character was somewhat 
 changed before we parted it is not my fault. Still, be the draw- 
 backs what they may, I shall ever mark with a white stone the day 
 on which I for the first time beheld the time-worn cloisters of 
 
 NETLEY ABBEY. 
 
 A LEGEND OP HAMPSHIRE. 
 
 I SAW thee, Netley, as the sun 
 Across the western wave 
 
 Was sinking slow, And a golden glow 
 To thy roofless towers he gave ;
 
 294 NETLEY ABBEY. 
 
 And the ivy sheen, With its mantle of green, 
 That wrapt thy walls around, 
 
 Shone lovelily bright In that glorious light, 
 And I felt 'twas holy ground. 
 
 Then I thought of the ancient time 
 The days of thy Monks of old, 
 When to Matin, and Vesper, and Compline chime, 
 
 The loud Hosanna roll'd, 
 
 And, thy courts and " long-drawn aisles " among, 
 Swell'd the full tide of sacred song ; 
 
 And then a Vision pass'd 
 
 Across my mental eye ; l 
 And silver shrines, and shaven crowns, 
 And delicate Ladies, in bomhazeen gowns, 
 
 And long white veils, went by, 
 Stiff, and staid, and solemn, and sad, 
 But one, methought, wink'd at the Gardener-Lad ! 
 
 Then came the Abbot, with mitre and ring, 
 And pastoral staff, and all that sort of thing, 
 And a Monk with a book, and a Monk with a bell, 
 
 And " dear little souls," In clean linen stoles, 
 Swinging their censers, and making a smell. 
 And see where the Choir-master walks in the rear, 
 
 With front severe, And brow austere, 
 Now and then pinching a little boy's ear 
 When he chaunts the responses too late, or too soon, 
 Or his Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La's not quite in tune. 
 
 (Then, you know, They'd a " moveable Do" 
 Not a fixed one as now and of course never knew 
 How to set up a musical Hullah-baloo.) 
 It was, in sooth, a comely sight, 
 And I welcom'd the vision with pure delight. 
 
 But then " a change came o'er " 
 
 My spirit a change of fear 
 That gorgeous scene I beheld no more, 
 But deep beneath the basement floor 
 
 A dungeon dark and drear ! 
 And there was an ugly hole in the wall 
 For an oven too big, for a cellar too small ! 
 
 And mortar and tricks All ready to fix, 
 And I said, " Here's a Nun has been playing some tricks ! 
 That horrible hole ! it seems to say, 
 ' I'm a Grave that gapes for a living prey ! ' " 
 
 1 In my mind's eye, Horatio ! HAMLET.
 
 A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE. 295 
 
 And my heart grew sick, and my brow grew sad 
 And I thought of that wink at the Gardener-lad. 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 'tis sad to think 
 
 That Maiden's eye, which was made to wink, 
 
 Should here be compelled to grow blear, and blink, 
 Or be closed for aye In this kind of way, 
 
 Shut out for ever from wholesome day, 
 
 Wall'd up in a hole with never a chink, 
 
 No light, no air, no victuals, no drink ! 
 
 . And that Maiden's lip, Which was made to sip, 
 
 Should here grow wither'd and dry as a chip ! 
 
 That wandering glance and furtive kiss, 
 
 Exceedingly naughty, and wrong, I wis, 
 
 Should yet be considered so much amiss 
 
 As to call for a sentence severe as this ! 
 
 And I said to myself, as I heard with a sigh 
 
 The poor lone victim's stifled cry, 1 
 
 " Well ! I can't understand How any man's hand 
 Could wall up that hole in a Christian land ! 
 
 Why, a Mussulman Turk Would recoil from the work, 
 And though, when his Ladies run after the fellows, he 
 Stands not on trifles, if madden'd by jealousy, 
 Its objects, I'm sure, would declare, could they speak, 
 In their Georgian, Circassian, or Turkish, or Greek, 
 ' When all's said and clone, far better it was for us, 
 
 Tied back to back, And sewn up in a sack, 
 To be pitch'd neck-and heels from a boat in the Bosphorus ! ' 
 Oh ! a Saint 'twould vex To think that the sex 
 Should be treated no better than Combe's double X ! 
 Sure some one might run to the Abbess, and tell her 
 A much better method of stocking her cellar." 
 
 If ever on polluted walls 
 
 Heaven's red right arm in vengeance falls, 
 
 If e'er its justice wraps in flame 
 
 The black abodes of sin and shame, 
 
 That justice, in its own good time, 
 
 Shall visit for so foul a crime, 
 
 Ope desolation's floodgate wide, 
 
 And blast thee, Netley, in thy pride ! 
 
 Lo where it comes ! the tempest lours, 
 It bursts on thy devoted towers ; 
 
 1 About the middle of the last century a human skeleton was discovered in a 
 recess in the wall among the ruins of Netley. On examination the bones were 
 pronounced to be those of a female. Testc James Harrison, a youthful but 
 intelligent cab-driver of Southampton, who "well remembers to have heard 
 his grandmother say that 'Somebody told her so.' "
 
 296 NETLEY ABBEY. 
 
 Ruthless Tudor's bloated form 
 
 Rides on the blast, and guides the storm ; 
 
 I hear the sacrilegious cry, 
 
 " Down with the nests, and the rooks will fly ! " 
 
 Down ! clown they come a fearful fall 
 Arch, and pillar, and roof-tree, and all, 
 Stained pane, and sculptured stone, 
 There they lie on the greensward strown 
 Mouldering walls remain alone ! 
 
 Shaven crown, Bombazeen gown, 
 Mitre, and Crozier, and all are flown ! 
 
 And yet, fair Netley, as I gaze 
 
 Upon that grey and mouldering wall, 
 
 The glories of thy palmy days 
 Its very stones recall ! 
 
 They " come like shadows, so depart " 
 
 I see thee as thou wert and art 
 
 Sublime in ruin ! grand in woe ! 
 Lone refuge of the owl and bat ; 
 No voice awakes thine echoes now ! 
 No sound Good Gracious ! what was that ? 
 
 Was it the moan, The parting groan 
 Of her who died forlorn and alone, 
 Embedded in mortar, and bricks, and stone ? 
 
 Full and clear On my listening ear 
 It comes again near, and more near 
 Why 'zooks ! it's the popping of Ginger Beer ! 
 I rush to the door I tread the floor. 
 By Abbots and Abbesses trodden before, 
 In the good old chivalric days of yore, 
 
 And what see I there ? In a rush-bottom'd chair 
 A hag, surrounded by crockery- ware, 
 Vending, in cups, to the credulous throng, 
 A nasty decoction miscall'd Souchong,"- 
 And a squeaking fiddle and " wry-necked fife " 
 Are screeching away, for the life ! for the life ! 
 Danced to by'" All the World and his Wife." 
 Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there, 
 Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair ! 
 Two or three Chimney-sweeps, two or three Clowns, 
 Playing at " pitch and toss," sport their " Browns," 
 Two or three damsels, frank and free, 
 Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea. 
 Parties below, and parties above, 
 Some making tea, and some making love.
 
 FRAGMENT. 297 
 
 Then the " toot toot toot " Of that vile demi-flute, 
 
 The detestable din Of that cracked violin, 
 And the odours of " Stout," and tobacco, and gin ! 
 " Dear me ! " I exclaim'd, " what a place to be in ! " 
 And I said to the person who drove my " shay," 
 (A very intelligent man, by the way,) 
 " This, all things considered, is rather too gay ! 
 It don't suit my humour, so take me away ! 
 Dancing ! and drinking ! cigar and song ! 
 If not profanation, it's ' coming it strong,' 
 And I really consider it all very wrong. 
 Pray, to whom does this property now "belong ? " 
 
 He paused, and said, Scratching his head, 
 " Why, I really do think he's a little to blame, 
 But I can't say I knows the Gentleman's name ! 1: 
 
 " Well well ! " quoth I, As I heaved a sigh, 
 
 And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye, 
 
 " My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt 
 
 That some day or other you'll find it out, 
 
 Should he come in your way, Or ride in your ' shay,' 
 (As perhaps he may,) Be so good as to say 
 
 That a Visitor, whom you drove over one day, 
 
 Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalized, 
 
 Finding these beautiful ruins so Vandalized, 
 
 And thus of their owner to speak began, 
 As he ordered you home in haste, 
 
 " Xo DOUBT HE'S A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN, 
 
 But / can't say much for his taste." l 
 
 My very excellent brother-in-law, Seaforth, late of the Bombay 
 Fencibles (lucky dog to have quitted the service before this shock- 
 ing Afghan business !), seems to have been even more forcibly 
 affected on the evening when he so narrowly escaped being locked 
 in at Westminster Abbey, and when but let him describe his 
 own feelings, as he has done, indeed, in the subjoined 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 A FEELING sad came o'er me as I trod the sacred ground 
 Where Tudors and Plantagenets were lying all around : 
 
 1 Adieu, Monsieur Gil Bias ; je vous souhaite toutcs sortes de prospe'riti's, 
 avec un pen plus de gout ! Oil Bias.
 
 298 FRAGMENT. 
 
 I stepp'd with noiseless foot, as though the sound of mortal tread 
 Might burst the bands of the dreamless sleep that wraps the mighty 
 dead ! 
 
 The slanting ray of the evening sun shone through those cloisters 
 
 pale, 
 
 With fitful light on regal vest, and warrior's sculptured mail ; 
 As from the stained and storied pane it danced with quivering 
 
 gleam, 
 Each cold and prostrate form below seem'd quickening in the beam. 
 
 Now, sinking low, no more was heard the organ's solemn swell, 
 And faint upon the listening ear the last Hosanna fell : 
 It died and not a breath did stir ; above each knightly stall, 
 Unmoved, the banner'd blazonry hung waveless as a pall. 
 
 I stood alone ! a living thing 'midst those that were no more 
 I thought on ages past and gone the glorious deeds of yore 
 On Edward's sable panoply, on Cressy's tented plain, 
 The fatal roses twined at length on great Eliza's reign. 
 
 I thought on Naseby Marston Moor on Worc'ster's "crowninq 
 
 fight;" 
 
 When on mine ear a sound there fell it chill'd me with affright, 
 As thus in low, unearthly tones I heard a voice begin, 
 " This here's the Cap of Giniral Monk ! Sir ! please put summut 
 
 in!" 
 
 C cetera desiderantur. 
 
 That Seaforth's nervous system was powerfully acted upon on 
 this occasion I can well believe. The circumstance brings to my 
 recollection a fearful adventure or what might perhaps have 
 proved one of my own in early life while grinding Gerunds at 
 Canterbury. A sharp touch of the gout, and the reputed sana- 
 tory qualities of a certain spring in St. Peter's Street, then in 
 much repute, had induced my Uncle to take up a temporary 
 abode within the Cathedral "Precinct." It was on one of those 
 temporary visits which I was sometimes permitted to pay on 
 half-holidays, that, in self-defence, I had to recount the following 
 true narrative. I may add, that this tradition is not yet worn
 
 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTRY. :) 299 
 
 out : a small maimed figure of a female in a sitting position, 
 and holding something like a frying-pan in her hand, may still 
 be seen on the covered passage which crosses the Brick Walk, 
 and adjoins the house belonging to the sixth prebendal stall. 
 There are those, whom I know, who would, even yet, hesitate at 
 threading the Dark Entry on a Friday " not," of course, " that 
 they believe one word about " 
 
 NELL COOK ! ! 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK. ENTRY." 
 
 THE KING'S SCHOLAR'S STORY. 
 
 " From the 'Brick Walk' branches off to the right a long narrow vaulted 
 passage, paved with flagstones, vulgarly known by the name of the ' Dark 
 Entry.' Its eastern extremity communicates with the cloisters, crypt, and, 
 by a private stair-case, with the interior of the Cathedral. On the west 
 it opens into the 'Green-court,' forming a communication between it and 
 the portion of the ' Precinct ' called the ' Oaks. ' " A Walk round Canter- 
 bury, etc. 
 
 Scene A back parlour in Mr. John Ingoldsby's house in the Precinct. A 
 blazing fire. Mine Uncle is seated in a high-backed easy-chair, twirling 
 his thumbs, and contemplating his list shoe. Little Tom, the "King's 
 Scholar," on a stool opposite. Mrs. John Ingoldsby at the table, busily 
 employed in manufacturing a cabbage - rose (cauliflower ?) in many- 
 coloured worsteds. Mine Uncle's meditations are interrupted by the 
 French clock on the mantelpiece. He prologizeth with vivacity. 
 
 " HARK ! listen, Mrs. Ingoldsby, the clock is striking nine ! 
 Give Master Tom another cake, and half a glass of wine, 
 And ring the bell for Jenny Smith, and bid her bring his coat, 
 And a warm bandana handkerchief to tie about his throat. 
 
 " And bid them go the nearest way, for Mr. Birch has said 
 That nine o'clock's the hour he'll have his boarders all in bed ; 
 And well we know when little boys their coming home delay, 
 They often seem to walk and sit uneasily next day ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, now send me not, I pray, 
 Back by that Entry dark, for that you know's the nearest way ; 
 I dread that Entry dark with Jane alone at such an hour, 
 It fears me quite it's Friday night ! and then Nell Cook hath 
 pow'r ! "
 
 300 NELL COOK. 
 
 " And, who's Xell Cook, thou silly child ? and what's Nell Cook to 
 
 thcc? 
 That thou shouldst dread at night to tread with Jane that dark 
 
 entree ? " 
 " Nay, list and hear, mine Uncle dear ! such fearsome things they 
 
 tell 
 Of Nelly Cook, that few may brook at night to meet with Nell ! " 
 
 " It was in bluff King Harry's day's, and Monks and Friars were 
 
 then, 
 
 You know, dear Uncle Ingoldsby, a sort of Clergymen. 
 They'd coarse stuff gowns, and shaven crowns, no shirts, and no 
 
 cravats ; 
 And a cord was placed about their waist they had no shovel hats ! 
 
 " It was in bluff King Harry's days, while yet he went to shrift, 
 And long before he stamped and swore, and cut the Pope adrift ; 
 There lived a portly Canon then, a sage and learned clerk ; 
 He had, I trow, a goodly house, fast by that Entry dark ! 
 
 " The Canon was a portly man of Latin and of Greek, 
 And learned lore, he had good store, yet health was on his cheek. 
 The Priory fare was scant and spare, the bread was made of rye, 
 The beer was weak, yet he was sleek he had a merry eye. 
 
 " For though within the Priory the fare was scant and thin, 
 The Canon's house it stood without ; he kept good cheer within ; 
 Unto the best he prest each guest with free and jovial look, 
 And Ellen Bean ruled his cuisine. He called her ' Nelly Cook ! ' 
 
 " For soups, and stews, and choice ragouts, Nell Cook was famous 
 
 still ; 
 
 She'd make them even of old shoes, she had such wond'rous skill : 
 Her manchets fine were quite divine, her cakes were nicely brownM, 
 Her boil'd and roast, they were the boast of all the ' Precinct ' round ; 
 
 " And Nelly was a comely lass, but calm and staid her air, 
 And earthward bent her modest look yet she was passing fair ; 
 And though her gown was russet brown, their heads grave people 
 
 shook : 
 They all agreed no Clerk had need of such a pretty Cook. 
 
 " One day 'twas on a "Whitsun-Eve there come a coach and 
 
 four ; 
 It pass'd the ' Green-Court ' gate, and stopp'd before the Canon's 
 
 door ; 
 
 The travel-stain on wheel and rein bespoke a weary way, 
 Each panting steed relax'd its speed out stept a Lady gay.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTRY." 301 
 
 " ' Now, welcome ! welcome ! dearest Niece,' the Canon then did 
 
 cry, 
 
 And to his breast the Lady prest he had a m ;rry eye, 
 ' Xow, welcome ! welcome ! dearest Niece ! in sooth thou'rt welcome 
 
 here, 
 'Tis many a day since we have met how fares my Brother dear ? ' 
 
 " ' Now, thanks, my loving Uncle,' that Lady gay replied ; 
 ' Gramercy for thy benison ! ' then ' Out, alas ! ' she sighed ; 
 ' My father dear he is not near ; he seeks the Spanish Main ; 
 He prays thee give me shelter here till he return again ! ' 
 
 " ' Now, welcome ! welcome ! dearest Niece ; come lay thy mantle 
 
 by!' 
 
 The Caiion kissed her ruby lip he had a merry eye, 
 But Nelly Cook askew did look, it came into her mind 
 They were a little less than 'kin,' and rather more than 'kind.' 
 
 " Three weeks are gone and over full three weeks and a day, 
 Yet still within the Canon's house doth dwell that Lady gay ; 
 On capons fine they daily dine, rich cates and sauces rare, 
 And they quaff good store of Bourdeaux wine, so dainty is their fare. 
 
 " And fine upon the virginals is that gay Lady's touch, 
 
 And sweet her voice unto the lute, you'll scarce hear any such ; 
 
 But is it ' Sanctissima ! ' she sings in dulcet tone ? 
 
 Or ' Angels ever bright and fair?' Ah, no ! it's 'Bobbing Joan!' 
 
 " The Canon's house is lofty, and spacious to the view ; 
 The Canon's cell is ordered well yet Nelly looks askew ; 
 The Lady's bower is in the tower, yet Nelly shakes her head 
 She hides the poker and the tongs in that gay Lady's bed ? 
 
 " Six weeks were gone and over full six weeks and a day, 
 Yet in that bed the poker and the tongs unheeded lay ! 
 From which, I fear, it's pretty clear that Lady rest had none ; 
 Or, if she slept in any bed it was not in her own. 
 
 " But where that Lady pass'd her nights, I may not well divine, 
 Perhaps in pious oraisons at good St. Thomas' Shrine, 
 And for her father far away breathed tender vows and true 
 It may be so I cannot say but Nelly look'd askew. 
 
 "And still at night, by fair moonlight, when all were lock'd in sleep, 
 She'd listen at the Canon's door, she'd through the keyhole peep 
 I know not what she heard or saw, but fury filled her eye 
 She bought some nasty Doctor 's-stuff, and she put it in a pie !
 
 302 NELL COOK. 
 
 " It was a glorious summer's-eve with beams of rosy red 
 
 The Sun went down all Nature smiled but Nelly shook her head ! 
 
 Full softly to the balmy breeze rang out the Vesper bell 
 
 Upon the Canon's startled ear it sounded like a knell ! 
 
 " ' Now here's to thee, mine Uncle ! a health I drink to thee ! 
 Now pledge me back in Sherris sack, or a cup of Malvoisie ! ' 
 The Canon sigh'd but rousing, cried, ' I answer to thy call, 
 And a Warden- pie's a dainty dish to mortify withal ! ' 
 
 " 'Tis early dawn the matin chime rings out for morning pray'r 
 And Prior and Friar is in his stall the Canon is not there ! 
 Nor in the small Eefect'ry hall, nor cloister'd walk is he 
 All wonder and the Sacristan says, ' Lauk-a-daisey-me ! ' 
 
 " They've searched the aisles and Baptistry they've search'd above 
 
 around 
 
 The ' Sermon House ' the ' Audit Room ' the Canon is not found. 
 They only find that pretty Cook concocting a ragout, 
 They ask her where her master is but Nelly looks askew ! 
 
 " They call for crow-bars 'jemmies ' is the modern name they 
 
 bear 
 They burst through lock, and bolt, and bar but what a sight is 
 
 there ! 
 
 The Canon's head lies on the bed his Niece lies on the floor ! 
 They are as dead as any nail that is in any door ! 
 
 " The livid spot is on his breast, the spot is on his back ! 
 
 His portly form, no longer warm with life, is swoln and black ! 
 
 The livid spot is on her cheek, it's on her neck of snow, 
 
 And the Prior sighs, and sadly cries, ' Well ! here's a pretty Go ! ' 
 
 " All at the silent hour of night a bell is heard to toll, 
 
 A knell is rung, a requiem's sung as for a sinful soul, 
 
 And there's a grave within the Nave, it's dark, and deep, and wide, 
 
 And they bury there a Lady fair, and a Canon by her side ! 
 
 " An Uncle so 'tis whisper'd now throughout the sacred fane, 
 And a Niece whose father's far away upon the Spanish Main 
 The Sacristan, he says no word that indicates a doubt, 
 But he puts his thumb unto his nose, and he spreads his fingers out ! 
 
 " And where doth tarry Nelly Cook, that staid and comely lass 1 
 Ay, where? for ne'er from forth that door was Nelly known to 
 
 pass. 
 
 Her coif, and gown of russet brown were lost unto the view, 
 And if you mention'd Nelly's name the Monks all looked askew !
 
 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTRY." 303 
 
 " There is a heavy paving-stone fast by the Canon's door, 
 Of granite grey, and it may weigh some half a ton or more, 
 And it is laid deep in the shade within that Entry dark, 
 Where sun or moonbeam never play'd, or e'en one starry spark. 
 
 " That heavy granite stone was moved that night, 'twas darkly 
 
 said, 
 And the mortar round its sides next morn seem'd fresh and newly 
 
 laid ; 
 
 But what within the narrow vault beneath that stone doth lie. 
 Or if that there be vault, or no I cannot tell not I ! 
 
 "But I've been told that moan and groan, and fearful wail and 
 
 shriek 
 
 Came from beneath that paving-stone for nearly half a week 
 For three long days and three long nights came forth those sounds 
 
 of fear ; 
 Then all was o'er they never more fell on the listening ear. 
 
 "A hundred years were gone and past since last Nell Cook was seen, 
 When, worn by use that stone got loose, and they went and told the 
 
 Dean. 
 Says the Dean, says he, ' My Masons three ! now haste and fix it 
 
 tight;' 
 And the Masons three peep'd down to see, and they saw a fearsome 
 
 sight. 
 
 ' Beneath that heavy paving-stone a shocking hole they found 
 It was not more than twelve feet deep, and barely twelve feet 
 
 round ; 
 
 A fleshless, sapless skeleton lay in that horrid well ! 
 But who the deuce 'twas put it there those Masons could not tell. 
 
 " And near this fleshless skeleton a pitcher small did lie, 
 
 And a mouldy piece of ' kissing crust,' as from a warden-pie ! 
 
 And Doctor Jones declared the bones were female bones and, 
 
 ' Zooks ! 
 I should not be surprised,' said he, ' if these were Nelly Cook's ! ' 
 
 " It was in good Dean Bargrave's days, if I remember right, 
 
 Those fleshless bones beneath the stones these Masons brought to 
 
 light; 
 And you may well in the 'Dean's Chapelle' Dean Bargrave'a 
 
 portrait view, 
 ' Who died one night,' says old Tom Wright, ' in sixteen forty-two ! ' 
 
 " And so two hundred years have passed since that these Masons 
 
 three, 
 With curious looks, did set Nell Cook's unquiet spirit free ; .
 
 304 NELL COOK. 
 
 That granite stone had kept her down till then so some suppose, 
 Some spread their fingers out, and put their thumb unto their nose. 
 
 " But one thing's clear that all the year on every Friday night, 
 Throughout that Entry dark doth roam Nell Cook's unquiet Sprite : 
 On Friday was that Warden-pie all by that Canon tried ; 
 On Friday died he, and that tidy Lady by his side 1 
 
 " And though two hundred years have flown, Nell Cook doth still 
 
 pursue 
 
 Her weary walk, and they who cross her path the deed may rue ; 
 Her fatal breath is fell as death ! the Simoom's blast is not 
 More dire (a wind in Africa that blows uncommon hot). 
 
 " But all unlike the Simoom's blast, her breath is deadly cold, 
 Delivering quivering, shivering shocks unto both young and old, 
 And whoso in that Entry dark doth feel that fatal breath, 
 He ever dies within the year some dire, untimely death ! 
 
 " No matter who no matter what condition, age, or sex, 
 
 But some ' get shot,' and some ' get drown'd,' and some ' get ' broken 
 
 necks ; 
 
 Some ' get run over ' by a coach ; and one beyond the seas 
 ' Got ' scraped to death with oyster-shells among the Caribbees ! 
 
 " Those Masons three, who set her free, fell first ! it is averred 
 That two were hang'd on Tyburn tree for murdering of the third : 
 Charles Storey, 1 too, his friend who slew, had ne'er, if truth they 
 
 tell, 
 Been gibbeted on Chartham Downs, had they not met with Nell ! 
 
 " Then send me not, mine Uncle dear, oh ! send me not, I pray, 
 Back through that Entry dark to-night, but round some other way ! 
 I will not be a truant boy, but good, and mind my book, 
 For Heaven forfend that ever I foregather with Nell Cook ! " 
 
 The class was call'd at morning tide, and Master Tom was there ; 
 He look'd askew, and did eschew both stool, and bench, and chair. 
 He did not talk, he did not walk, the tear was in his eye, 
 He had not e'en that sad resource, to sit him down and cry. 
 
 1 In or about the year 1780, a worthy of this name cut the throat of a 
 journeyman paper-maker, was executed on Oaten Hill, and afterwards hung 
 in chains near the scene of his crime. It was to this place, as being the 
 extreme boundary of the City's jurisdiction, that the worthy Mayor with so 
 
 much na/iveU wished to escort Archbishop M on one of his progresses, 
 
 when he begged to have the honour of " attending his Grace as far as the
 
 A LEGEND OF THE "DARK ENTRY." 305 
 
 Hence little boys may learn, when they from school go out to dine, 
 They should not deal in rigmarole, but still be back by nine ; 
 For if when they've their great-coat on, they pause before they part 
 To tell a long and prosy tale, perchance their own may smart ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 A few remarks to learned Clerks in country and in town 
 Don't keep a pretty serving-maid, though clad in russet brown ! 
 Don't let your Niece sing " Bobbing Joan ! " don't with a merry 
 
 eye, 
 Hob-nob in Sack and Malvoisie, and don't eat too much pie ! ! 
 
 And oh ! beware that Entry dark, especially at night, 
 
 And don't go there with Jenny Smith all by the pale moonlight ! 
 
 So bless the Queen and her Royal Weans, and the Prince whose 
 
 hand she took, 
 And bless us all, both great and small. and keep us from Nell 
 
 Cook! 
 
 Kind, good-hearted, gouty Uncle John ! how well I remember 
 all the kindness and affection which my mischievous propensities 
 so ill repaid his bright blue coat and resplendent gilt buttons 
 his " frosty pow " si bien poudrfhis little quill-like pigtail ! Of 
 all my praiseworthy actions they were " like angels visits, few and 
 far between " the neverfailing and munificent rewarder ; of my 
 naughty deeds they were multitudinous as the sands on the sea-
 
 306 NURSERY REMINISCENCES. 
 
 shore the ever- ready palliator ; my intercessor, and sometimes 
 even my defender against punishment, "staying harsh justice in 
 its mid career ! " Poor Uncle John ! he will ever rank among the 
 dearest of my 
 
 NURSERY REMINISCENCES. 
 
 I REMEMBER, I remember, 
 
 When I was a little Boy, 
 One fine morning in September 
 
 Uncle brought me home a toy. 
 
 I remember how he patted 
 Both my cheeks in kindliest mood ; 
 
 " Then," said he, " you little Fat-head, 
 There's a top because you're good ! " 
 
 Grandinama a shrewd observer 
 
 I remember gazed upon 
 My new top, and said with fervour, 
 
 " Oh ! how kind of Uncle John ! " 
 
 While Mama, my form caressing, 
 
 In her eye the tear-drop stood, 
 Head me this fine moral lesson, 
 
 " See what comes of being good ! " 
 
 I remember, I remember, 
 
 On a wet and windy day, 
 One cold morning in December, 
 
 I stole out and went to play ; 
 
 I remember Billy Hawkins 
 Came, and with his pewter squirt 
 
 Squibb'd my pantaloons and stockings 
 Till they were all over dirt ! 
 
 To my mother for protection 
 
 I ran, quaking every limb : 
 She exclaimed, with fond affection, 
 
 " Gracious Goodness ! look at him ! "- 
 
 Pa cried, when he saw my garment, 
 ; Twas a newly-purchased dress 
 
 " Oh ! you nasty little Warment, 
 How came you in such a mess ? :>
 
 NURSERY REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Then he caught me by the collar, 
 Cruel only to be kind 
 
 And to my exceeding dolour, 
 Gave me several slaps behind. 
 
 Grandmama, while yet I smarted, 
 As she saw my evil plight, 
 
 Said 'twas rather stony-hearted 
 " Little rascal ! sarve him right ! " 
 
 I remember, I remember, 
 From that sad and solemn day, 
 
 Never more in dark December 
 Did I venture out to play. 
 
 And the moral, which they taught, I 
 "Well remember ; thus they said 
 
 307 
 
 " Little Boys, when they are naughty, 
 Must be whipped and sent to bed ! "
 
 308 AUNT FANNY. 
 
 Poor Uncle John ! 
 
 "After life's fitful fever he sleeps well," 
 
 in the old family vault in Denton chancel and dear Aunt Fanny 
 too ! the latter also " loo'd me weel," as the Scotch song has it, 
 and since, at this moment, I am in a most soft and sentimental 
 humour ( whisky toddy should ever be made by pouring the 
 toiling fluid hotter if possible upon the thinnest lemon-peel, and 
 then but every knows "what then ") I dedicate the following 
 " True History " to my beloved 
 
 AUNT FANNY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. 
 
 Virginibus, Puerisque caiito. HOE. 
 
 Old Maids, and Bachelors I cliaunt to ! T. I. 
 
 I SING of a Shirt that never was new ! 
 
 In the course of the year Eighteen hundred and two, 
 
 Aunt Fanny began, Upon Grandmama's plan, 
 To make one for me, then her " dear little man." 
 At the epoch I speak about, I was between 
 
 A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy, 
 A iat, little, punchy concern of sixteen, 
 
 Just beginning to flirt, And ogle, so pert, 
 I'd been whipt every day had I had my desert, 
 And Aunt Fan volunteer'd to make me a shirt ! 
 
 I've said she began it, Some unlucky planet 
 No doubt interfered, for, before she, and Janet 
 Completed the " cutting-out," " hemming," and " stitching," 
 A tall Irish footman appear'd in the kitchen ; 
 
 This took off the maid, And, I'm sadly afraid, 
 My respected Aunt Fanny's attention, too, stray'd ; 
 For, about the same period, a gay son of Mars, 
 Cornet Jones of the Tenth (then the Prince's) Hussars, 
 
 "With his fine dark eyelashes, And finer moustaches, 
 And the ostrich plume work'd on the corps' sabre-taches, 
 
 8'. say nought of the gold-and-red cord of the sashes, 
 r the boots far above the Guards' vile spatterdashes,)
 
 A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. 309 
 
 So eyed, and so sigh'd, and so lovingly tried 
 
 To engage her whole ear as he lounged by her side, 
 
 Looking down on the rest with such dignified pride, 
 
 That she made up her mind She should certainly find 
 Cornet Jones at her feet, whisp'ring, "Fan, be my bride !" 
 -She had even resolved- to say "Yes" should he ask it, 
 -And I and my Shirt were both left in the basket. 
 
 To her grief and dismay She discover'd one day 
 Cornet Jones of the Tenth was a little too gay ; 
 For, besides that she saw him he could not say nay 
 Wink at one of the actresses capering away 
 In a Spanish bolero, one night at the play, 
 She found he'd already a wife at Cambray ; 
 One at Paris, a nymph of the corps de ballet ; 
 And a third down in Kent, at a place call'd Foot's Cray. 
 
 He was " viler than dirt ! " Fanny vow'd to exert 
 All her powers to forget him, and finish my Shirt. 
 
 But, oh ! lack-a-day ! How time slips away ! 
 Who'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks, 
 Ten years had elapsed, and I'd turn'd twenty-six ? 
 
 " I care not a whit, He's not grown a bit, : ' 
 Says my Aunt, " it will still be a very good fit." 
 
 So Janet, and She, Now 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 Ruffle 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. 
 
 Now, 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, 
 Which 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 spoiled myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset ! " 
 
 For a month to come Poor dear Janet's thumb 
 Was 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 plaisters and poultices, 
 Who a bread-cataplasm each morning had carried her, 
 Sigh'd, ogled, proposed, was accepted, and marr/ied her !
 
 310 A UNT FANNY. 
 
 Much did Aunt Fan Disapprove of the plan ; 
 She turn'd up 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 part, " 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 
 Xo, 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 goiLt As she baked she might brew 
 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.' 
 Xo matter De gustibns non disputandum ! " 
 
 Consoling herself with this choice bit of Latin, 
 Aunt Fanny resignedly bought some white satin, 
 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, 
 When 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 gingerbread 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 just as though't had been soak'd in green tea . 
 
 Dear me ! Did you ever ? 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 ;
 
 A LEGEND OF A SHIET. 311 
 
 Or, stay, ' Hudson's Liquor ' Will do it still quicker, 
 And " Here the new maid chimed in, " Ma'am, Salt of Lemon 
 Will make it, in no time, quite fit for the Gemman ! ;) 
 So they " set in the gathers," the large round the collar, 
 While those at the wrist-bands of course were much smaller, 
 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 Imng out to dry, 
 It was mark'd on the tail with a T, and an I ! 
 
 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 homimim ! 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 diff'rent tale had I had to relate ! 
 
 And Aunt Fan and my Shirt been 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 Rome 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 Home, 
 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 stern and so stony, 
 Whom thirty years since we all used to call BONEY,
 
 312 AUNT FANNY. 
 
 When, engaged in what he styled " fulfilling his destinies," 
 He led his rapscallions across the Borysthenes, 
 
 And had 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 " Offs," 
 
 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 BOXEY'S dismay, 
 
 When Count Rostopchin At once made him drop chin, 
 And turn up his eyes, as his rapee he took, 
 With a sort of a mort-de-ma-vie kind of look, 
 
 On perceiving that " Swing," And " all that sort of thing," 
 Was at work, that he'd just lost the game without knowing it 
 That the Kremlin was blazing the Russians " a going it," 
 Every plug in the place frozen hard as the ground, 
 And never a Turn-cock at all to be found ! 
 
 You may fancy King Charles at some Court Fancy-Ball, 
 
 (The date we may fix In Sixteen sixty-six,) 
 In the room built by Inigo Jones at Whitehall, 
 Whence his father, the Martyr, (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 fancy King Charles, I say, stopping the brawl, 1 
 As bursts on 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 Pye Corner, in Smithfielcl, there is not a stall 
 There, in market, or street, not a house, great or small, 
 In which Knight wields his faulchion, 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 Aunt Fan as she looked on MY SHIRT ! ! ! 
 
 Was't Apelles ? or Zeuxis ? I think 'twas Apelles, 
 That artist of old I declare I can't tell his 
 
 1 Not a "row," but a dance 
 
 " The brave Lord Keeper led the brawls, 
 
 The seals and maces danced before him." GRAY. 
 And truly Sir Christopher danced to some tune.
 
 A LEGEND OF A SHIRT. 313 
 
 Exact patronymic I write and pronounce ill 
 
 These Classical names whom some Grecian Town-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 Guildhall, 
 And who for his subject determined to try a 
 Large painting in 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 off ring, 'tis true, to Jove, Mars, or Apollo cost 
 No trifling sum in those days, if a holocaust, 
 Still, although for economy we should condemn none, 
 In an i/| etvtipai/, 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 " 1 so pitiful who would not laugh, 
 And turn up their noses at one who could find 
 Xo decenter method of " Raising the Wind" ? 
 
 No doubt but he might, Without any great Flight, 
 Have obtain'd it by what we call "flying a kite." 
 Or on mortgage or sure, if he couldn't so do it, he 
 Must have succeeded " by way of annuity." 
 
 But there it appears, His crocodile tears, 
 His "Oh!s" and his "Ah!s" his "Oh Lawls" 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 ! 
 
 1 Hibernice "nigger," quasi "niggard." Vide B. Magui
 
 314 MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE. 
 
 First of all Don't put off till to-morrow what may, 
 
 Without inconvenience, be managed to-day ! 
 
 That golden occasion we call " Opportunity " 
 
 Rarely 's neglected by man with impunity ! 
 
 And the " Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope's dupe colour'd, 
 
 Ne'er may afford You a lost chance restored, 
 Till both you, and YOUR SHIRT, are grown old, and pea- 
 soup-colour'd ! 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 Last of all, gentle Reader, don't be too secure ! 
 Let seeming success never make you " cock-sure ! " 
 
 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 BEFORE YOU'RE 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 history 
 attached to it he picked up while visiting that admirable institu- 
 tion, the " Sea-Bathing Infirmary," of which he is a " Life Governor," 
 and enjoying his otium cum dignitate last summer at the least aristo- 
 cratic 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 MARGATE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. 
 
 MR. SIMPKINSON loquitur. 
 
 'TWAS in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier, 
 I saw a little vulgar Boy I said, " What make you here 1 
 The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy;" 
 Again I said, " What make you here, you little vulgar Boy ? ;;
 
 A LEGEND OF JARVISS JETTY. 315 
 
 He frowned, that little vulgar Boy, lie deem ; d I meant to scoff 
 And when the little heart is big, a little " sets it off ; " 
 He 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. 
 Eun home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold Oh ! fie I- 
 It's very wrong 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 any thing ! 
 
 I stoop'd, and thixs 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 alone ; 
 I have not had this live-long day, one drop to cheer my heart, 
 Nor ' brown ' to buy a bit of bread with let alone a tart ! 
 
 ' If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, 
 By day or night, then blow me tight ! " (he was a vulgar Boy ;) 
 " And, now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent 
 To jump, as Master Levi did from off the Monu-ment ! " 
 
 " Cheer up ! cheer up ! my little man cheer up ! " I kindly said, 
 " You are a naughty boy 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 ! 
 
 " Come home with 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 For." 
 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 ! " 
 
 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 rubb'd the delf, 
 Said I might " go to Jericho, and fetch niy beer myself ! :; 
 
 I did not go to Jericho I went to Mr. Cobb l 
 
 I changed a shilling (which in town the people call "a Bob") 
 
 1 Qcn FACTT PER ALTCM FACTT PER BE Deem not, gentle stranger, that Mr. 
 Cobb is a petty dealer and chapman, as Mr. Simpkinson would here seem to 
 imply. He is a maker, not a retailer of stingo, and mighty pretty tipple lie 
 makes.
 
 316 MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE. 
 
 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'cl, but could not see 
 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 ! 
 I know 'twas on the mantel-piece 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 ! 
 
 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 1 
 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 morning I was up 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 Buffer ! " 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 me ! what coxild 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 hitched 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, " somewheres " about the Nore.
 
 A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. 317 
 
 A landsman said, " I ticig the chap he's been upon the Mill 
 And 'cause he gammons so the /ate, ve calls him Veeping Bill ! " 
 He said he'd "done me wery brown," and nicely "stowd 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 asked me if " I did not wish that I might get it back ? " 
 
 I answered, " To be sure I do ! it's what I'm come about." 
 
 He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you are out 1 ?" 
 
 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 vulgar boys about/' 
 
 He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described " the swag," 
 My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-bag ; 
 He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ ; 
 But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy ! 
 
 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 stuut ! 
 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 guprdon which they term "three bob."
 
 318 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. 
 
 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. 
 
 A LEGEND OP THANET. 
 
 " Near this hamlet (Acol) is a long-disused chalk-pit of formidable depth, 
 known by the name of "The Smuggler'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 only, it is said, was found crushed beneath its rider. The 
 spot has, of course, been haunted ever since." 
 
 See " Supplement to Lewis's History of Thanet, by the Rev. Samuel Pegge, 
 A.M., Vicar of Gomcrsham." 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 ! 
 
 " 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 2 
 
 Come, lower away, lads once on the hill, 
 
 We'll laugh, ho ! ho ! at Exciseman Gill ! " 
 
 The cargo's lower'd from the dark skiff's side, 
 And the tow-line drags the tubs through the tide, 
 
 No trick nor flam, But your real Schiedam. 
 " Now mount, my merry men, mount and ride ! " 
 Three on the crupper and one before, 
 And the led-horse laden with five tubs more ; 
 
 But the rich point-lace, In the oil-skin case 
 Of proof to guard its contents from ill, 
 The " prime of the swag," is with Smuggler Bill ! 
 
 Merrily now, in a goodly row, 
 
 Away, and away, those smugglers go, 
 
 And they laugh at Exciseman Gill, ho ! ho ! 
 
 When out from the turn Of the road to Herne, 
 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."
 
 A LEGEND OF THANET. 319 
 
 Sauve qui pent! 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 Kushbourne Lane, and so by Westbere, 
 
 None of them stopping, But shooting and popping, 
 And many a Custom-house bullet goes slap 
 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. 
 
 Suave qui pent ! 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 ! 
 And the Custom-house officers all divide, 
 And they gallop on after them far and wide ! 
 All, all, save one Exciseman Gill, 
 He sticks to the skirts of Smuggler Bill ! 
 
 Smuggler Bill is six feet high, 
 
 He has curling locks, and a roving eye, 
 
 He has a tongue, and he has a smile 
 
 Train'd the female heart to beguile, 
 
 And there is not a farmer's wife in the Isle, 
 
 From St. Nicholas quite To the Foreland Light, 
 But that eye, and that tongue, and that smile will wheedle her 
 To have done with the Grocer, and make him her Tea-dealer ; 
 There is not a farmer there but he still 
 Buys gin and tobacco from Smuggler Bill. 
 
 Smuggler Bill rides gallant and gay 
 On his dapple-grey mare, away, and away, 
 And he pats her neck, and he seems to say, 
 " Follow 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 ! 
 Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! " says Smuggler Bill 
 He draws out his flask, and he sips his fill, 
 And he laughs " Ho ! ho ! " at Exciseman Gill.
 
 320 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. 
 
 Down Chistlett Lane, so free and so fleet 
 Rides Smuggler Bill, and away to Up-street ; 
 Sarre Bridge is won Bill thinks it fun ; 
 " Ho ! ho ! the old tub-gauging son of a gun 
 His Wind will be thick, and his breeks be thin, 
 Ere a race like this he may hope to win ! " 
 
 Away, away Goes the fleet dapple-grey, 
 Fresh as the breeze, and free as the wind, 
 And Exciseman Gill lags far behind. 
 " / ivould give my soul" quoth Exciseman Gill, 
 " For a nag that would catch that Smuggler Bill ! 
 No matter for blood, no matter for bone, 
 No matter for colour, bay, brown, or roan, 
 
 So I had but one ! " A voice cried " Done ! " 
 "Ay, dun," said Exciseman Gill, and he spied 
 A custom-house officer close by his side, 
 On a high-trotting horse with a dun-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, 
 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 roll'd over and over again in the mud, 
 And his nose and his chin were all covered with blood ; 
 Yet he scream'd 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 Gill 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,
 
 A LEGEND OF THANET. 321 
 
 Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain, 
 
 For nearer now and he hears it plain 
 
 Sounds the tramp of a horse " J Tis the Gauger 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 ganger or devil ! 
 
 For Manston Cave, away ! away ! 
 
 Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey t 
 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 Ramsgate Road, 
 
 (Of late they say It's been taken away, 
 That is, levell'd, and 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 1 now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill ! " 
 
 Smuggler Bill, he looks behind, 
 And he sees a Dim 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 back 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 pull'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 miss d his aim, 
 The shot told true on the Dun but there came 
 From the hole where it enter'd, not blood, but flame! 
 
 He changed his plan, And fired at the man ; 
 But his second horse-pistol flashed in the pan ! 
 Y
 
 322 THE SMUGGLER'S LEAP. 
 
 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 yawns full sixty feet deep, 
 O'er which that steed took that desperate leap ! 
 It was so dark then under the trees, 
 No horse in the 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 walking 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 ! 
 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 Avalk, 
 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 moonshiny 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 !
 
 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREW&BEREIE. 323 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 And now, gentle Reader, one word ere we part, 
 Just take a friend's counsel, and lay it to heart. 
 Jiiijiriniis, 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. Remember Old Nick 
 To take folks at their word is remarkably quick. 
 Another sound maxim I'd wish you to keep, 
 Is, " Mind what you are after, and Look ere you Leap ! " 
 
 Above all, to my last gravest caution attend 
 
 NEVER BORROW A HORSE YOU DON'T KNOW 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, chaunting 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 Ralph de Diceto, who alludes to the main facts, was Dean of 
 St. Paul's in 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 
 unauthorized, as well as " anachronismatical interpolations." For 
 the interesting note on the ancient family of Ketch, I need scarcely 
 say, I am obliged to tJie Simpkinson. 
 
 $loubie Jftclu 0f Sbrtfoslrnru, 
 
 THE SHROPSHIRE BLUEBEARD. 
 
 A LEGEND OF "THE PROUD SALOPIANS." 
 
 Hisce fere temporibus, in agro Salopiensi, Quidam, cui nomen Johannes, 
 J,t (SangJaunt <leinde nvuicupatus, uxores quamplurimas ducit, enecat et 
 (ita refernnt) nianducat ; ossa soliini cani mirae magnitudinis relinqueu$. 
 Turn demum in Hagrante delicto, vel " nianu rubra," ut dicunt Jurisconsult!, 
 deprensus, carnifice vix opprimitur. KADULPHUS DE DICETO.
 
 324 BLOUDIE JACKS OF SHREWSBERRIE. 
 
 OH ! why doth thine eye gleam so bright, 
 
 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, 
 
 gJoubie Jacke ! 
 It gleams Avith 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, 
 
 The wire is as thin as a thread ! 
 
 " 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 ! ! "- 
 
 Xav, laugh not, I pray thee, so loud, 
 
 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, 
 
 O dear ! 
 It makes the blood curdle with fear ! 
 
 The Maiden is gone by the glen, 
 
 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, 
 
 $Iaxtbie <f acke ! 
 And stately she walks in her pride ; 
 
 But the Young Mary- Anne Runs as fast as she can, 
 To o'ertake her, and walk by her side : 
 
 Though she chide 
 She deems not her sister a bride !
 
 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 325 
 
 But the Maiden is gone by the glen, 
 
 glonbie <3tackc! 
 
 Mary- Anne she is gone by the lea ; 
 
 She o'ertakes not her sister, It's clear she has miss'd her, 
 
 And cannot think where she can be ! 
 
 Dear me ! 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! We shall see we shall see 1 " 
 
 Mary- Anne is gone over the lea, 
 
 gUoubie Jacke ! 
 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 loiir. 
 
 For the Barbican's massy and high, 
 
 gSloniie <f acke I 
 And the oak-door is heavy and brown, 
 
 And with iron it's plated And machecollated, 
 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, 
 
 $lmtbtc Jackc ! 
 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, 
 
 gJtottiit Jarke ! 
 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, 
 
 gJlottfcic Jacke ! 
 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 ! "
 
 32G BLOUDIE JACKS OF SHREWSKERRIE. 
 
 But the young Mary- Anne is not tired, 
 
 u <3fockc ! 
 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 Arras so fine, 
 
 So rich, all description it mocks ; 
 
 And she now and then pauses To gaze at the vases, 
 Your pictures, and or-molu clocks ; 
 
 Every box, 
 Every cupboard, and drawer she unlocks. 
 
 She looks at the paintings so rare, 
 
 $Umite <Sacke ! 
 
 That adorn every wall in your house ; 
 
 Your impayabU pieces, Your Paul Veronese.-, 
 
 Your Rembrandts, your Guidos, and DOW.S, 
 
 Moreland's Cows, 
 
 Claude's Landscapes, and Landseer's Bow-wows. 
 
 She looks at your Statues so fine, 
 
 gloubie Jackc I 
 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 Laocoon, his serpents and boys, 
 
 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. 1 
 
 There's your Belvidere Phoebus, with which, 
 
 $hraMe Jacke ! 
 Mr. Milman says none other vies. 
 
 (His lines on Apollo Beat all the rest hollow, 
 
 1 " 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 million of frum-s." 
 Glvbe and Traveller.
 
 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 327 
 
 And gained him the Newdigate prize.) 
 
 How the eyes 
 Seem watching the shaft as it flies ! 
 
 There's a room full of satins and silks, 
 
 $loxibie Jfadke ! 
 There's a room full of velvets 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, 
 
 gHmibic <SIacke ! 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
 It's hinges and clasps arc of gold, 
 
 And of gold are its keyhole and key, 
 
 And the drawers within Have each a gold pin, 
 And they're number'd with 1, 2, and 3, 
 
 You may see 
 All the figures in gold filigree ! 
 
 Number 1's full of emeralds green, 
 
 $loubic Jacke ! 
 Number 2's full of diamond 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, 
 
 To salute them one eagerly strives, 
 
 When one kneels to " propose "- 
 
 It's another quelqiie chose 
 When cut off at the knuckles with knives 
 
 From our wives, 
 They are tied up in bunches of fives.
 
 328 BLOUDIE JACKS OF SHREW&BERR1E. 
 
 Yet there they lie, one, two, three, four ! 
 
 gjJUmbie Jacke ! 
 There lie they, five, six, seven, eight ! 
 
 And by them, in rows, Like 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, 
 
 gJlottbi* Jack* ! 
 
 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, 
 
 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. 
 
 For she saw it was You and your Man, 
 
 $hmMe Jacke ! 
 And she heard your unpleasant " Haw ! haw ! " 
 
 While 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 law ! 
 
 Your man has got hold of her heels, 
 
 gloujbie Jacke ! 
 
 ! you've got hold of her hair ! 
 
 But nor jacke 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 eyeballs are bloodshot and blear, 
 
 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 
 How many one morning he ate.
 
 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 329 
 
 He has skulls, ribs, and vertebrae there, 
 
 gSLcmbie Jacke 
 
 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, 
 
 glottbie Jacke ! 
 
 She has given him a roll and a bun, 
 
 And a Shrewsbury cake, Of Ratlin' & 1 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," 
 
 gUottiie Jacke ! 
 Above, there's the Maiden that's dead ; 
 
 Below growling at her There's that Cannibal Cur, 
 Who at present is munching her bread, 
 
 Instead 
 Of her leg, or her arm, or her head. 
 
 It's "a pretty particular Fix," 
 
 gloubie Jacke ! 
 
 She is caught like a mouse in a trap ; 
 Stay ! there's something, I think, 
 That has slipp'd through a chink, 
 And fall'n, by a singular hap, 
 
 Slap, 
 Into poor little Mary- Anne's lap ! 
 
 It's a very fine little gold ring, 
 
 gHottbte Jacke ! 
 Yet, though slight, it's remarkably stout, 
 
 But it's made a sad stain, Which will always remain 
 On her frock for Blood will not wash out ; 
 
 I doubt 
 Salts of Lemon won't bring it about 4 . 
 
 1 Oh, Pailin ! Prince of cake-compouiulers ! the mouth liquefies at thy very 
 name but there !
 
 330 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWBBSEEIE 
 
 She has grasp'd that gold ring in her hand, 
 
 glonbie Jache ! 
 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 ! 
 
 Her hair's floating loose in the breeze, 
 
 gfortrtite Jacke ! 
 For gone is her " bonnet of blue." 
 
 Now the Barbican's past! Her legs "go it" as fast 
 As two drumsticks a-beating tattoo, 
 
 As they do 
 At ReVeillie, Parade, or Review ! 
 
 She has run into Shrewsbury town, 
 
 $l<mbie Jacke ! 
 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 your Tower, 
 
 $10ubte Jacke ! 
 
 In your Tower there's a pretty to-do ! 
 
 All the people of Shrewsbury Playing old gooseberry 
 
 With your choice bits of taste and virtu ; 
 
 Each bijou 
 
 Is upset in their search after you ! 
 
 They are playing the deuce with your things, 
 
 gHottbie Jlackc ! 
 
 There's your Cupid is broken in two, 
 
 And so too, between us, is Each of your Venuses, 
 
 The " Antique " ones you bought of the Jew, 
 
 And the new 
 
 One, George Robins swears came from St. Cloud. 
 
 The CALLIPYGE'S injured behind, 
 
 JUtrobic J acke ! 
 The DE MEDICI'S injured before ; 
 
 And the ANADYOMENE 's injured in so many 
 Places, I think there's a score, 
 
 If not more, 
 Of her fingers and toes on the floor.
 
 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 331 
 
 They are hunting you up stairs and down, 
 
 gloxtbie Jfache ! 
 Every person to pass is forbid, 
 
 While they turn out the closets And all their deposits 
 t( 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, 
 
 gUoubic Jfachc ! 
 
 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 rne ! what a mess von are in ! 
 
 What a terrible pickle you're in, 
 
 glloulric <3nchc ! 
 Why, your face is as black as your hat ! 
 
 Your fine Holland shirt Is all over dirt ! 
 And so is your point-lace cravat ! 
 
 What a Flat 
 To seek such an asylum as that ! 
 
 They can scarcely help laughing, I vow, 
 
 gloutiic Jrtche ! 
 
 In the midst of their turmoil and strife ; 
 
 You're not fit to be seen ! You look like Mr. Keaii 
 
 In the play, where he murders his wife ! 
 
 On my life 
 
 You ought to be scraped with a knife ! 
 
 They have pull'd you down flat on your back, 
 
 gUoniic J ache ! 
 
 They have pull'd you down flat on your back ! 
 And they smack, and they thwack. 
 Till your " funny bones " crack, 
 As if you were stretched on the rack, 
 
 At each thwack ! 
 Good lack ! what a savage attack ! 
 
 They call for the Parliament Man, 
 
 And the Hangman, the matter to clinch, 
 
 And they call for the Judge, But others cry " Fudge !-
 
 332 BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE. 
 
 Don't budge Mr. Calcraft, 1 an inch ! 
 
 Mr. Lynch ! 2 
 Will do very well at a pinch ! " 
 
 It is useless to scuffle and cuff, 
 
 gUoubie Jacke ! 
 
 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 
 Your determined attempts " to shew fight." 
 
 They are pulling you all sorts of ways, 
 
 $IouMc Jackc ! 
 
 They are twisting your right leg Nor- West, 
 And your left leg due South, 
 And your knee's in your mouth, 
 And your head is poked down on your breast, 
 
 And it's prest, 
 I protest, almost into your chest ! 
 
 They have pulled off your arms and your legs, 
 
 gUonbie Jacke ! 
 As the naughty boys serve the blue flies ; 
 
 And they've torn from their sockets, 
 
 And put in their pockets 
 
 1 Jelian tie Ketche acted as Provost Marshal to the army of William the 
 Conqueror, and received from that monarch a grant of the dignity of Heredi- 
 tary Grand Functionary of England, together with a croft or " parcel of land," 
 known by the name of the (Dlb 3ililie, co. Middx., to be held by him, and 
 the heirs general of his body, in Grand Serjeantry, by the yearly presentation of 
 "ane hempen cravatte." After remaining 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. 1558). Abhorson 
 Callcraft, Esq. of Saffron Hill, co. Middx., the present representative of the 
 Ketches, exercised his " function " on a very recent occasion, and claimed and 
 was allowed the fee of 13|d. under the ancient grant as ^fjannman's SHagt 9. 
 
 ARMS. 1st and 4th, Quarterly, Argent and Sable ; in the first quarter a 
 Gibbet of the second, noosed proper, Callcraft. 2nd, Sable, three Nightcaps 
 Argent, tufted Gules, 2 and 1, Ketche. 3rd, Or, a Nosegay feurant, Kirly. 
 
 SCTPORTEBS. Dexter: a Sheriff in his pride, robed Gules, chained and 
 collared Or. Sinister: An Ordinary displayed proper, wigged and 
 Argent, nosed Gules. 
 
 MOTTO. Sic ITUR AD ASTRA ! 
 
 2 The American Justinian, Compiler of the " Yankee Pandects."
 
 A LEGEND OF SHROPSHIRE. 333 
 
 Your fingers and thumbs for a prize ! 
 
 And your eyes 
 A Doctor has bottled from Guy's. l 
 
 Your trunk, thus dismember'd and torn, 
 
 glmtbie <fackc ! 
 
 They hew, and they hack, and they chop ; 
 
 And, to finish the whole, They stick up a pole 
 
 In the place that's still alled the " gMglbe Coppt," 
 
 And they pop 
 
 Your grim gory head on the top ! 
 
 They have buried the fingers and toes, 
 
 glmibie <3acke ! 
 Of the victims so lately your prey. 
 
 From those fingers and eight toes Sprang early potatoes, 
 f " they're called to this day ; 
 
 So they say, 
 And you usually dig them in May. 
 
 What became of the dear little girl ? 
 
 What became of the young Mary- Anne 1 
 
 Why, I'm sadly afraid That she died an Old Maid, 
 For she fancied that every Young Man 
 
 Had a plan 
 To trepan her like " poor Sister Fan ! " 
 
 So they say she is now leading apes, 
 
 $loubie Jatke ! 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 And now for the moral I'd fain, 
 
 gUoubif Jnckr ! 
 That young Ladies should draw from my pen, 
 
 It's " Don't take these flights Upon moon-shiny nights, 
 With gay, harum-scarum young men, 
 
 Down a glen ! 
 You really can't trust one in ten ! " 
 
 1 A similar appropriation is said to have been made, by an eminent practi- 
 tioner, of those of the late Monsieur Courvoisier.
 
 334 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Let them think of your terrible Tower, 
 
 te Jackc ; 
 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 ^hutosbtrm <&$kt 1 1 
 
 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 into 
 slumber, Miss Jenny is equally fortunate in the possession of a 
 Sappho of her own. It is to the air of " Drops of Brandy " that 
 Patty has adapted her version of a venerable ditty, which we have 
 all listened to with respect and affection under its old title of 
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD ; OK, THE NORFOLK 
 TRAGEDY. 
 
 AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE. 
 
 WHEN we were all little and good, 
 
 A long time ago, I'm afraid, Mi.s.< 
 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. 1 
 
 Bum ti, &c. 
 
 Their Pa and their Ma being seized 
 
 With a tiresome complaint, which, in some seasons, 
 People are apt to be seized 
 
 With, who're not on their guard against plum-seasons, 
 
 ' 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 
 family.
 
 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. 335 
 
 Their medical man shook his head 
 
 As he could not get well 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 ! " 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 ! 
 
 ' 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 with Whitehead's best essence of mustard. 
 
 " You know they'll be pretty well off in 
 
 Respect 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 Ins 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 ! " 
 
 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,
 
 336 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Giving out he should take them 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 Hall, 
 
 Where he'll learn all that's new and gymnastic. 
 While Jane, as, when girls have the dumps, 
 
 Fortune-hunters, by scores, to entrap 'em rise, 
 Shall go to those worthy old frumps, 
 
 The two Misses Tickler of Clapham Rise ! " 
 
 Having thought on the How and the When 
 
 To get rid of his nephew and niece, 
 He sent for two ill-looking men, 
 
 And he gave them five guineas a- piece. 
 Says he, " Each of you take up a child 
 
 On the crupper, and when you have trotted 
 Some miles through that wood lone and wild, 
 
 Take your knife out, and cut its carotid ! "- 
 
 " Done " and " done is pronounced on each side, 
 
 While the poor little dears are delighted 
 To think they a-cock-horse shall ride, 
 
 And are not in the least degree frighted ; 
 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, 
 That he fairly exclaim'd, " I say, Jack, 
 
 I'm blowed if I can put a knife in them ! "- 
 " Pooh ! " says his pal, " you great dunce ! 
 
 You've pouched the good gentleman's money, 
 So out with your whinger at once, 
 
 And scrag Jane, while I spiflicate Johnny ! " 
 
 He refused, and harsh language ensued, 
 
 Which ended at length in a duel, 
 When he that was mildest in mood 
 
 Gave the truculent rascal his gruel ;
 
 A LEGEND OF NORFOLK. 337 
 
 The Babes quake with hunger and fear, 
 While the ruffian his dead comrade, Jack, buries ; 
 
 Then he cries, " Loves, amuse yourselves here 
 
 With the hips, and the haws, and the blackberries ! 
 
 " I'll be back in a couple of shakes ; 
 
 So don't, dears, be quivering and quaking : 
 I'm going to get you some cakes, 
 
 And a nice butter'd roll that's a-baking ! " 
 He rode off with a tear in his eye, 
 
 Which ran down his rough cheek, and wet it, 
 As he said to himself with a sigh, 
 
 " Pretty souls ! don't they wish they may get it ! ! " 
 
 From that moment the Babes ne'er caught sight 
 
 .Of the wretch who thus wrought their undoing, 
 But passed 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-Robins. 
 
 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 'em, 
 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 conceal'd peccadilloes. 
 The wicked old Uncle, they say, 
 
 In spite of his riot and revel, 
 Was hippish and qualmish all day, 
 
 And dreamt all night long of the d 1. 
 
 He grew gouty, dyspeptic, and sour, 
 And his brow, once so smooth and so placid, 
 
 Fresh wrinkles acquired every hour, 
 And whatever he swallow'd turn'd acid, 
 z
 
 338 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 
 The neighbours thought all was not right, 
 Scarcely 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 
 
 Ran away with his geese and his ganders ; 
 His wheat had the mildew, his flocks 
 
 Took the rot, and his horses the glanders ; 
 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 be 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 pensive ; 
 He purchased some sugar-of-lead, 
 
 Took it home, popp'd it into his porridge, 
 Ate it up, and then took to his bed, 
 
 And so died in 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 yourself 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 will, 
 Which is commonly done when a body's ill, 
 
 Mind, and word it with caution and skill, 
 And avoid, if you can, any codicil !
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 339 
 
 When once you've appointed an heir 
 To the fortune you've made, or obtained, ere 
 
 You leave a reversion, beware 
 Whom you place in contingent remainder ! 
 
 Executors, Guardians, and all 
 
 Who have children to mind, don't ill treat them, 
 Nor think that, because they are small 
 
 And weak, you may beat them, and cheat them ! 
 Remember that " ill-gotten goods 
 
 Never thrive ; " their possession's but cursory ; 
 So never turn out in the woods 
 
 Little folks you should keep in the nursery. 
 
 Be sure he who does such, base things 
 
 Will ne'er stifle Conscience's clamour ; 
 His " riches will make themselves wings," 
 
 And his property come to the hammer ! 
 Then He, and not those he bereaves, 
 
 Will have most cause for sighings and sobbings, 
 When he finds himself smother'd with leaves 
 
 (Of fat catalogues) heaped up by Robins ! 
 
 The incidents recorded in the succeeding Legend were com- 
 municated 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 DRUMMER. 
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY 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.
 
 340 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 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, wayworn 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 seafaring men, 
 The jacket, the loose trousers " bows'd up together " all 
 Guiltless of braces, as those of Charles Wetherall, 
 The pigeon-toed step, and the rollicking motion, 
 Bespoke them two genuine sons of the Ocean, 
 And shew'd in a moment their real characters, 
 (The accent's so placed on this word by our Jack Tars.) 
 
 The one in advance was sturdy and strong, 
 With arms uncommonly bony and long, 
 
 And his Guernsey shirt Was all pitch and dirt, 
 Which sailors don't think inconvenient or wrong. 
 
 He was very broad -breasted, And very deep-chested ; 
 His sinewy frame correspond with the rest did, 
 Except 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 Nature, in fact, whom some person or other, 
 A Poet, has call'd a " capricious step-mother," 
 
 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-humoured 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 fight ! 
 
 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 he was, or had been, A something between 
 The real "Jack Tar" and the "Jolly Marine." 
 For, though he would give an occasional hitch, 
 Sailor-like to his "slops," there was something, the which, 
 On the whole savoured more of the pipe-clay than pitch.
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 341 
 
 Such were now the two men who appeared on the hill, 
 Harry Waters the tall one, the short " Spanking Bill." 
 
 To be caught in the rain, I repeat it again, 
 Is extremely unpleasant on Salisbury Plain ; 
 And when with a good soaking shower there are blended 
 Blue lightnings and thunder, the matter's not mended ; 
 
 Such was the case In this wild dreary place, 
 On the day that I'm speaking of now, when the brace 
 Of travelers alluded to quickened their pace, 
 Till a good steady walk became more like a race, 
 To get quit of the tempest which held them in chase. 
 
 Louder, and louder Than mortal gunpowder, 
 The heav'nly artill'ry kept crashing and roaring, 
 The lightning kept flashing, the rain too kept pouring, 
 
 While they, helter-skelter, In vain sought for shelter 
 From, what I have heard term'd, " a regular pelter ; " 
 
 But the deuce of a screen Could be anywhere seen, 
 Or an object except that on one of the rises, 
 
 An old way-post show'd Where the Lavington road 
 Branch'd off to the left from the one to Devizes ; 
 And thither the footsteps of Waters seem'd tending, 
 Though a doubt might exist of the course he was bending, 
 To a landsman, at least, who, wherever he goes, 
 Is content, for the most part, to follow his nose ; 
 
 While Harry kept " backing 
 
 And filling and " tacking," 
 Two nautical terms which, I'll wager a guinea, are 
 
 Meant to imply What you, Reader, and I 
 Would call going zig-zag, and not rectilinear. 
 
 But here, once for all, let me beg you'll excuse 
 All mistakes I may make in the words sailors use 
 
 'Mongst themselves, on a cruise, Or ashore with the Jews, 
 Or in making their court to their Polls and their Sues, 
 Or addressing those slop-selling females afloat women 
 Known in our navy as oddly-named boat- women. 
 The fact is, I can't say I'm vers'd in the school 
 So ably conducted by Marryat and Poole ; 
 (See the last-mentioned gentleman's " Admiral's Daughter,") 
 
 The grand 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 Mr. T. P. Cooke 
 Would call me a " Lubber," and " Son of a Sea-cook."
 
 342 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 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?" stammered out Waters, "why, Hm ! don't you see 
 What faces that Drummer-boy's making at me ! 
 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 Druinnier-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 off, 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 remarked 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 1 " return'd Bill, at that moment a flash 
 
 More than commonly awful preceded a crash 
 
 Like what's call'd 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 nuffin 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 ! " roared Waters, "do keep him off, Bill, 
 And, Andrew, forgive ! I'll confess all ! I will !
 
 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 313
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 345 
 
 I'll make a clean breast, And as for the rest, 
 You may do with me just what the lawyers think best ; 
 But haunt me not thus ! let these visitings cease, 
 And, your vengeance accomplished, 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." 
 
 " It was in such an hour as this, 
 On such a wild and wint'ry day, 
 
 The forked lightning seemed to hiss, 
 As now, athwart our lonely way, 
 
 When first these dubious paths I tried 
 
 Yon livid form was by my side ! 
 
 " Not livid then the ruddy glow 
 
 Of life, and youth, and health it bore ! 
 
 And bloodless was that gory brow, 
 And cheerful was the smile it wore, 
 
 And mildly then those eyes did shine 
 
 Those eyes which now are blasting mine ! ! 
 
 " They beamed with confidence and love 
 Upon my face, and Andrew Brand 
 
 Had sooner fear'd yon frighten'd dove 
 Than harm from Gervase Matcham's hand ! 
 
 I am no Harry Waters men 
 
 Did call me Gervase Matcham then. 
 
 " And Matcham, though a humble name, 
 Was stainless as the feathery flake 
 
 From Heaven, whose virgin whiteness came 
 Upon the newly-frozen lake ; 
 
 Commander, comrade, all began 
 
 To laud the Soldier, like the Man. 
 
 "Nay, muse not, William, I have said 
 I was a soldier staunch and true 
 
 As any he above whose head 
 Old England's lion banner flew ; 
 
 And, duty done, her claims apart, 
 
 'Twas said I had a kindly heart. 
 
 " And years roll'd on, and with them came 
 Promotion Corporal Sergeant all 
 
 In turn I kept mine honest fame 
 Our Colonel's self, whom men did call
 
 346 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 The veriest Martinet ev'n he, 
 
 Though cold to most, was kind to me ! 
 
 " One morn oh ! may that morning stand 
 
 Accursed in the rolls of fate 
 Till latest time ! there came command 
 
 To carry forth a charge of weight 
 To a detachment far away, 
 It was their regimental pay ! 
 
 " And who so fit for such a task 
 As trusty Matcham, true and tried, 
 
 Who spurn'd the inebriating flask, 
 
 With honour for his constant guide ? 
 
 On Matcham fell their choice and HE, 
 
 ' Young Drum,' should bear him company ! 
 
 " And grateful was that sound to hear, 
 For he was full of life and joy, 
 
 The mess-room pet to each one dear 
 Was that kind, gay, light-hearted boy. 
 
 The veriest churl in all our band 
 
 Had aye a smile for Andrew Brand. 
 
 " Nay, glare not as I name thy name ! 
 
 That threat'ning hand, that fearful brow 
 Relax avert that glance of flame ! 
 
 Thou seest I do thy bidding now ! 
 Vex'd Spirit, rest ! 'twill soon be o'er, 
 Thy blood shall cry to Heav'ii no more ! 
 
 "Enough we journey'd on the walk 
 Was long, and dull and dark the day, 
 
 And still young Andrew's cheerful talk 
 And merry laugh beguiled the way ; 
 
 Noon came a sheltering bank was there, 
 
 We paused our frugal meal to share. 
 
 " Then 'twas, with cautious hand, I sought 
 To prove my charge secure, and drew 
 
 The packet from my vest, and brought 
 The glittering mischief forth to view, 
 
 And Andrew cried, No ! 'twas not He ! 
 
 It was THE TEMPTER spoke to me ! 
 
 " But it was Andrew's laughing voice 
 That sounded in my tingling ear, 
 ' Now, Gervase Matcham, at thy choice,' 
 It seem'd to say, ' are gawds and gear,
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 347 
 
 And all that wealth can buy or bring, 
 Ease, wassail, worship, every thing ! 
 
 " ' No tedious drill, no long parade, 
 
 No bugle call at early dawn ; 
 For guard-room bench, or barrack bed, 
 
 The downy couch, the sheets of lawn 
 And I thy Page, thy steps to tend, 
 Thy sworn companion, servant, friend ! 
 
 " He ceased that is, I heard no more, 
 
 Though other words pass'd idly by, 
 And Andrew chatter'd as before, 
 
 And laugh'd I inark'cl him not not I. 
 'Tis at thy choice !' that sound alone 
 Rang in mine ear voice else was none. 
 
 " I could not eat, the untasted flask 
 
 Mocked my parch'd lip, I passed it by. 
 ' What ails thee, man ? ' he seem'd to ask. 
 
 I felt, but could not meet his eye. 
 ' Tis at thy choice ! ' it sounded yet, 
 A sound I never may forget. 
 
 '' ' Haste ! haste ! the day draws on,' I cried, 
 
 ' And, Andrew, thou hast far to go ! ' 
 ' Hast far to go !' the Fiend replied 
 
 Within me, 'twas not Andrew no ! 
 'Twas Andrew's voice no more 'twas HE 
 lyTiose then I was, and aye must be ! 
 
 " On, on we went ; the dreary plain 
 
 Was all around us we were Here ! 
 Then came the storm, the lightning, rain, 
 
 No earthly living thing was near, 
 Save one wild Raven on the wing, 
 If that, indeed, were earthly thing ! 
 
 " I heard its hoarse and screaming voice 
 
 High hovering o'er my frenzied head, 
 ' 'Tis, Gerva.se Matcham, at thy choice ! 
 
 But he the Boy ! ' methought it said. 
 Nay, Andrew, check that vengeful frown, 
 I lov'd thee when I struck thee down !
 
 348 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 " 'Twas done ! the deed that damns me done 
 I know not how I never knew ; 
 
 And Here I stood but not alone, 
 The prostrate Boy my madness slew, 
 
 Was by my side limb, feature, name, 
 
 'Twas HE ! ! another yet the same ! 
 
 " Away ! away ! in frantic haste 
 Throughout that live-long night I flew 
 
 Away ! away ! across the waste, 
 I know not how I never knew, 
 
 My mind was one wild blank and I 
 
 Had but one thought, one hope to fly ! 
 
 "And still the lightning ploughed the ground, 
 The thunder roared and there would come 
 
 Amidst its loudest bursts a sound, 
 Familiar once it was A DRUM ! 
 
 Then came the morn, and light, and then 
 
 Streets,- houses, spires, the hum of men. 
 
 "And Ocean roll'd before me fain 
 Would I have whelm'd me in its tide, 
 
 At once beneath the billowy main 
 
 My shame, my guilt, my crime to hide ; 
 
 But HE was there ! HE cross'd my track, 
 
 I dared not pass HE waved me back ! 
 
 " And then rude hands detained me sure 
 Justice had grasp'd her victim no ! 
 
 Though powerless, hopeless, bound, secure, 
 A captive thrall, it was not so ; 
 
 They cry ' The Frenchman's on the wave ! ' 
 
 The press was hot and I a slave. 
 
 " They dragg'd me o'er the vessel's side ; 
 
 The world of waters roll'd below ; 
 The gallant ship, in all her pride 
 
 Of dreadful beauty, sought her foe ; 
 Thou saVst me, William, in the strife 
 Alack ! I bore a charmed life ; 
 
 " In vain the bullets round me fly, 
 In vain mine eager breast I bare ; 
 
 Death shuns the wretch who longs to die, 
 And every sword falls edgeless there ! 
 
 Still HE is near ! and seems to cry, 
 
 ' Not here, nor thus, may Matcham die ! : -
 
 A LEGEND OF SALISBURY PLAIN. 349 
 
 " Thou saw'st me, on that fearful day, 
 
 When, fruitless all attempts to save, 
 Our pinnace foundering in the bay, 
 
 The boat's-crew met a watery grave, 
 All, all save ONE the ravenous sea 
 That swallow'd all rejected ME ! 
 
 " And now, when fifteen suns have each 
 
 Fulfilled in turn its circling year, 
 Thrown back again on England's beach, 
 
 Our bark paid off HE drives me Here ! 
 I could not die in flood or fight 
 HE drives me HERE ! ! " 
 
 " And sarve you right ! 
 
 " What ! bilk your Commander ! desart and then rob ! 
 And go scuttling a poor little Drummer-boy's nob ! 
 Why, my precious eyes ! what a bloodthirsty swab ! 
 
 There s old Davy Jones, Who cracks Sailors' bones 
 For his jaw- work would never, I'm sure, s'elp me Bob, 
 Have come for to go for to do sich a job ! 
 
 Hark ye, Waters, or Matchain, whichever's your purser-name, 
 T'other, your own, is, I'm sartain, the worser name, 
 Twelve years have we lived on like brother and brother ! 
 Now your course lays one way, and mine lays another ! " 
 
 " No, William, it may not be so ; 
 
 Blood calls for blood ! 'tis Heaven's decree ! 
 And thou with me this night must go, 
 
 And give me to the gallows-tree ! 
 Ha ! see HE smiles HE points the way ! 
 On, William, on ! no more delay ! " 
 
 Now Bill, so the story, as told to me, goes, 
 
 And who, as his last speech sufficiently shows, 
 
 Was a " regular trump," did not like to " turn Nose ; " 
 
 But then came a thunder-clap louder than any 
 
 Of those that preceded, though they were so many ; 
 
 And hark ! as its rumblings subside in a hum, 
 
 What sound mingles too ? " By the hokey A DRUM ! ! :> 
 
 I remember I once heard my Grandfather say, 
 That some sixty years since he was going that way, 
 
 When they shew'd him the spot 
 
 Where the gibbet was not 
 
 On which Matcham's corse had been hung up to rot ; 
 It had fall'n down but how long before, he d forgot ;
 
 350 THE DEAD DRUMMER. 
 
 And they told him, I think, at the Bear in Devizes, 
 The town where the Sessions are held, or the 'Sizes, 
 
 That Matcham confess'd, And made a clean breast 
 To the May'r ; but that, after he'd had a night's rest, 
 And the storm had subsided, he " pooh-pooh'd " his friend, 
 Swearing all was a lie from beginning to end ; 
 
 Said " he'd only been drunk That his spirits had sunk 
 At the thunder the storm put him into a funk, 
 That, in fact, he had nothing at all on his conscience, 
 And found out, in short, he'd been talking great nonsense." 
 
 But now one Mr. Jones Comes forth and depones 
 That, fifteen years since, he had heard certain groans 
 On his way to Stone Henge (to examine the stones 
 Described in a work of the late Sir John Soane's,) 
 
 That he'd followed the moans, And, led by their tones, 
 Found a Eaven a-picking a Drummer-boy's bones ! 
 
 Then the Colonel wrote word 
 
 From the King's Forty-third, 
 
 That the story was certainly true which they'd heard, 
 For, that one of their drummers, and one Sergeant Matcham, 
 Had " brushed with the dibs," and they never could catch 'em. 
 
 So Justice was sure, though a long time she'd lagg'd, 
 
 And the Sergeant, in spite of his " Gammon," got " scraggrl ; " 
 
 And people averr'd That an ugly black bird, 
 The Raven, 'twas hinted, of whom we have heard, 
 Though the story, I own, appears rather absurd, 
 Was seen (Gervase Matcham not being interr'd), 
 To roost all that night on the murderer's gibbet ; 
 An odd thing, if so, and it may be a fib it, 
 However, 's a thing Nature's laws don't prohibit. 
 Next morning, they add, that "black gentleman" flies out, 
 Having picked Matcham's nose off, and gobbled his eyes out ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Avis au Voyayeur. 
 
 Imprimis. 
 
 If you contemplate walking o'er Salisbury Plain, 
 Consult Mr. Murphy, or Moore, and refrain 
 From selecting a day when it's likely to rain ! 
 
 2. 
 
 When traveling, don't " flash " Your notes or your cash 
 Before other people its foolish and rash ! 
 
 3. 
 
 At dinner be cautious, and note well your party ; 
 There's little to dread where the appetite's hearty,
 
 A LEGEND OF THE HAYMARKET. 351 
 
 But mind and look well to your purse and your throttle 
 When you see a man shirking, and passing his bottle ! 
 
 If you chance to be needy, Your coat and hat seedy, 
 In war-time especially, never go out 
 When you've reason to think there's a press-gang about ! 
 
 Don't chatter, nor tell people all that you think, 
 Nor blab secrets, especially when you're in drink, 
 But keep your own counsel in all that you do ! 
 Or a Counsel may, some day or other, keep you. 
 
 Discard superstition ! and don't take a post, 
 
 If you happen to see one at night, for a Ghost ! 
 
 Last of all, if by choice, or convenience, you're led, 
 
 To cut a man's throat, or demolish his head, 
 
 Don't do't it in a thunderstorm wait for the summer ! 
 
 And mind, above all things, the MAN'S NOT A DRUMMER ! ! 
 
 Among a bundle of letters I find one from Sucklethumbkin, 
 dated from London, and containing his version of perhaps the 
 greatest theatrical Civil War since the celebrated "0. P. row." 
 As the circumstances are now become matter of history, and poor 
 Doldrum himself has been, alas ! for some time the denizen of a 
 far different " House," I have ventured to preserve it. Perhaps it 
 may be unnecessary to add, that my Honourable friend has of late 
 taken to Poetry, and goes without his cravat. 
 
 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX). 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE HAYMARKET. 
 Omnibus hoc vitium cantoribus. Hon. 
 
 DOL-DBUM the Manager sits in his chair, 
 With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air, 
 And he says as he slaps his hands on his knee, 
 " I'll have nothing to do with Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 
 " But Fiddle-de-dee sings clear and loud, 
 
 And his trills and his quavers astonish the crowd ; 
 
 Such a singer as he You'll nowhere see ; 
 They'll all be screaming for Fiddle-de-dee ! "
 
 352 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX}. 
 
 " Though Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear, 
 And his tones are sweet, yet his terms are dear ! 
 
 The ' glove won't fit ! ' The deuce a bit. 
 I shall give an engagement to Fal-de-ral-tit ! ;> 
 
 The Prompter bow'd, and he went to his stall, 
 And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call, 
 And Fal-de-ral-tit sang fol-de-rol-lol ; 
 
 But, scarce had he done When a row begun, 
 Such a noise was never heard under the sun. 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee ! Where is he ? 
 He's the Artiste whom we all want to see ! 
 
 Dol-drum ! Del-drum ! Bid the Manager come ! 
 It's a scandalous thing to exact such a sum 
 For boxes and gallery, stalls and pit, 
 And then fob us off with a Fal-de-ral-tit ! 
 
 Deuce a bit ! We'll never submit ! 
 Vive Fiddle-de-dee ! d bas Fal-de-ral-tit ! " 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager rose from his chair, 
 With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air ; 
 
 But he smooth'd his brow, As he well knew how, 
 And he walk'd on, and made a most elegant bow, 
 And he paused, and he smiled, and advanced to the lights, 
 In his opera-hat, and his opera-tights ; 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen," then said he, 
 " Pray what may you please to want with me? " 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee ! Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 Folks of all sorts and of every degree, 
 Snob, and Snip, and haughty Grandee, 
 Duchesses, Countesses, fresh from their tea, 
 And Shopmen, who'd only come there for a spree, 
 Halloo'd, and hooted, and roar'd with glee 
 
 "Fiddle-de-dee! None but He ! 
 Subscribe to his terms, whatever they be ! 
 Agree, agree, or you'll very soon see 
 In a brace of shakes we'll get up an O.P. ! " 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, 
 With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air, 
 
 Looks distrest, And he bows his best, 
 And he puts his right hand on the side of his breast, 
 
 And he says, says he, " We can't agree ; 
 His terms are a vast deal too high for me. 
 There's the rent, and the rates, and the sesses, and taxes 
 I can't afford Fiddle-de-dee what he axes. 
 
 If you'll only permit Fal-de-ral-tit ;:
 
 A LEGEND OF THE HAYMARKET. 353 
 
 The " Generous Public " cried, " Deuce a bit ! 
 
 Dol-drum ! Dol-drum ! We'll none of us come. 
 It's < No Go ! 'it's ' Gammon ! 'it's all a Hum : ' 
 
 You're a miserly Jew ! ' Cock-a-doodle-do ! ' 
 He don't ask too much, as you know so you do 
 It's a shame it's a sin it's really too bad 
 You ought to be 'shamed of yourself so you had ! " 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager never before 
 
 In his life-time had heard such a wild uproar. 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager turn'd to flee ; 
 
 But he says says he, " Mort de ma vie ! 
 I shall nevare engage vid dat Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 Then all the gentlefolks flew in a rage, 
 And they jump'd from the Omnibus on to the Stage, 
 Lords, Squires, and Knights, they came down to the lights, 
 In their opera-hats, and their opera-tights. 
 
 Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes Shook to her very toes, 
 She couldn't hop on, so hopped off on her merry toes. 
 And the "evening concluded" with "Three times three ! " 
 " Hip ! hip ! hurrah ! for Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, 
 With a troubled brow and dissatisfied air, 
 
 Saddest of men, Sat down, and then 
 Took from his table a Perryan pen, 
 And he wrote to the " News," 
 How MacFuze, and Tregooze, 
 Lord Tomnoddy, Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues, 
 And the whole of their tail, and the separate crews 
 Of the Tags and the Rags, and the No-one-knows- whos, 
 Had combined Monsieur Fal-de-ral-tit to abuse, 
 
 And make Dol-drum agree With Fiddle-de-dee, 
 Who was not a bit better singer than he. 
 Dol-drum declared " he never could see, 
 For the life of him, yet, why Fiddle-de-dee, 
 
 Who, in B flat, or C, Or whatever the key, 
 Could never at any time get below G, 
 Should expect a fee the same in degree 
 As the great Burlybumbo who sings double D." 
 Then slyly he added a little N.B. 
 " If they'd have him in Paris he'd not come to me ! " 
 
 The Manager rings, And the Prompter springs 
 To his side in a jiffy, and with him he brings 
 A set of those odd-looking envelope things, 
 Where Britannia (who seems to be crucified,) flings 
 2 A
 
 354 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS (BOX). 
 
 To her right and her left funny people with wings, 
 Amongst Elephants, Quakers, and Catabaw Kings ; 
 
 And a taper and wax, And small Queen's heads in packs, 
 Which, when notes are too big, you're to stick on their backs. 
 Dol-drum the Manager sealed with care 
 The letter and copies he'd written so fair, 
 And sat himself down with a satisfied air ; 
 
 Without delay He sent them away, 
 In time to appear in " our columns " next day ! 
 
 Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, 
 
 Walk'd on to the stage with an anxious air, 
 
 And peep'd through the curtain to see who were there. 
 
 There was MacFuze, And Lieutenant Tregooze, 
 And there was Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues, 
 And the Tags, and the Bags, and the No-one- knows- whos ; 
 And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call, 
 And they all began to hoot, bellow, and bawl, 
 And cry " Cock-a-doodle," and scream, and squall 
 
 " Dol-drum ! Dol-drum ! Bid the Manager come ! " 
 
 You'd have thought from the tones 
 
 Of their hisses and groans, 
 
 They were bent upon breaking his (Opera) bones. 
 And Dol-drum comes, and he says says he, 
 " Pray what may you please to want with me 1 " 
 
 "Fiddle-de-dee ! Fiddle-de-dee ! 
 We'll have nobody give us sol fa but He ! 
 For he's the Artiste whom we all want to see." 
 
 Manager Dol-drum says says he 
 
 (And he looks like an Owl in " a hollow beech-tree,") 
 
 " Well, since I see The thing must be, 
 I'll sign an agreement with Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 
 Then MacFuze, and Tregooze, And Jenks of the Blues, 
 And the Tags, and the Bags, and the No-one-knows- who?, 
 Extremely delighted to hear such good news, 
 Desist from their shrill " Cock-a-doodle-doos." 
 
 " Vive Fiddle-de-dee ! Dol-drum, and He ! 
 They are jolly good fellows as ever need be ! 
 And so's Burlybumbo, who sings double D ! 
 And whenever they sing, why, we'll all come and see ! " 
 
 So, after all This terrible squall, 
 
 Fiddle-de-dee 's at the top of the tree, 
 And Dol-drum and Fal-de-ral-tit sing small ! 
 Now Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear 
 At I can't tell you how many thousands a year, 
 And Fal-de-ral-tit is considered " Small Beer ; "
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREE. 355 
 
 And Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes Sports her merry toes. 
 Dancing away to the fiddles and flutes, 
 In what the folks call a " Lithuanian " in boots. 
 
 So here's an end to my one, two, and three ; 
 And bless the Queen and long live She ! 
 And grant that there never again may be 
 Such a halliballoo as we've happened to see 
 About nothing on earth but " Fiddle-de-dee ! " 
 
 We come now to the rummaging of Father John's stores. The 
 extracts which I shall submit from them are of the same character 
 as those formerly derived from the same source, and may be con- 
 sidered as theologico-historical, or Tracts for his times. 
 
 With respect to the first legend on this list, I have to remark that, 
 though the good Father is silent on the subject, there is every reason 
 to believe that the "little curly- wigged " gentleman, who plays, 
 though passively, so prominent a part in it, had Ingoldsby blood in 
 his veins. This conjecture is supported by the fact of the arms of 
 Scroope, impaling Ingoldsby, being found, as in the Bray case, in 
 one of the windows, and by a very old marriage-settlement, nearly, 
 or quite, illegible, a fac-simile of the seal affixed to which is appended 
 to this true history. 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DEVIL'S DINNER-PARTY. 
 A LEGEND OP THE NORTH COUNTREE. 
 
 Nobilis quidam, cui nomen Monsr. Leacroji, Chivaler, cum invitasset con- 
 vivas, et, hora convivii jam instante et apparatu facto, spe frustratus esset, 
 excusantibus se convivis cur non compararent, prorupit iratus in haec verba : 
 " Veniant igitur omnes dcemones, si nuUus k&minum inecum essepotest J " 
 
 Quod cum fieret, et Dominus, et famuli, et ancillae, a domo properantes, 
 forte obliti, infantem in cunis jacentem secum non auferunt. Daemones
 
 356 THE LA Y OF ST. CUTHBERT. 
 
 uicipiunt comessari et vociferari, prospicereque per fenestras forniis tirsorum, 
 luporum, felium, et monstrare pocula vino repleta. Ah, inqirit pater, W 
 in/cms meus ? Vix cum liaec dixisset, unus ex Dsemonibus ulnis suis infantem 
 ad fenestram gestat, &c. 
 
 Chronicon de Bolt on. 
 
 IT'S in Bolton Hall, and the Clock strikes One, 
 And the roast meat's brown, and the boil'd meat's done _ 
 And the barbecu'd sucking-pig's crisp'd to a turn, 
 And the pancakes are fried, and beginning to burn ; 
 
 The fat stubble-goose Swims in gravy and juice 
 With the mustard and apple-sauce ready for use ; 
 Fish, flesh, and fowl, and all of the best, 
 Want nothing but eating they're all ready drest. 
 But where is the Host, and where is the Guest ? 
 
 Pantler and serving-man, henchman and page, 
 Stand sniffing the duck-stuffing (onion and sage), 
 
 And the scullions and cooks, With fidgetty looks, 
 Are grumbling, and mutt'ring, and scowling as black 
 As cooks always do when the dinner's put back ; 
 For though the board's deckt, and the napery, fail- 
 As the unsunn'd snow-flake, is spread out with care, 
 And the Dais is furnish'd with stool and with chair, 
 And plate of orfevrerie costly and rare, 
 Apostle- spoons, salt-cellar, all are there, 
 
 And Mess John in his place, With his rubicund face, 
 And his hands ready folded, prepared to say Grace. 
 Yet where is the Host ? and his convives where ? 
 
 The Scroope sits lonely in Bolton Hall, 
 
 And he watches the dial that hangs by the wall, 
 
 He watches the large hand, he watches the small, 
 
 And he fidgets, and looks As cross as the cooks, 
 And he utters a word which we'll soften to " Zooks ! " 
 As he cries, " What on earth has become of them all ? 
 
 What can delay De Vaux and De Saye ? 
 What makes Sir Gilbert de Umfraville stay ? 
 What's gone with Poyntz, and Sir Reginald Braye ? 
 Why are Ralph Ufford and Marny away 1 
 And De Nokes, and De Stiles, and Lord Marmaduke Grey ? 
 
 And De Roe ? And De Doe ? 
 Poynings, and Vavasour where be they ? 
 Fitz-Walter, Fitz-Osbert, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John, 
 And the Mandevilles, pert et fih (father and son)? 
 Their cards said ' Dinner precisely at One ! ' 
 
 There's nothing I hate, in The world, like waiting !
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTBEE. 357 
 
 It's a monstrous great bore, when a Gentleman feels 
 A good appetite, thus to be kept from his meals ! " 
 
 It's in Bolton Hall, and the clock strikes Two ! 
 And the scullions and cooks are themselves in " a stew, 
 . And the kitchen-maids stand, and don't know what to do, 
 For the rich plum-puddings are bursting their bags, 
 And the mutton and turnips are boiling to rags, 
 
 And the fish is all spoil'd And the butter's all oil'd, 
 And the soup's got cold in the silver tureen, 
 And there's nothing, in short, that is fit to be seen ! 
 While Sir Guy Le Scroope continues to fume, 
 And to fret by himself in the tapestried room, 
 
 And still fidgets, and looks More cross than the cooks, 
 And repeats that bad word, which we've soften'd to " Zooks ! ; 
 
 Two o'clock's come, and Two o'clock's gone, 
 And the large and the small hands move steadily on, 
 Still nobody's there, No De Roos, or De Clare, 
 To taste of the Scroope's most delicate fare, 
 Or to quaff off a health unto Bolton's Heir, 
 That nice little boy who sits there in his chair, 
 Some four years old, and a few months to spare, 
 With his laughing blue eyes, and his long curly hair, 
 Now sucking his thumb, and now munching his pear. 
 
 Again, Sir Guy the silence broke, 
 
 " It's hard upon Three ! it's just on the stroke ! 
 
 Come, serve up the dinner ! A joke is a joke ! "- 
 
 Little he deems that Stephen de Hoaques, 1 
 
 Who " his fun," as the Yankees say, everywhere " pokes, 
 
 And is always a great deal too fond of his jokes, 
 
 Has written a circular note to De Nokes, 
 
 And De Stiles, and De Roe, and the rest of the folks, 
 
 One and all, Great and small, 
 Who were asked to the Hall 
 To dine there, and sup, and wind up with a ball, 
 And had told all the party a great bouncing lie he 
 Cook'd up, that "the fete was postponed sine die, 
 The dear little curly-wigM heir of Lc Scroope 
 Being taken alarmingly ill with the croup ! " 
 
 1 For a full account of this facetious " Chivaler," see the late (oh ! that we 
 should have to say " late " !) Theodore Hook's " History of the illustrious 
 Commoners of Great Britain," as quoted in the Memoirs of John Bragg, Esq., 
 page 344 of the 75th volume of the Standard Novels. In the third volume of 
 Sir Harris Nicolas's elaborate account of the Scrope and Grosvenor controversy, 
 commonly called the " Scrope Koll," a Stephen de Hoques, Ecuyer, is described 
 as giving his testimony on the Grosvenor side. Vide page 247.
 
 358 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT. 
 
 When tlie clock struck Three, And the Page on his knee 
 Said, " An't please you, Sir Guy Le Scroope, On a scrri I " 
 And the Knight found the banquet-hall empty and clear, 
 
 With nobody near To partake of his cheer, 
 He stamp'd, and lie storm'd then his language ! Oh dear ! 
 Twas awful to see, and 'twas awful to hear !' 
 And he cried to the button-deck'd Page at his knee, 
 Who had told him so civilly " On a servi" 
 " Ten thousand fiends seize them, wherever they be ! 
 The Devil take them ! and the Devil take thee ! 
 And the DEVIL MAY EAT UP THE DINNER FOR ME ! ! " 
 
 In a terrible fume He bounced out of the room, 
 He bounced out of the house and page, footman, and groom 
 Bounced after their master ; for scarce had they heard 
 Of this left-handed Grace the last finishing word, 
 Ere the horn, at the gate of the Barbican tower, 
 Was blown with a loud twenty-trumpeter power, 
 
 And in. rush'd a troop Of strange guests ! such a group 
 As had ne'er before darkened the doors of the Scroope ! 
 
 This looks like De Saye yet it is not De Saye 
 
 And this is no, 'tis not Sir Eeginald Braye 
 
 This has somewhat the favour of Marmaduke Grey 
 
 But stay ! Where on earth did he get those long nails ? 
 
 Why, they're claivs ! then, Good Gracious ! they've all of 
 
 them tails ! 
 
 That can't be De Vanx why, his nose is a bill, 
 Or, I would say, a beak ! and he can't keep it still ! 
 Is that Poynings ? Oh Gemini ! look at his feet ! ! 
 Why, they're absolute hoofs I is it gout or his corns 
 That have crumpled them up so 1 by Jingo, he's horns ! 
 Run ! run ! There's Fitz- Walter, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John, 
 And the Mandevilles, pe re et fih (father and son), 
 And Fitz-Osbert, and Ufford they've all got them on! 
 
 Then their great saucer eyes It's the Father of lies 
 And his Imps run ! run ! run ! they're all fiends in disguise, 
 Who've partly assumed, with more sombre complexions, 
 The forms of Sir Guy Le Scroope's friends and connexions, 
 And He at the top there that grim-looking elf 
 Run ! run ! that's the " muckle-horned Clootie" himself! 
 
 And now what a din Without and within ! 
 For the court- yard is full of them. How they begin 
 To mop, and to mowe, and make faces, and grin ! 
 
 Cock their tails up together, Like cows in hot weather, 
 And butt at each other, all eating and drinking, 
 The viands and wine disappearing like winking.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTEEE. 359 
 
 And then such a lot As together had got ! 
 Master Cabbage, the steward, who'd made a machine 
 To calculate with, and count noses, I ween 
 The cleverest thing of the kind ever seen, 
 
 Declared, when he'd made, By 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, 
 
 Which 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- wig'd Heir ! 
 Whom the nurse had forgot, and left there in his chair, 
 Alternately sucking his thumb and his pear ! 
 
 What words can express The dismay and distress 
 Of Sir Guy, when he found what a terrible mess 
 His cursing and banning had now got him into 1 
 That words, which to use are a shame and a sin too, 
 Had thus on their speaker recoiled, and his malison 
 Placed in the hands of the Devil's own " pal " his son ! 
 
 He sobb'cl, and he sigh'd, And he scream'tl, and he cried, 
 And behaved like a man that is mad, or in liquor, he 
 Tore his peaked beard, and he dashed off his " Vicary," 1 
 
 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 
 
 1 A peruke so named from its inventor. Robert de Ros and Eudo Fitz-Vicari 
 were celebrated perruquiers, who flourished in the eleventh century. The 
 latter is noticed in the Battle-Abbey roll, and is said to have curled William 
 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 descendants, 
 was summoned to Parliament, 26 Jan. 25 Edw. I. (1297). It is doubtful, how- 
 ever, whether that writ can be deemed a regular writ of summons to Parliament, 
 for reasons amply detailed in the "Synopsis of the British Peerage." (Art. 
 Fitz-John.) A writ was subsequently addressed to him as " Humfry Fit:,- 
 Vicari, Chiv r " 8 Jan. 6 Edw. II. (1313), and his descendants appear to have 
 been regularly summoned as late as 5 and 6 of Philip and Mary, 1557-8. Soon 
 after which Peter Fitz-Vicari dying, 8. 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 representatives it is presumed to be still in abeyance.
 
 360 THE LAY OF ST. GUTHBE11T. 
 
 To that window above there, en ogive, and painted, 
 
 And brings 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 Cologne, 
 He revived, Reason once more remounted her throne, 
 Or rather the instinct of Nature, 'twere treason 
 To Her, in the Scroope's case, perhaps, to say Reason, 
 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- wig'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- wig'd Heir ! 
 
 Well a day 1 Well a day ! All he can say 
 Is but just so much trouble and time thrown away ; 
 Not a man can be tempted to join the metee, 
 E'en those words cabalistic, " I promise 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 through 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 ! 
 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 ! CUTHBERT ! 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 lash'd their bare backs, and no matter Avith twine, 
 
 Oh ! list to the vow Which I make to you now, 
 Only snatch my poor little boy out of the row 
 Which 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 ! "-
 
 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBEP.T. 
 
 362
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREE. 363 
 
 Say, whose that voice 1 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 inarch'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-wig'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 ! :; 
 
 The Demoniac crowd In an instant seem'd cowed ; 
 Not one of the crew volunteered a reply, 
 All shrunk from the glance of that keen-flashing eye, 
 Save one horrid Humgruffin, 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 to witness " Why, 
 
 slave ! 
 
 You rascal ! " quoth he, " This language to ME ! ! 
 At once, Mr. Nicholas ! down on your knee, 
 And hand me that curly-wig'd boy ! I command it 
 Come ! none of your nonsense ! you know I 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-wig'd brat, and much good may he do ye ! 
 But I'll have in exchange " here his eye flash'd 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 bestow 
 Touch one button of his if you dare, Nick no ! no ! 
 Cut your stick, sir come, mizzle ! be off with you ! go ! " 
 The Devil grew hot " If I do I'll be shot !
 
 364 THE LAY OF ST. CUTHBERT. 
 
 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, 
 I should like to know ? Go ! 'I'll be hang'd if I do ! 
 He invited us all we've a right here it's known 
 That a Baron may do what he likes with his own 
 Here, Asmodeus a slice of that beef ! now the mustard ! 
 What have you got 1 oh, apple-pie try it with custard ! :: 
 
 The Saint made a pause As uncertain, because 
 He knew Nick is pretty well " up " in the laws, 
 And they might be on his side and then, he'd such claws ! 
 On the whole, it was better, he thought, to retire 
 With the curly- wig'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). 
 
 So to Old Nick's appeal, As he turn'd on his net-], 
 He replied, " Well, I'll leave you the mutton and veal, 
 And the soup a la Reine, 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, shew 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 ! 
 Nor 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 ! " 
 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, 
 No care for precedence or common decorum. 
 
 Few ate more hearty Than Madame Astarte, 
 And Hecate, considered the Belles of the party, 
 Between them was seated Leviathan, eager 
 To "do the polite," and take wine with Belphegor ; 
 Here was Morbleu (a French devil), supping soup-meagre, 
 And there, munching leeks, Davy Jones of Tredegar
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTBEE 365 
 
 (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. 
 VVho'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 Mephistopheles 
 
 Gave him the lie, Said he'd " blacken his eye," 
 And dash'd in his face a whole cup of hot coffee-lees ; 
 
 Ramping, 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 ! 
 (An hour which our ancestors called " getting late,") 
 When Nick, who by this time was rather elate, 
 Rose up and addressed them. 
 
 "Tis full time," he said, 
 " For all elderly Devils to be in their bed ; 
 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 HOST ! 
 Many thanks for his kind hospitality may 
 
 We also be able To see at our table 
 Himself, and enjoy, in a family way, 
 His good company down stairs at no distant day ! 
 
 You'd, I'm sure, think me rude 
 
 If I did not include 
 
 In the toast my young friend there, the curly- wig'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,- - 
 
 May our Curly- wig'd Friend's shadow never be less ! " 
 Nick took off his heel-taps bow'd smiled with an air 
 Most graciously grim, and vacated the chair, 
 
 Of course the elite Rose 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 ! "- 
 It was three in the morning before they broke up ! ! !
 
 366 THE LAY OF ST. GUTHBERT. 
 
 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-founded 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 Meschines, 1 
 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 
 That, what with these candles, and other expenses, 
 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, deceased. 
 
 (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 Roll," 
 
 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 Scroope swore 
 That none but his ancestors, ever before, 
 In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore, 
 To wit, A On a Prussian-Uue Field, a Bend Or ; "- 
 While the Grosvenor averred that his ancestors 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. 2 
 
 1 Vide Dugdale's Monasticon, Art. Pnoratus de Bolton, in agro Eboracensi. 
 
 2 It is with, the greatest satisfaction that I learn from Mr. Simpkinson this 
 consummation, so devoutly to be wished, is about to be realized, 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 with eager 
 ness for the identification of " Curly -wig."
 
 A LEGEND OF THE NORTH COUNTREK 
 
 367 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 This Legend sound maxims exemplifies e. g. 
 Imo. Should anything tease you, Annoy, or displease you, 
 Remember what Lilly says, " Animum rege ! " * 
 And as for that shocking bad habit of swearing, 
 In all good society voted past bearing, 
 Eschew it ! and leave it to dust-men and mobs, 
 Nor commit yourself much beyond " Zooks ! " or " Odsbobs I " 
 
 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 ivish you I need not say Where. 
 
 Stio. 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 ! 
 
 4to. To sum up the whole with a " Saw " of much use, 
 Be just, and be generous don't be profuse ! 
 Pay the debts that you owe, keep your word to your friends, 
 But DON'T SET YOUR CANDLES ALIGHT AT BOTH ENDS ! ! 
 For of this be assured, if you " 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 seal attached to 
 an ancient deed penes 
 Thomas Ingoldsby, 
 
 Esq., preserved in the 
 archives at Tapping- 
 ton Everard. 
 
 Animum rege ' qui nisi paret, imperat. LILLY'S Grammar.
 
 368 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 For the Legend that follows Father John has, it will be seen, 
 the grave authority of a Eomish Prelate. The good Father, who, 
 as I have before had occasion to remark, received his education 
 at Douai, 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. 
 
 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 A LEGEND OP BLOIS. 
 
 S. Heloi'us in hac urbe fuit episcopus, qui, defunctus, sepulturus est a 
 fidelibus. Nocte autem sequent!, veniens quidam paganus lapidem, qui 
 sarcophagum tegebat, revolvit, erectumque contra se corpus Sancti spoliare 
 conatur. At ille, lacertis constrictum, ad se hominem fortiter amplexatur, 
 et usque mane, populis spectantibus, tanquam constipatum loris, ita miserum 
 
 bracMis detinebat Judex loci sepulchri violatorem jubet abstrahi, et 
 
 legali pcenae sententia condemnari ; sed non laxabatur a Sancto. Tune in- 
 telligens voluntatem defuncti, Judex, facta de vita promissione, absolvit, 
 deinde laxatur, et sic incolumis redditur : non vero fur demissus quin so 
 vitam monastericam amplexurum spopondisset. 
 
 Greg: Turonens: de Glorid Confessorum, 
 SAINT 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 difference between 'em 
 
 NlHIL PUTAVIT A SE ALIENUM. 
 
 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.
 
 A LEGEND OF BLOIS. 369 
 
 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. 
 Count Stephen " l (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 dressed in sackcloth, he dined off delf ; 
 And, when it was cold, in lieu of a surtoiit, 
 The good man would wrap himself up in his virtue. 2 
 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 load 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 hound, 
 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 Respond 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 declare, 
 " Should 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, Monks, and Friars in scores, 
 
 1 Teste Messire lago, a distinguished subaltern in the Venetian service, 
 circiter A.D. 1580. His Biographer, Mr. William Shakspeare, a contemporary 
 writer of some note, makes him say " King Stephen," inasmuch as the 
 " worthy peer " subsequently usurped the crown of England. The anachronism 
 is a pardonable one. Mr. Simpkinson of 1'iiMi. 
 
 -' M,-f t 
 
 Virtute me involvo. Hop. 
 2B
 
 370 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 This with his chasuble, that with his rosary, 
 This from his incense-pot turning his nose awry, 
 
 Holy Father, and Holy Mother, 
 
 Holy Sister, and Holy Brother, 
 
 Holy Son, and Holy Daughter, 
 
 Holy Wafer, and Holy Water ; 
 
 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 by 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 by 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 boots, 
 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,
 
 A LEGEND OF BLOIS. 371 
 
 And white pocket-handkerchiefs up at their noses, 
 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, 
 While quite as polite are the Squires and the Knights, 
 In their helmets, and hauberks, and cast-iron tights. 
 
 Ay, 'tis a comely sight to behold, 
 As the company march 
 Through the rounded arch 
 
 Of that Cathedral old ! 
 Singers behind 'em, and singers before 'em, 
 All of them ranging in due decorum, 
 Around the inside of the Sanctum Sanctorum, 
 
 While, brilliant and bright, An unwonted light 
 (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 in rows, 
 Their hands join'd in pray'r, all in very long clothes, 
 With inscriptions on brass, begging each who survives, 
 As they some of them seem to have led so-so lives, 
 To |3raie fat the cSfltohs 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 " Requiem " 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 Coup d'ceil mac/nifique f 
 
 Yet, surely, when 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 simplest vestment clad, 
 He speaks, beneath the churchyard tree, 
 
 In solemn tones, but yet not sad, 
 Of what Man is what Man shall be !
 
 372 TEE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 And clustering round the grave, half hid 
 By that same quiet clmrchyard yew, 
 
 The rustic mourners bend, to bid 
 The dust they loved a last adieu 
 
 That ray, methinks, that rests so sheen 
 Upon each briar-bound hillock green, 
 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 d son gout this is talking at random 
 We all know " De gustibus non disputandum ! " 
 So canter back, Muse, to the scene of your story, 
 
 The Cathedral of Blois Where the Sainted Aloys 
 Is by this time, you'll find, " left alone in his glory," 
 " In the dead of the night," though with labour opprest, 
 Some " mortals " disdain " the calm blessings of rest ; " 
 Your cracksman, for instance, thinks night-time the best 
 To break open a door, or the lid of a chest ; 
 And the gipsy who close round your premises prowls, 
 To ransack your hen-roost, and steal all your fowls, 
 Always sneaks out at night with the bats and the owls, 
 So do Witches and Warlocks, Ghosts, Goblins, and Ghouls, 
 To say nothing at all of these troublesome " Swells " 
 Who come from the playhouses, "flash-kens," and " hells/' 
 To pull off people's knockers, and rings 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," l 
 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'd managed to slide himself 
 While all were intent on the anthem, and hide himself. 
 
 1 "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. 373 
 
 From his lurking place, With stealthy pace, 
 Through the "long-drawn" aisle he begins to crawl, 
 As you see a cat walk on the top of a wall, 
 When it's stuck full of glass, and she thinks she shall fall. 
 
 He proceeds to feel For his flint and his steel, 
 (An invention on which we've improved a great deal 
 Of late years the substitute best to rely on 
 's what Jones of the Strand calls his Pyrogeneion,) 
 
 He strikes with despatch ! his Tinder catches ! 
 Now where is his candle 1 and where are his matches 1 
 
 '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 that now 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 will ! 
 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 " PKIQ " THE PASTORAL RING ! ! 
 
 Fancy his fright, When, with all his might 
 Having forced up the lid, which they'd not fastened 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 ! ! 
 
 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 
 
 " AH, HA ! MY GOOD FRIEND ! DON'T YOU 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.
 
 374 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 Held firmly at bay, Kick and plunge as he may, 
 His struggles are fruitless lie 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 clay ! 
 
 Oh, a welcome sight Is the rosy light, 
 Which lovelily heralds a morning bright, 
 Above all to a wretch kept in durance all night 
 By a horrid dead gentleman holding him tight, 
 Of all sorts of gins that a trespasser can trap, 
 The most disagreeable kind of a man-trap ! 
 
 Oh ! welcome that bell's Matin chime, which tells 
 To one caught in this worst of all possible snares, 
 That the hour is arrived to begin Morning Prayers, 
 And the monks and the friars are coming down stairs ! 
 
 Conceive the surprise Of the Choir how their eyes 
 Are distended to twice their original size, 
 How 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 pulling 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 ; when his Worship at length came to say 
 He was perfectly ready to take him away, 
 And fat him to grace the next Auto-da-fe, 
 
 Still closer he prest The poor wretch to his breast, 
 While 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 
 That the close of the good Bishop's sentence was drown'd !
 
 A LEGEND OF BL01S. 375 
 
 Out spake Frere Jehan, A pitiful man, 
 
 Oh ! a pitiful man was he ! 
 And he wept, and he pined For the sins of mankind, 
 
 As a Friar in his degree. 
 " Remember, good gentlefolks," so he began, 
 " Dear Aloys was always a pitiful man ! 
 
 That voice from his chest Has clearly exprest 
 He has pardoned the culprit and as for the rest, 
 Before you shall burn him he'll see you all blest ! ;; 
 
 The Monks, and the Abbot, the Sexton, and Clerk 
 Were exceedingly struck with the Friar's remark, 
 And the Judge, who himself was by no means a shark 
 Of a Lawyer, and who did not do things in the dark, 
 But still leaned (having once been himself a gay spark.) 
 To the merciful side, like the late Alan Park, 
 
 Agreed that, indeed, The best way to succeed, 
 And by which this poor caitiff alone could be freed, 
 Would be to absolve him, and grant a free pardon, 
 On a certain condition, and that not a hard one, 
 Viz. " That he, the said Infidel, straightway should ope 
 His mind to conviction, and worship the Pope, 
 And ' ev'ry man Jack ' in an amice or cope ; 
 
 And that, to do so, He should forthwith go 
 To Eome, and salute there his Holiness' toe ; 
 
 And never again Read Voltaire, or Tom Paine, 
 Or Percy Bysshe Shelley, or Lord Byron's Cain ; 
 His pilgrimage o'er, take St. Francis s habit ; 
 If anything lay about, never to 'nab' it ; 
 Or, at worst, if he should light on articles gone astray, 
 To be sure and deposit them safe in the Monast'ry ! " 
 
 The oath he took As he kiss'd the book, 
 Nave, transept, and aisle with a thunder-clap shook ! 
 The Bishop sank down with a satisfied look, 
 
 And the Thief, releas'd By the Saint deceas'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 Rome, 
 And went to St. Peter's and look'd at the Dome, 
 And obtain'd from the Pope an assurance of bliss, 
 And kiss'd whatever he gave him to kiss 
 Toe, relic, embroidery, naught 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.
 
 376 THE LAY OF ST. ALOYS. 
 
 Suffice it to tell, Which will do quite as well, 
 That the whole of the Convent the miracle saw, 
 And the Abbot's report was sufficient to draw 
 Ev'ry bon Catholique in la belle France to Blois, 
 Among others, the Monarch himself, Franois, 
 The Archbishop of Rheims, and his " Pious Jack-daw," l 
 And 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 the nation 
 If ever a man deserved canonization, 
 It was the kind, pitiful, pious Aloys." 
 
 So the Pope says, says he, " Then a Saint he shall be ! " 
 So he made him a Saint, and remitted the fee. 
 
 "What became of the Pagan I really can't say ; 
 
 But I think I've been told, When he'd enter'd their fold, 
 And was now a Franciscan some twenty days old, 
 He got up one fine morning before break of day, 
 Put the Pyx in his pocket and then ran away. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 I think we may coax out a moral or two 
 From the facts which have lately come under our view. 
 First Don't meddle with Saints ! 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 Regent 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 inflagrante delictof 
 
 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 
 Shew 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 ! " 
 
 1 Vide Ingoldsby Legends (First Series), page 139.
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 377 
 
 We must all be aware Nature's prone to rebel, as 
 Old Juvenal tells us, Naturam expellas, 
 
 Tamen usque recurret ! There's no making Her rat 
 So that all that I have on this head to advance 
 Is, whatever they think of these matters in France, 
 There's a proverb, the truth of which each one allows here, 
 
 " YOU NEVER CAN MAKE A SILK PURSE OF A SOW'S EAR ! " 
 
 In the succeeding Legend we come nearer home. Father 
 Ingoldsby is particular in describing its locality, situate some eight 
 miles from the Hall less, if you take the bridle-road by the 
 Church-yard, and so along the valley by Mr. Fector's Abbey. In 
 the enumeration of the various attempts to appropriate the treasure 
 (drawn from a later source), is omitted one, said to have been 
 undertaken by the worthy ecclesiastic himself, who, as Mrs. Botherby 
 insinuates, is reported to have started 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 GREY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 
 
 ONCE there lived, as I've heard people say, 
 An " Old Woman clothed in grey," 
 
 So furrowM with care, So haggard her air, 
 In her eye such a wild supernatural stare, 
 
 That all who espied her Immediately shied her, 
 And strove to get out of her way. 
 
 This fearsome Old Woman was taken ill : 
 She sent for the Doctor he sent her a pill, 
 
 And by way of a trial, A two shilling phial 
 Of green-looking fluid, like lava diluted, 
 To which I've profess'd an abhorrence most rooted, 1 
 One of those draughts they so commonly send us, 
 Labell'd " Haustus catharticus, mane sumendus ; "- 
 
 i Vide page 230.
 
 378 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 
 
 She made a wry face, And, without saying Grace, 
 Toss'd it off like a dram it improv'd not her case. 
 
 The Leech came again ; He now open'd a vein, 
 Still the little Old Woman continued in pain. 
 So her " Medical Man," although loth to distress her, 
 Conceived it high time that her Father Confessor 
 Should be sent for to shrive, and assoilzie, and bless her, 
 That she might not slip out of these troublesome scenes 
 " Unanneal'd and Unhouseled," whatever that means. l 
 
 Growing afraid, He calls to his aid 
 A bandy-legg'd neighbour, a " Tailor by trade" ' 2 
 
 Tells him his fears, Bids him lay by his shears, 
 His thimble, his goose, and his needle, and hie 
 With all possible speed to the Convent hard by, 
 
 Bequests him to say That he begs they'll all pray, 
 Viz. : The whole pious brotherhood, Cleric and Lay, 
 For the soul of an Old Woman clothed in grey, 
 Who was just at that time in a very bad way, 
 And he really believed couldn't last out the day ; 
 
 And to state his desire That some erudite Friar 
 Would run over at once, and examine, and try her ; 
 
 For he thought he would find 
 
 There was " something behind," 
 
 A something that weigh'd on the Old Woman's mind, 
 " In fact he was sure, from what fell from her tongue, 
 That this little Old Woman had done something wrong." 
 Then he wound up the whole with this hint to the man, 
 " Mind and pick out as holy a friar as you can ! " 
 
 Now I'd have you to know That this story of woe, 
 Which I'm telling you, happen'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 the Roses. 3 
 
 1 Alack for poor William Linley to settle the point ! His elucidation of 
 Macbeth's "Hurlyburly " casts a halo around his memory. In him the world 
 lost one of its kindliest Spirits, and the Garrick Club its acutest commentator. 
 
 * All who are familiar with the Police Reports, and other Records of our 
 Courts of Justice, will recollect that every gentleman of this particular pro- 
 fession invariably thus describes himself, in contradistinction to the Bricklayer, 
 whom he probably presumes to be indigenous, and to the Shoemaker, born a 
 Snob. 
 
 3 "An antient and most pugnacious family," says our Bath Friend. "One 
 of their descendants, George Rose, Esq., late M.P. for Christchurch (an elderly
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 379 
 
 Inasmuch as the times Described in these rhymes 
 Were as fruitful in virtues as ours are in crimes ; 
 And if 'mongst the Laity Unseemly gaiety 
 Sometimes betray'd an occasional taint or two, 
 
 At once all the Clerics Went into hysterics, 
 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. 
 Hence the late Mr. Froude, and the live Dr. Pusey 
 We moderns consider as each worth a Jew's eye ; 
 Though Wiseman, and Dullman 1 combined against Newman, 
 With Doctors and Proctors, and say he's no true man. 
 But this by the way. The Convent I speak about 
 Had Saints in scores they said Mass week and week about ; 
 And the two now on duty were each, for their piety, 
 " Second to none " in that holy society, 
 And well might have borne 
 Those words which are worn 
 
 By our " Nulli Secundus " Club poor dear lost muttons 
 Of Guardsmen on Club days, inscribed on their buttons. 
 They would read, write, and speak 
 Latin, Hebrew, and Greek, 
 A 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, Basilius 
 Won golden opinions, by looking more bilious, 
 From all who conceived strict monastical duty 
 By no means conducive to personal beauty ; 
 And being more meagre, and thinner, and paler, 
 He was snapt up at once by the bandy- legg'd Tailor. 
 
 The latter's concern For a speedy return 
 Scarce left the Monk time to put on stouter sandals, 
 Or go round to his shrines, and snuff all his Saint's candles ; 
 Still less had he leisure to change the hair-shirt he 
 
 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. 
 
 1 The worthy Jesuit's polemical publisher. I am not quite sure as to the 
 orthography ; it's idem sonans, at all events.
 
 380 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN OBEY. 
 
 Had worn the last twenty years probably 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 prest, 
 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 ! 
 But when that voice, in feeble moans of sickness and of pain, 
 But mocks the anxious ear that strives to catch its sounds 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 fill'd him with dread, 
 And made all his hair stand on end on his head, 
 No great feat to perform, inasmuch as said hair 
 Being clipp'd 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. 
 
 What the old woman said 
 
 That so "fill'd him with dread," 
 We should never have known 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
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 
 
 381
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 383 
 
 Of what past 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 ; l 
 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 ceased, had a good deal gone by ; 
 And he gently addrest her in accents of honey, 
 " 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 
 "Rhino,") 
 
 Which acts so direct, And with so much effect 
 On the human sensorium, 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 perked 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 ! ! " 
 
 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 
 
 1 Effodiuntur Opes Irritamenta Malorum. 
 
 LILLY'S Grammar.
 
 384 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 
 
 To toady or teaze people out of a legacy, 
 
 For few folk, indeed, had such good right to beg as he, 
 
 Since Rome, in her pure Apostolical beauty, 
 
 Not only permits, but enjoins, as a duty, 
 
 Her sons to take care That, let who will be heir, 
 The Pontiff shall not be chous'd out of his share, 
 Nor stand any such mangling of chattels and goods, 
 As, they say, was the case with the late Jemmy Wood'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 learn 
 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." 
 
 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 ! 
 She expired, with her last breath expressing a doubt 
 If " his Mother were fully aware he was out 1 " 
 
 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 
 CaU'd "Lough-dearg" that's "The Bed Lake," unless I mis- 
 take, 
 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 "that there," 
 That it's all the same place, but the Saint reserves his entry 
 For the separate use of the " finest of pisentry," 
 
 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.
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 385 
 
 But no matter lay The locale where you may ; 
 -Anti 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 Mayors 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 uncoutn ; 
 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, 
 Below, in that queer place which nobody mentions, 
 
 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), 
 Is 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 Those of which I now treat, are 
 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 Antiquitv," 
 2c
 
 386 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 
 
 She'd have rubb'd off old scores, Popped out of doors, 
 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 
 Eeleased her pale Ghost from these regions of woe, 
 The little Old Woman had no where to go ! 
 
 For, what could she do 1 She very well knew 
 If she went to the gates I have rnention'd to you, 
 Without Basil's, or some other passport to shew, 
 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 turn'd formally out of " the pale ; "- 
 So much the bare name of the Pope made him quail, 
 In the times that I speak of, his courage would fail 
 Of Rome'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 but deny 
 
 The sky 's rather high To be sure but, now I 
 That cumbersone carcass of clay have laid by, 
 I am just in the 'order' which some folks though why 
 I am sure I can't tell you would call ' Apple-pie.' 
 
 Then ' never say die ! ' It won't do to be slay, 
 So I'll tuck up my shroud, and here goes for a fly ! "
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 387 
 
 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, 
 With " It's all very well, but you do not lodge here ! "- 
 Then, calling heir everything but " My dear ! " 
 He applied his great toe with some force au derriere, 
 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 fry, broil, boil, and roast, 
 Or one bandied about thus from pillar to post, 
 To be " all abroad " to be " stump'd " not to know where 
 
 To go so disgraced As not to be "placed," 
 Or, as Crocky would say to Jem Bland, "To be Nowhere." 
 
 However that be, The affaire was_///m', 
 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, 
 
 " Returns back again to the place whence she flew," 
 
 A fact which experience has proved to be true. 
 
 Mr. Gray, in opinion with whom Johnson clashes, 
 
 Declares that our " wonted fires live in our ashes." l 
 
 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-legged " 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 uttered that word, Which American Bird 
 Or James Fenimore Cooper, would render " Tarnation ! ! " 
 
 i " E'en iu our ashes live their wonted flres ! " GHAY. 
 "A position at which Experience revolts, Credulity hesitates, and eveii Fancy 
 stares ! " JOHNSON.
 
 388 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 
 
 At the noise which she made Down went the spade ! - 
 And lip jump'd the bandy-legg'd " Tailor by trade," 
 (Who had shrewdly conjectured, from something that fell, her 
 Deposit was somewhere concealed 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 lengthen'd " Bo-o ho-o ! "- 
 With a countenance Keeley alone could put on, 
 Made one grasshopper spring to the door and was gone ! 
 
 Erupit ! Evasit ! As at Rome they would phrase it 
 His flight was so swift, the eye scarcely could trace it, 
 Though elderly, bandy-legg'd, meagre, and sickly, 
 I doubt if the Ghost could have vanish'd more quickly ;- 
 He reach'd his own shop, and then fell into fits, 
 And it's said never rightly recovered his wits, 
 While the chuckling old Hag takes his place, and there sits 
 
 I'll venture to say, She'd sat there to this day, 
 Brooding over what Cobbett calls " vile yellow clay," 
 Like a Vulture, or other obscene bird of prey, 
 O'er the nest -full of eggs she has managed to lay, 
 If, as legends relate, and I think we may trust 'em, her 
 Stars had not brought her another guess customer 
 
 'Twas Basil himself ! Come to look for her pelf : 
 But not, like the tailor, to dig, delve, and grovel, 
 And grub in the cellar with pickaxe and shovel ; 
 
 Full well he knew Such tools would not do, 
 Far other the weapons he brought into play, 
 Viz. a Wax-taper " hallow'd on Candlemas-day," 
 
 To light to her ducats, Holy Water, two buckets, 
 (Made with salt half a peck to four gallons which brews a 
 Strong triple X "strike, see Jacobus de Chusa.) 
 
 With these, too, he took His bell and his book 
 Not a nerve ever trembled, his hand never shook 
 As he boldly march'd up where she sat in her nook, 
 Glow'ring round with that wild indescribable look, 
 AVhich Some may have read of, perchance, in " Nell Cook," 1 
 AIL in "Martha the Gipsy" by Theodore Hook. 
 
 And now, for the reason I gave you before, 
 
 Of what passed then and there I can tell you no more, 
 
 As no Tailor was near with his ear at the door ; 
 
 But I've always been told, With respect to the gold, 
 For which she her "jewel eternal" had sold, 
 
 That the old Harridan, Who, no doubt, knew her man, 
 
 1 See page 299.
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 389 
 
 Made sonic compromise hit upon some sort of plan, 
 By which Friar and Ghost were both equally pinn'd 
 Heaven only knows how the " Agreement " got wind ; 
 
 But its purport was this, That the things done amiss 
 By the Hag should not hinder her ultimate bliss ; 
 
 Provided " Imprimis, The cash from this time is 
 The Church's impounded for good pious uses 
 Father B. shall dispose of it just as he chooses, 
 
 And act as trustee In the meantime, that She, 
 The said Ghostess, or Ghost, as the matter may be, 
 From ' impediment,' ' hindrance,' and ' let ' shall be free, 
 To sleep in her grave, or wander, as he, 
 The said Friar, with said Ghost may hereafter agree. 
 
 Moreover The whole Of the said cash, or 'cole,' 
 Shall be spent for the good of said Old Woman's soul ! 
 
 " It is farther agreed while paid 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 Throne, 1 
 Or by what name soever the same may be known, 
 Howsoe'er called by Poets, or styled by Divines, 
 Himself, his executors, heirs, and assigns. 
 
 " Provided that, nevertheless, notwithstanding 
 
 All herein contained, 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 home 
 
 again 
 
 Back to said Ghost, who thenceforward shall roam again 
 Until such time, or times, as the said Ghost produces 
 Some good man and true, who no longer refuses 
 To put sum, or sums, aforesaid, to said uses ; 
 Which duly performed, the said Ghost shall have rest, 
 The full term of her natural death, of the best, 
 In full consideration of this, her bequest, 
 In manner and form aforesaid, as exprest : 
 In witness whereof, we, the parties aforesaid, 
 Hereunto set our hands and our seals and no more said, 
 Being all that these presents intend to express, 
 Whereas notwithstanding and nevertheless. 
 
 1 Thrones ! Dominations ! Princedoms ! Virtues ! Powers !
 
 390 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GEEY. 
 
 "Sign'd, sealed, and deliver'd, this 20tli of May, 
 Anno Domini, blank, (though I've mentioned the dav,) 
 (Signed) 
 
 BASIL. 
 
 OI,D WOMAN (late) CLOTHED IN GREY." 
 
 Basil now, I am told, Walking oft' with the gold. 
 Went and straight got the document duly enroll'd, 
 And left the testatrix to mildew and mould 
 In her sepulchre, cosey, cool, not to say cold. 
 But somehow though how I can hardly divine, 
 
 A runlet of fine Kich Malvoisie wine 
 Found its way to the Convent that night before nine, 
 With custards, and " flawns," and a "fayre norentimy 
 Peach, apricot, nectarine, melon, and pine ; 
 And some half a score Nuns of the rule Bridgetine, 
 Abbess and all, were invited to dine 
 At a very late hour, that is after Compline. 
 Father Hilary's rubies began soon to shine 
 With fresh lustre, as though newly dug from the mine ; 
 
 Through all the next year, Indeed, 'twould appeal- 
 That the Convent was much better off, as to cheer, 
 Even Basil himself, as I A'ery much fear, 
 No longer addicted himself to small beer ; 
 
 His complexion grew clear, While in front and in rear 
 He enlarged so, his shape seem'd approaching a sphere. 
 
 No wonder at all, then, one cold winter's night, 
 That a servant girl going down stairs with a light 
 To the cellar we've spoken of, saw, with affright, 
 An Old Woman, astride on a barrel, invite 
 Her to take, in a manner extremely polite, 
 With her left hand, a bag, she had got in her right ; 
 For tradition asserts that the Old Woman's purse 
 Had corne back to her scarcely one penny the worse! 
 
 The girl, as they say, Ran screaming away, 
 Quite scared by the Old Woman clothed in grey ; 
 But there came down a Knight, at no distant a day, 
 
 Sprightly and gay As the bird on the spray, 
 One Sir Rufus Mountfardington, Lord of Foot's-cray, 
 Whose estate, not unlike those of most of our " Swell " beaux, 
 Was, what's^ by a metaphor, term'd " out at elbows ; :> 
 And the fact was, said Knight was now merely delay'd 
 From crossing the water to join the Crusade 
 For converting the Pagans with bill, bow, and blade, 
 By the want of a little pecuniary aid 
 To buy arms and horses, the tools of his trade,
 
 A LEGEND OF DOVER. 391 
 
 And enable his troop to appear on parade ; 
 
 The unquiet Shade Thought Sir Rufus, 'tis said, 
 Just the man for her money, she readily paid 
 For the articles named, and with pleasure convey'd 
 To his hands every farthing she ever had made ; 
 
 But alas ! I'm afraid Most unwisely she laid 
 Out her cash the beaux yeux of a Saracen maid 
 (Truth compels me to say a most pestilent jade) 
 Converted the gallant converter betray'd 
 Him to do everything which a Knight could degrade, 
 E'en to worship Mahound ! She required He obey'd, 
 The consequence was, all the money was wasted 
 On Infidel pleasures he should not have tasted ; 
 So that, after a very short respite, the Hag 
 Was seen down in her cellar again with her bag. 
 
 Don't fancy, dear Reader, I mean to go on 
 Seriatim through so many ages by-gone, 
 
 And to bore you with names 
 
 Of the Squires, and the Dames, 
 Who have managed, at times, to get hold of the sack, 
 But spent the cash so that it always came back ; 
 
 The list is too long To be giv'n in my song, 
 There are reasons beside would perhaps make it wrong ; 
 I shall merely observe, in those orthodox days, 
 When Mary set Smithfield all o'er in a blaze, 
 
 And shew'd herself very se- -vere against heresy, 
 While many a wretch scorned to flinch, or to scream, as he 
 Burnt for denying the Papal supremacy, 
 
 Bishop Bonner the bag got, And all thought the Hag got 
 Releas'd, as he spent all in fuel and faggot. 
 
 But somehow though how I can't tell you, I vow 
 I suppose by mismanagement ere the next reign 
 The Spectre had got all her money again. 
 
 The last time, I'm told, That the Old Woman's gold 
 Was obtained, as before, for the asking, 'twas had 
 By a Mr. O Something from Ballinafad ; 
 And the whole of it, so tis reported, was sent 
 To John Wright's, in account for the Catholic Rent, 
 And thus like a great deal more money " it went ! " 
 
 So 'tis said at Maynooth, But I can't think it's truth ; 
 Though I know it was boldly asserted last season, 
 Still I can not believe it ; and that for this reason, 
 It's certain the cash has rjot back to its owner ! 
 Now no part of the Rent to do so e'er was known, or, 
 In any shape, ever come home to the donor.
 
 392 THE OLD WOMAN CLOTHED IN GREY. 
 
 GENTLE READER ! you must know the proverb, I tlunk 
 " To a blind horse a Nod is as good as a Wink ! " 
 
 Which some learned Chap, In a square College cap, 
 Perhaps would translate by the words " Verbum Sap /" 
 
 Now, should it so chance That you're going to France 
 In the course of next Spring, as you probably may, 
 
 Do pull up, and stay, Pray, If but for a day, 
 At Dover, through which you must pass on your way, 
 At the York, or the Ship, where, as all people say, 
 You'll get good wine yourself, and your horses good hay, 
 Perhaps, my good friend, yoii may find it will pay, 
 And you cannot lose much by so short a delay. 
 
 First DINE ! you can do That on joint or ragout 
 Then say to the waiter, " I'm just passing through, 
 Pray, where can I find out the old Maison Dieu ?- 
 He'll shew you the street (the French call it a Rue, 
 But you won't have to give here a petit ecu). 
 
 Well, when you've got there, never mind how you're 
 
 taunted, 
 
 Ask boldly, " Pray, which is the house here that's haunted ? " 
 I'd tell you myself, but I can't recollect 
 The proprietor's name ; but he's one of that sect 
 Who call themselves "Friends," and whom others call 
 
 " Quakers,"- 
 You'll be sure to find out if you ask at the Baker's. 
 
 Then go down, with a light, To the cellar at night ! 
 And as soon as you see her don't be in a fright ! 
 
 But ask the old Hag, At once, for the bag ! 
 If you find that she's shy, or your senses would dazzle, 
 Nay, " Ma'am, I insist ! in the name of St. Basil ! " 
 
 If she gives it you, seize It, and do as you please 
 But there is not a person I've ask'd but agrees, 
 You should spend part at least for the Old Woman's ease '. 
 For the rest if it must go back some day why let it ! 
 Meanwhile, if you're poor, and in love, or it debt, it 
 May do you some good, and 
 
 I WISH YOU MAY GET IT ! ! ! 
 
 To whom is the name of Cornelius Agrippa otherwise than 
 familiar, since " a Magician," of renown not inferior to his own, has 
 brought him and his terrible "Black Book" again before the 
 World ? That he was celebrated, among other exploits, for raising
 
 RAISING THE DEVIL. 393 
 
 the Devil, we are all well aware ; how he performed this feat, at 
 lea.<t one, and that, perhaps, the most certain method, by which he 
 did it^ is thus described. 
 
 RAISING THE DEVIL. 
 
 A LEGEND OF CORNELIUS AGRIPPA. 
 
 AND hast thou nerve enough 1 " he said, 
 That grey Old Man, above whose head 
 
 Unnumber'd years had roll'd, 
 " And hast thou nerve to view," he cried, 
 " The incarnate Fiend that Heaven defied ? 
 
 Art thou indeed so bold ? 
 
 " Say, canst thou, with unshrinking gaze, 
 Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze 
 
 Of that unearthly eye, 
 That blasts where'er it lights, the breath 
 That, like the Simoom, scatters death 
 
 On all that yet can die ! 
 
 " Darest thou confront that fearful form, 
 That rides the whirlwind, and the storm, 
 
 In wild unholy revel ? 
 The terrors of that blasted brow, 
 Archangel's once, though ruin'd now 
 
 Ay, dar'st thou face THE DEVIL ? " 
 
 " I dare ! " the desperate Youth replied, 
 And placed him by that Old Man's side, 
 
 In fierce and frantic glee, 
 Unblenched his cheek, and firm his limb ; 
 "No paltry juggling Fiend, but HIM ! 
 
 THE DEVIL ! I fain would see ! 
 
 " In all his Gorgon terrors clad, 
 
 His worst, his fellest shape ! " the Lad 
 
 Rejoined in reckless tone. 
 " Have then thy wish ! " Agrippa said, 
 And sigh'd, and snook his hoary head, 
 
 With many a bitter groan. 
 
 He drew the mystic circle's bound, 
 With skull and cross-bones fenc'd around ; 
 He traced full many a sigil there ; 
 He mutter'd many a backward pray'r, 
 That sounded like a curse
 
 394 THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD. 
 
 " He comes ! " he cried, with wild grimace, 
 " The fellest of Apollyon's race ! "- 
 Then in his startled pupil's face 
 He dash'd an EMPTY PURSE ! ! 
 
 One more legend, and then, gentle Reader, " A merry Christmas 
 to you and a happy New Year ! " We have travelled over many 
 lands together, and had many a good-humoured laugh by the way ; 
 if we have, occasionally, been " more merry than wise," at least we 
 have not jostled our neighbours on the road, much less have we 
 kicked any one into a ditch. 
 
 So wishing you heartily all the compliments of the season, and 
 thanking you cordially for your good company, I, Thomas Ingolclsby, 
 bid you heartily farewell, and leave you in that of 
 
 SAINT MEDARD. 
 
 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. 
 
 " Heus tu ! inquit Diabolus, hei miM ! fessis iusuper hnmeris reponenda 
 est sarcina ; fer opem quseso ! " 
 
 " Le Diable a des vices ; c'est la ce qui le perd. II est gourmand. II 
 eut dans cette minute-la 1'idee de joindre 1'ame de Medard aux autres anies 
 qn'il allait emporter. Se rejeter en arriere, saisir de sa main droite son 
 poignard, et en percer 1'outre avec une violence, et tine rapidite formidable, 
 c'est ce que fit Medard. Le Diable poussa un grand cri. Les ames delivri-s 
 s'enfuirent par Tissue que le poignard venait de leur ouvrir, laissant dans 
 1'outre leurs noirceurs, leurs crimes, et leurs nu'chancetes," &c. &c. 
 
 IN good king Dagobert's palmy days, 
 When Saints were many, and sins were few, 
 
 Old Nick, 'tis said, Was sore bested 
 One evening, and could not tell what to do. 
 
 He had been East, and he had been West, 
 And far had he journey'd o'er land and sea ; 
 
 For women and men Were warier then, 
 And he could not catch one where he'd now catch three. 
 
 He had been North, and he had been South, 
 From Zembla's shores unto far Peru, 
 
 Ere he fill'd the sack Which he bore on his back 
 Saints were so many, and sins so few !
 
 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. 395 
 
 The way was long, and the day was hot ; 
 His wings were weary ; his hoofs were sore ; 
 
 And scarce could he trail His nerveless tail, 
 As it furrowed the sand on the Red Sea shore ! 
 
 The day had been hot, and the way was long ; 
 Hoof-sore, and weary, and faint was he ; 
 
 He lower'd his sack, And the heat of his lad: 
 As he leaned on a palm-trunk, blasted the tree I 
 
 He sat himself down in the palru-tree's shade, 
 And he gazed, and he grinn'd in pure delight, 
 
 As he peep'd inside The buffalo's hide 
 He had sewn for a sack, and had cramm'd so tight. 
 
 For, though he'd " gone over a good deal of ground," 
 And game had been scarce, he might well report 
 
 That still he had got A decentish lot, 
 And had had, on the whole, not a bad day's sport. 
 
 He had pick'd up in France a Mattre de Danse, 
 A Maltresse en titre, two smart Grisettes, 
 
 A Courtier at play, And an English Roue' 
 Who liad bolted from home without paying his debts. 
 
 He had caught in Great Britain a Scrivener's clerk, 
 A Quaker, a Baker, a Doctor of Laws, 
 
 And a Jockey of York But Paddy from Cork 
 " Desaved the ould divil," and slipp'd through his claws ! 
 
 In Moscow, a Boyar knouting his wife 
 A Corsair's crew, in the Isles of Greece 
 
 And, under the dome Of St. Peter's, at Rome, 
 He had snapp'd up a nice little Cardinal's Niece. 
 
 He had bagg'd an Inquisitor fresh from Spain 
 A mendicant Friar of Monks a score ; 
 
 A grave Don or two, And a Portuguese Jew, 
 Whom he nabb'd while clipping a new Moidore. 
 
 And he said to himself, as he lick'd his lips, 
 
 "Those nice little Dears ! what a delicate roast ! 
 
 Then, that fine fat Friar, At a very quick fire, 
 Dress'd like a Woodcock, and serv'd on toast ! " 
 
 At the sight of tit-bits so toothsome and choice 
 Never did mouth water more than Nick's ; 
 
 But, alas ! and alack ! He had stuff d his sack 
 So full that he found himself quite " in a fix : "
 
 39G THE LAY OF ST. MED All 1>. 
 
 For, all lie could do, or all he could say, 
 When, a little recruited, he rose to go, 
 
 Alas ! and alack ! He could not get the sack 
 Up again on his shoulders " whether or no ! " 
 
 Old Nick look'd East, old Nick look'd West, 
 With many a stretch, and with many a strain, 
 
 He bent till his back Was ready to crack, 
 And he pull'd and he tugg'd, but he tugg'd in vain. 
 
 Old Nick look'd North, old Nick look'd South ; 
 Weary was Nicholas, weak, and faint, 
 
 And he was aware Of an old man there, 
 In Palmer's weeds, who look'd much like a Saint. 
 
 Nick eyed the Saint, then lie eyed the Sack 
 The greedy old glutton ! and thought, with a grin, 
 " Dear heart alive ! If I could but contrive 
 To pop that elderly gentleman in ! 
 
 " For, were I to choose among all the ragottts 
 The cuisine can exhibit flesh, fowl, or fish, 
 
 To myself I can paint, That a barbecued Saint 
 Would be for my palate the best side-dish ! "- 
 
 Now St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile, 
 In a Pyramis fast by the lone Red Sea. 
 
 (We call it " Semiramis," Why not say Pyramis ? 
 Why should we change the S into a D ?) 
 
 St. Medard, he was a holy man, 
 A holy man I ween was he, 
 
 And even by day, When he went to pray, 
 He would light up a candle, that all might see ! 
 
 He salaam'd to the East, He salaam'd to the West ; 
 Of the gravest cut, and the holiest brown 
 
 Were his Palmer's weeds, And he finger'd his beads 
 With the right side up, and the wrong side down. 
 
 (Hiatus in MSS. valde deflendus.) 
 
 St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile ; 
 He had been living there years fourscore, 
 
 And now, " taking the air, And saying a pray'r," 
 He was walking at eve on the Red Sea shore.
 
 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. 397 
 
 Little he deem'd that Holy man ! 
 
 Of Old Nick's wiles, and his fraudful tricks, 
 When he was aware Of a Stranger there, 
 Who seem'd to have got himself into a fix. 
 
 Deeply that Stranger groan'd and sigh'd, 
 
 That wayfaring Stranger, grisly and grey : 
 
 " I can't raise my sack On my poor old back ! 
 Oh ! lend me a lift, kind Gentleman, pray ! 
 
 " For I have been East, and I have been West, 
 Foot-sore, weary, and faint am I, 
 
 And, unless I get home Ere the Curfew borne, 
 Here in this desert I well may die ! " 
 
 " Now Heav'n thee save ! " Nick winced at the words, 
 As ever he winces at words divine 
 
 "Now Heav'n thee save ! What strength I have, 
 It's little, I wis, shall be freely thine ! 
 
 " For foul befall that Christian man 
 Who shall fail, in a fix, woe worth the while ! 
 
 His hand to lend To foe, or to friend, 
 Or to help a lame dog over a stile ! " 
 
 St. Medard hath boon'd himself for the task : 
 To hoist up the sack he doth well begin ; 
 
 But the fardel feels Like a bag full of eels, 
 For the folks are all curling, and kicking within. 
 
 St. Medard paused he began to " smoke ~- 
 For a Saint, if he isn't exactly a cat, 
 
 Has a very good nose, As this world goes, 
 And not worse than his neighbour's for " smelling a rat. 1 ' 
 
 The Saint look'd up, and the Saint look'd down ; 
 He " smelt the rat," and he " smoked " the trick ; 
 
 When he came to view His comical shoe, 
 He saw in a moment his friend was Nick 1 
 
 He whipp'd out his oyster-knife, broad and keen 
 A Brummagem blade which he always bore, 
 To aid him to eat, By way of a treat, 
 The " natives " he found on the Bed Sea shore j
 
 398 THE LA Y OF ST. MEDARD. 
 
 He wliipp'd out his Brummagem blade so keen, 
 And lie made three slits in the Buffalo's hide, 
 
 And all its contents, Through the rents, and the vents, 
 Came tumbling out, and away they all hied ! 
 
 Away went the Quaker, away went the Baker, 
 Away went the Friar that fine fat Ghost, 
 
 Whose marrow Old Nick Had intended to pick, 
 Dress'd like a Woodcock, and served on toast ! 
 
 Away went the nice little Cardinal's Niece, 
 And the pretty Grisettes, and the Dons from Spain, 
 
 And the Corsair's Crew, And the coin-clipping Jew, 
 And they scamper'd, like lamplighters, over the plain ! 
 
 Old Nick is a black-looking fellow at best, 
 Ay, e'en when he's pleased ; but never before 
 
 Had he look'd so black As on seeing his sack 
 Thus cut into slits on the Eed Sea shore. 
 
 You may fancy his rage, and his deep despair, 
 When he saw himself thus befool' d by one 
 
 Whom, in anger wild, He profanely styled 
 " A stupid old snuff-colour'd Son of a gun ! " 
 
 Then his supper so nice ! that had cost him such pains 
 Such a hard day's work now "all on the go '. '' 
 
 'Twas beyond a joke, And enough to provoke 
 The mildest and best-temper'd Fiend below ! 
 
 Nick snatch'd up one of those great big stones, 
 Found in such numbers on Egypt's plains, 
 
 And he hmi'd it straight At the Saint's bald pate, 
 To knock out "the gruel he call'd his brains." 
 
 Straight at his pate he hurl'd the weight, 
 
 The crushing weight of that great big stone ; 
 But Saint Medard Was remarkably hard 
 And solid about the parietal bone. 
 
 And though the whole weight of that great big stone 
 Came straight on his pate, with a great big thump, 
 
 It fail'd to graze The skin, or to raise 
 On the tough epidermis a lump, or bump !
 
 THE LEGEND OP ST. MEDARD, 
 
 399
 
 A LEGEND OF AFRIC. 401 
 
 As the hail bounds off from the pent-house slope, 
 As the cannon recoils when it sends its shot, 
 
 As the finger and thumb Of an old woman come 
 From the kettle she handles, and finds too hot ; 
 
 -Or, as you may see, in the Fleet, or the Bench, 
 Many folks do in the course of their lives, 
 
 The well-struck ball Rebound from the wall, 
 When the Gentlemen jail-birds are playing at " fives : " 
 
 All these, and a thousand fine similes more, 
 Such as all have heard of, or seen, or read 
 
 Recorded in print, May give you a hint 
 How the stone bounced off from St. Medard's head ! 
 
 And it curl'd, and it twirl'd, and it whirl'd in air, 
 As this great big stone at a tangent flew ! 
 
 Just missing his crown, It at last came down 
 Plump upon Nick's Orthopedical shoe ! 
 
 Oh ! what a yell and a screech were there ! 
 How did he hop, skip, bellow, and roar ! 
 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear ! "- You might hear him here, 
 Though we're such a way off from the Red-Sea shore ! 
 
 It smash'd his shin, and it smash'd his hoof, 
 Notwithstanding his stout Orthopedical shoe ; 
 
 And this is the way That, from that same day, 
 Old Nick became what the French call Boiteux I 
 
 Quakers, and Bakers, Grisettes, and Friars, 
 And Cardinal's Nieces, wherever ye be, 
 
 St. Medard bless ; You can scarcely do less 
 If you of your corps possess any esprit. 
 
 And, mind and take care, yourselves, and beware 
 How you get in Nick's buffalo bag ! if you do, 
 I very much doubt If you'll ever get out, 
 Now sins are so many, and Saints so few ! ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Gentle Reader, attend To the voice of a friend ! 
 And if ever you go to Herne Bay or Southend, 
 Or any gay Wat'ring-place outside the Nore, 
 Don't walk out at eve on the lone sea-shore ! 
 Unless you're too Saintly to care about Nick, 
 And are sure that your head is sufficiently thick ! 
 2 r>
 
 402 THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD. 
 
 Learn not to be greedy ! and, when you've enough, 
 Don't be anxious your bags any tighter to stuff 
 llecollect that good fortune too far you may push, 
 And, " A BIRD IN THE HAND is WORTH TWO IN THE BCSH ! " 
 Then turn not each thought to increasing your store, 
 Nor look always like " Oliver asking for more ! " 
 
 Gourmandise is a vice a sad failing, at least ; 
 So remember " Enough is as good as a feast ! " 
 And don't set your heart on "stew'd," "fried," "boil'd," or 
 J< roast," 
 Nor on delicate " Woodcocks served up upon toast ! " 
 
 Don't give people nick-names ! don't, even in fun, 
 
 Call any one " snuff-coloured son of a gun ! " 
 
 Nor fancy, because a man nous seems to lack, 
 
 That, whenever you please, yon can " give him the sack ! " 
 
 Last of all, as you'd thrive, and still sleep in whole bones, 
 
 IF YOU'VE ANY GLASS WINDOWS, NEVER THROW STONES ! ! !
 
 THIRD SERIES.
 
 Ingoltr^ig 
 
 THIRD SERIES. 
 
 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 
 
 A LEGEND OP LANGUEDOC. 
 
 Veluti iii speculum. 
 
 Theatre Royal Cov. Gard. 
 
 COUNT RAYMOND rules in Languedoc, 
 
 O'er the champaign fair and wide, 
 With town and stronghold many a one, 
 Wash'd by the wave of the blue Garonne, 
 And from far Auvergne to Rousillon, 
 
 And away to Narbonne, 
 
 And the mouths of the Rhone ; 
 And his Lyonnois silks and his Narbonne honey, 
 Bring in his lordship a great deal of money. 
 
 A thousand lances, stout and true, 
 Attend Count Raymond's call ; 
 And Knights and Nobles, of high degree, 
 From Guienne, Provence, and Burgundy, 
 Before Count Raymond bend the knee, 
 And vail to him one and all. 
 
 And Isabel of Arragon 
 
 He weds, the Pride of Spain, 
 You might not find so rich a prize, 
 A Dame so " healthy, wealthy, and wise ; " 
 So pious withal with such beautiful eyes 
 So exactly the Venus de Medicis' size 
 
 In all that wide domain.
 
 406 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 
 
 Then his cellar is stored As well as his board, 
 With the choicest of all La Belle France can afford ; 
 Chambertin, Chateau Margaux, La Eose, and Lafitte, 
 With Moet's Champagne, " of the Comet year," " neat 
 As imported," "fine sparkling," and not over sweet ; 
 While his Chaplain, good man, when call'd in to say Grace, 
 Would groan, and put on an elongated face 
 At such turtle, such turbot, John Dory, and plaice ; 
 Not without blushing, pronouncing a benison, 
 Worthy old soul ! on such rery fat venison, 
 
 Sighing to think Such victuals and drink 
 Are precisely the traps by which Satan makes men his own, 
 
 And grieving o'er scores Of huge barbecued Boars, 
 Which lie thinks should not darken a Christian man's door?, 
 Though 'twas all very well Pagan Poets should rate 'em 
 As "Animal propter convivia natum" 
 
 He was right, I must say, For at this time of day, 
 When we're not so precise, whether cleric or lay, 
 With respect to our food, as in time so passtf, 
 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 pudding and think more of piety." 
 
 As to his clothes, Oh ! nobody knows 
 What lots the Count had of cloaks, doublets, and hose, 
 
 Pantovfles, 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 orcilks 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 walk'd the Parades, 
 The Crescents, the Squares, and the fine Colonnades, 
 And the other gay places, which young ladies use 
 As their promenade through the good town of Thoulouse. 
 
 He was tired of hawking, and fishing, and hunting, 
 Of billiards, short- whist, chicken-hazard, and punting ;
 
 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. 407 
 
 Of popping at pheasants, Quails, woodcocks, and peasants : 
 Of smoking, and joking, And soaking, provoking 
 Such headaches next day As his fine St. Peray, 
 Though the best of all Rhone wines can never repay, 
 Till weary of Avar, 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 ! " 
 
 Meanwhile his sweet Countess, so pious and good, 
 
 Such pomps and such vanities stoutly eschew'd, 
 
 With all fermented liquors and high-seasoned food, 
 
 Deviled kidneys, and sweetbreads, and ducks and green peas : 
 
 Baked sucking-pig, goose, and all viands like these, 
 
 Hash'd calf s-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, vintner.'?, and all of that trade, 
 And to bring in sherbet, ginger-pop, lemonade, 
 Eau sucrtfe, and drinkables mild and home made ; 
 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 corduroys, 
 And she boxes their ears when they make too much noise ; 
 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 place, 
 To entail on her ladyship further expenses, 
 In greeting with honour befitting his station 
 The Prior of Aries, with a Temperance Legation, 
 Despatched 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
 
 408 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 
 
 Of cold water " without " and he'd take such a lot of it ; 
 
 None of your sips That just moisten the lips ; 
 At one single draught he'd toss off a whole pot of it, 
 
 No such bad thing By the way, if they bring 
 It you iced, as at Verrey's, or fresh from the spring, 
 When the Dog Star compels folks in town to take wing, 
 Though I own even then I should see no great sin in it, 
 Were there three drops of Sir Felix's gin in it. 
 
 Well, leaving the lady to follow her pleasure, 
 
 And finish the pump with the Prior at leisure, 
 
 Let's go back to Raymond, still bored beyond measure, 
 
 And harping away On the same dismal lay, 
 " Oh dear ! what will become of us 1 
 
 Oh dear ! what can we do 1 
 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 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 " Ha ! " Rigmaree gave a " Hem ! " 
 They look'd at Count Raymond Count Raymond at them, 
 As much as to say, " Have you nihil ad rem ?" 
 
 At length Baron Proser Responded, " You know, sir, 
 That question's some time been a regular poser ; 
 
 Dear me ! Let me see, In the way of a ' spree ' 
 
 Something new 1 Eh ! No ! Yes ! N ! '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, 
 With his hand to his heart and his eye to the ground, 
 Shakes his head as if nothing was there to be found. 
 
 " I can only remark, That as touching a ' lark ' 
 I'm as much as your Highness can be, in the dark ;
 
 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOO. 409 
 
 I can hit on no novelty none, on my life, 
 Unless, peradventure you'd ' tea ' with your wife ! " 
 
 Quoth Eaymond, " 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 1 faith I can't see the wit of it ; 
 
 Mart de ma vie ! 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-quis ! 
 Put your conjuring cap on consider and see, 
 If you can't beat that stupid old ' Sumph ' with his ' tea ! ' ;; 
 
 " That's the thing ! that will do ! Ay, marry, that's new ! " 
 Cries Rigmaree, rubbing his hands, " that will please 
 My ' Conjuring cap' it's the thing ; it's 'the cheese ! ' 
 It was only this morning I picked up the news ; 
 Please your Highness a Conjuror's come to Thoulouse ; 
 
 I'll defy you to name us A man half so famous 
 For devildoms, Sir, it's the great Nostradamus ! 
 Cornelius Agrippa 'tis said went to school to him, 
 Gyngell's an ass. and old Faustus a fool to him, 
 Talk of Lilly, Albertus, Jack Dee ! pooh ! all six 
 He'd soon put in a pretty particular fix ; 
 Why, he'd beat at digesting a sword, or ' Gun tricks ' o 
 The great Northern Wizard himself all to sticks ! 
 
 I should like to see you, Try to sauter le coup 
 With this chap at short whist, or unlimited loo, 
 By the Pope you'd soon find it a regular ' Do : ' 
 Why, he does as he likes with the cards, when he's got 'em, 
 There's always an Ace or a King at the bottom ; 
 Then for casting Nativities 1 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 how, early last summer, he 
 Warned 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 you're Highness may wish to be up to, and more ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! capital ! come, let's disguise ourselves quick ! 
 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 Rigmaree, you're a Brick ! "
 
 410 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 
 
 The moon in gentle radiance shone 
 
 O'er lowly roof and lordly bower, 
 
 O'er holy pile and armed tower, 
 And danced upon the blue Garonne : 
 Through all that silver'd city fair, 
 No sound disturbed the calm, cool air, 
 
 Save the lover's sigh alone ! 
 Or where, perchance, some slumberer's nose 
 Proclaim'd the depth of his repose, 
 Provoking from connubial toes 
 
 A hint or elbow bone ; 
 
 It might, with such trifling exceptions, be said, 
 That Thoulouse was as still as if Thoulouse were dead, 
 And her " oldest inhabitant " buried in lead. 
 
 But hark ! a sound invades the ear, 
 
 Of horses' 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, 
 That is I'm assured they are not having tried. 
 
 See, now they stop Near an odd-looking shop, 
 A.nd 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-ribbed oaken door, old and grey, 
 In the pale moonlight gives, slowly, way. 
 
 They leave their steeds to a 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, armed with a lamp that just helps you to see 
 
 How uncommonly dark a place can be, 
 
 The grimmest of lads with the grimmest of grins, 
 
 Says, " Gentlemen, please to take care of your shins ! 
 
 Who ventures this road need be firm on his pins ! 
 
 Now turn to the left now turn to the right 
 
 Now a step now stoop now again upright 
 
 Now turn once again, and directly before ye 
 
 's the door of the great Doctor's Labora-tory." 
 
 A word ! a blow ! And in they go ! 
 No time to prepare, or to get up a show, 
 Yet everything there they find quite comme il faut : 
 Such as queer-looking bottles and jars in a row, 
 Retorts, crucibles, such as all Conjurors stow
 
 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC. 411 
 
 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. 
 
 Looking solemn and wise, Without turning his eye?, 
 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 roquejaure, not over- tight, 
 Is marked with strange characters much, if not quite, 
 Like those on the bottles of green and blue light 
 Which you see in a chymist's shop- window at night. 
 His figure is tall and erect rather spare about 
 Ribs, and no wonder such folks never care about 
 
 Eating or drinking, While reading and thinking, 
 Don't fatten his age might be sixty or thereabout. 
 
 Raising his eye so grave and so sage, 
 
 From some manuscript work of a bygone age, 
 
 The seer very composedly turns down the page, 
 
 Then shading his sight, With his hand from the light, 
 Says, " Well, Sirs, what would you at this time of night 1 
 What brings you abroad these lone chambers to tread, 
 When all sober folks are at home and abed 1 " 
 
 " Trav'lers we, In our degree, 
 
 All strange sights we fain would see, 
 
 And hither we come in company ; 
 We have far to go, and we come from far, 
 Through Spain and Portingale, France and Navarre ; 
 
 We have heard of your name, 
 
 And your fame, and our aim, 
 Great Sir, is to witness, ere yet we depart 
 From Thoulouse, and to-morrow at cock-crow we start 
 Your skill we would fain crave a touch of your art ! " 
 
 " Now naye, now nave 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 Mirer-grin's ; 
 Faith, clever boys both, but you can't humbug me !
 
 412 THE LORD OF THOULOUSti. 
 
 No matter for that ! I sec what you'd be at 
 
 Well pray no delay, For it's late, and ere day 
 I 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 ii"l. 
 
 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 living ] 
 
 Rigmaree, what say you, in This cas'e, as to viewing 
 Our spouses, and just ascertain what they're doing?'"' 
 "Just what pleases your Highness I don't care a sous in 
 The matter but don't let old Nick and his crew in ! " 
 " Agreed ! pray 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 turned 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 jokus ! 
 
 Hi Cocolorum don't provoke us ! 
 
 Adesto ! Presto ! Put forth your best toe ! " 
 And many more words, to repeat which would choke us, 
 Such a sniff then of brimstone ! it did not last long, 
 Or they could not have borne it, the smell was so strong. 
 
 A mirror is near, So large and so 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 'em 
 The room Lady Isabel called her "Sanctorum." 
 
 They start, well they might, With surprise at the sight, 
 Methinks I hear some lady say, " Serve 'em right ! :!
 
 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE.
 
 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOG. 415 
 
 For on one side the fire Is seated the Prior, 
 
 At the opposite corner a fat little Friar ; 
 Bjr the side of each gentleman, easy and free, 
 .Sits a lady, as close as close well may be, 
 She might almost as well have been perch'd on his knee. 
 
 Dear me ! dear me ! Why, one's Isabel she 
 On the opposite side's La Marquise Rigmaree ! 
 
 To judge from the spread On the board, you'd have said 
 That the partie quarre'e had like aldermen fed, 
 And now from long flasks, with necks covered with lead, 
 They were helping themselves to champagne, white and red 
 
 Hobbing and nobbing, 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 Rigmaree 
 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 aAvay ! " 
 They have, neither, the least inclination to stay, 
 E'en to thank Nostradamus, or ask what's to pay. 
 
 They rush down the stair, How, they know not, nor care, 
 The next moment the Count is astride on his bay, 
 And my Lord Rigmaree on his mettlesome grey ; 
 
 They dash through the town, Now up, and now down, 
 And the stones rattle under their hoofs as they ride, 
 As if poor Thoulotise were as mad as Cheapside ; l 
 
 Through lane, alley, and street, 
 
 Over all that they meet ; 
 
 The Count leads the way on his courser so fleet, 
 My Lord Rigmaree close pursuing his beat, 
 With the Page in the rear to protect the retreat. 
 Where the bridge spans the river, so wide and so deep, 
 Their headlong career o'er the causeway they keep, 
 Upsetting the Watchman, two dogs, and a Sweep, 
 All the town population that was not asleep. 
 They at length reach the castle, just outside the town, 
 Where in peace it was usual with Knights of renown 
 The portcullis was up, and the drawbridge was down. 
 They dash by the sentinels " France et Tlioulouse I " 
 EVry soldier ( they theif wore cock'd hats and long queue*, 
 1 " The stones did rattle underneath, 
 As if Cheapside were mad." 
 
 Cfilpin's Tour in Middlesex and Herts.
 
 416 THE LORD OF THOULOUSE. 
 
 Appendages banish'd from modern reviews), 
 
 His arquebus lower'd, and bow'd to his shoes ; 
 
 While Count Raymond pushed 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 ever before 
 He had rapped with his knuckles, and " tirled at the pin," 
 Till he heard the soft sound of his Lady's " Come in ! '' 
 But now, with a kick from his iron-heel'd boot, 
 Which, applied to a brick wall, at once had gone through't, 
 
 He dash'd open the lock ; It gave way at the shock ! 
 ( Dear ladies, don't think, in recording the fact, 
 That your bard's for one moment defending the act, 
 No it is not a gentleman's none but a low body 
 Now could perform it) and there he saw NOBODY ! ! 
 
 Nobody 1 No ! ! Oh, ho ! Oh, ho ! 
 There was not a table there was not a chair 
 Of all that Count Raymond had ever seen there 
 (They'd maroon-leather bottoms well stuff d with horse-hair), 
 
 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 tablecloth 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 remained 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 ! 
 Notwithstanding he cross- and re-question' d them so, 
 'Twas in vain it was clearly a case of " No Go ! " 
 
 " Their Lady," they said, " Had gone early to bed, 
 Having rather complain'd of a cold in her head 
 The stout little Friar, as round as an apple, 
 Had pass'd the whole night in a vigil in chapel, 
 While the Prior himself, as he'd usually done, 
 Had rung in the morning, at half-after one, 
 For his jug of cold water and twopenny bun, 
 And been visible, since they were brought him, to none. 
 
 But," the servants averr'd, 
 
 " From the sounds that were heard 
 To proceed now and then from the father's sacellum, 
 
 They thought he was purging His sins with a scourging, 
 And making good use of his knotted flayellum"
 
 A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOO. 417 
 
 For Madame Rigmaree, They all testified, she 
 Had gone up to her bed-chamber soon after tea, 
 And they really supposed that there still she must be, 
 
 Which her spouse, the Mar-quis, 
 
 Found at once to agree 
 With the rest of their tale, when he ran up to see. 
 
 Alack for Count Raymond ! he could not conceive 
 How the case really stood, or know u-hat to believe ; 
 Nor could Rigmaree settle to laugh or to grieve. 
 
 There was clearly a hoax, 
 
 But which of the folks 
 
 Had managed to make them the butt of their jokes, 
 Wife or Wizard, they both knew no more than Jack Nokes ; 
 
 That glass of the Wizard's 
 
 Stuck much in their gizzards, 
 His cap, and his queer cloak all X's and Izzards ; 
 Then they found, when they came to examine again, 
 Some slight falling 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 Isabel's pardon 
 Next morning for waking her up in a fright, 
 By the racket he'd kicked up at that time of night ; 
 And gave her his word he had ne'er misbehaved so, 
 Had he not come home as tipsy as David's sow. 
 Still, to give no occasion for family snarls, 
 The Friar was pack'd back to his convent at Aries, 
 
 While as for the Prior, At Raymond's desire, 
 The Pope raised his rev'rence a step or two higher, 
 And made him a Bishop in partibus 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 I say 'twas a good many miles from Thoulouse, 
 Where the prelate, in order to set a good precedent, 
 Was enjoined, as a sine qud 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 Rigmaree, 
 There was something or other a trifling degree 
 Of constraint or embarrassment easy to see, 
 And which seem'd to be shared by the noble Mar-quis, 
 While the ladies the queerest of all things by half in 
 My tale, never met from that hour without laughing ! 
 2 E
 
 418 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Good gentlemen all, who are subjects of Hymen, 
 Don't make new acquaintances rashly, but try men, 
 Avoid above all things your cunning (that's sly) men ! 
 Don't go out o' nights To see conjuring sleights, 
 But shun all such people, delusion whose trade is ; 
 Be wise ! stay at home and take tea with the ladies. 
 
 If you chance to be out, At a " regular bout," 
 And get too much of " Abbot's Pale Ale" or "Brown Stout," 
 Don't be cross when you come home at night to your spouse, 
 Xor be noisy, nor kick up a dust in the house ! 
 
 Be careful yourself, and admonish your sons, 
 To beware of all folks who love twopenny buns ! 
 And don't introduce to your wife or your daughter 
 A sleek, meek, weak gent who subsists on cold water ! 
 
 The main incident recorded in the following excerpta from our 
 family papers has but too solid a foundation. The portrait of 
 Eoger Ingoldsby is not among those in the gallery, but I have- 
 son^ recollection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answer- 
 ing the description here given of him, much injured, and lying 
 without a frame in one of the attics. 
 
 THE WEDDING-DAY; 
 
 OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE. 
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 
 
 IT has a jocund sound, 
 That gleeful Marriage chime, 
 As from the old and ivied tower, 
 It peals, at the early Matin hour, 
 
 Its merry, merry round ; 
 And the Spring is in its prime, 
 
 And the Song-bird, on the spray, 
 Trills from his throat, in varied note, 
 An emulative lay 
 
 It has a joyous sound ! !
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 419 
 
 And the Vicar is there with his wig and his book, 
 And the Clerk with his grave, gitast-sanctified look, 
 And there stand the Village maids all with their posies, 
 Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses, 
 
 Dight in white, A comely sight, 
 Fringing the path to the left and the right ; 
 From our nursery days we all of us know 
 Ne'er doth "Our Ladye's garden grow" 
 So fair for a " Grand Horticultural Show " 
 As when border'd with " pretty maids all on a row." 
 And the urchins are there, escap'd 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, 
 Bo-peeping 'midst " many a mouldering heap " in 
 Whose bosom their own " rude forefathers " are sleeping ; 
 Young rascals ! instead of lamenting and weeping, 
 
 Laughing and gay, A gorge deploye'e 
 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 Chaplin, Durand, err, 
 See the " Rationale" 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 rdle. 
 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, and side by side,
 
 420 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and prWd, 
 And cousins, a great many times removed. 
 A fairer or a gentler She, 
 A lovelier Maid, in her degree, 
 Man's eye might never hope to see, 
 Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby, 
 The flow'r of that goodly company ; 
 While whispering low, with bated voice, 
 Close by her side, her heart's dear choice, 
 Walks Fredville's hope, young Valentine Boys. 
 
 But where, oh where, Is Ingoldsby's heir ? 
 Little Jack Ingoldsby 1 where, oh where ? 
 
 Why, he's here, and he's there, And he's every where 
 He's there, and he's here ; In the front in the roar, 
 Now this side, now that side, now far, and now near 
 The Puck of the party, the darling " pet " boy, 
 Full of mischief, and fun, and good humour and joy ; 
 With his laughing blue eye, and his cheek like a rose, 
 And his long curly locks, and his little snub nose ; 
 In his tunic, and trousers, and cap there he goes ! 
 Now pinching the bridesmen, 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 prolonged salute, 
 Or of how the blithe " College Youths," rather old stagers, 
 Accustom'd, for years, to pull bell ropes for wagers 
 Rang, faster than ever, their " triple-bob-MAJORS ; " 
 
 (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,"
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 421 
 
 But which Gods, who, it seems, vise a different lingo 
 From Mortals, are wont to denominate " Stingo." 
 
 Spare we to tell of the Horse-collar grinning ; 
 
 The Cheese ! the reward of the ugly one winning ; 
 
 Of the young ladies racing for Dutch body-linen, 
 
 The soapy-tailed Sow, a rich prize when you've caught her, 
 
 Of little hoys hobbing for pippins in water ; 
 
 The smacks and the whacks, And the jumpers in sacks, 
 These down on their noses and those on their backs ; 
 Xor skills it to speak of those darling old ditties, 
 Sung rarely in hamlets now never in cities, 
 The "King and the Miller," the " Bold RoUn Hood," 
 " Chevy Chase," " Gilderoy," and the "Babes in the Wood !" 
 
 You'll say that my taste Is sadly misplaced, 
 But I can't help confessing these simple old tunes 
 The " Auld Robin Grays" and the " Aileen Aroons," 
 The " Gramachree Mollys," and " Su'eet Bonny Doons" 
 
 Are dearer to me, In a tenfold degree, 
 Than a fine/antasid from over the sea ; 
 And, for sweetness, compared with a Beethoven fugue, are 
 As "best-refined loaf" to the coarsest "brown sugar j" 1 
 Alack, for the Bard's want of science ! to which he owes 
 All this misliking of foreign capricios ! 
 
 Not that he'd say One word, by the way, 
 To disparage our new Idol, Monsieur Duprez 
 But he grudges, he owns, his departed half guinea, 
 Each Saturday night when, devoured by chagrin, he 
 Sits listening to singers whose names end in ini. 
 
 But enough of the rustics let's leave them pursuing 
 Their out-of-door gambols, and just take a view in 
 The inside the Hall, and see what they are doing ; 
 
 And first there's the Squire, The hale, hearty Sire 
 Of the Bride, with his coat-tails subducted and higher, 
 A thought, than they're commonly wont to aspire ; 
 His back and his buckskins exposed to the fire ; 
 Bright, bright are his buttons, and bright is the hue 
 Of his squarely-cut coat of fine Saxony blue ; 
 And bright the shalloon of his little quilled 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 
 
 Ad Amicum, Servicntem ad legem 
 
 This rhyme, if, when scann'd by your critical ear, it 
 Is not quite legitimate, comes pretty near it. T. I.
 
 422 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 By the portly projection tliat springs from las chest, 
 Overhanging the garment that can't be exprest ; 
 
 White, white are his locks, which, had Nature fair play, 
 Had appeared a clear brown, slightly sprinkled with grey ; 
 But they're white as the peaks of Plinlimmon to-day, 
 
 Or Ben Nevis, his pate is si Uen poudrd ! 
 
 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 belov'd One the pride 
 
 And delight of his heart, sever'd now from his side ; 
 But brighter than all, Arresting its fall, 
 
 Is the smile, that rebukes it for spangling at all, 
 
 A clear case, in short, of what old Poets tell, as 
 Blind Homer for instance, tv J>xx,pvai 
 
 Then, there are the Bride and the Bridegroom, withdrawn 
 To the deep Gothic window that looks on the lawn, 
 Ensconced on a squab of maroon- coloured leather, 
 And talking and thinking, no doubt of the weather. 
 
 But here comes the party Room ! room for the guests ! 
 In their Pompadour coats, and laced ruffles, and vests, 
 
 First, Sir Charles Grandison, Baronet, and his Son, 
 Charles, the Mamma does not venture to " show "- 
 
 Miss Byron, you know, She was call'd long ago 
 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 d mensa, 
 
 So he " 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 bijouterie and hair Poles, 
 Whom Lord Dudley Stuart calls " Patriot," Hook "Bare 
 Poles;"
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 423 
 
 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 Roger de Coverley, Mr. Will Ramble, 
 With Dame Lismahago, (ne'e Tabitha Bramble), 
 Mr. Random 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 Muff Green, 
 Mr. Jonathan W. Doubikins, men 
 " Influential some" and their " smart " Uncle Ben ; 
 Rev. Abraham Adams (preferr'd to a stall), 
 Mr. Jones and his Lady, from Allworthy Hall ; 
 
 Our friend Tom, by the way, Had turn'd out rather gay 
 For a married man certainly " people did say" 
 He was shrewdly suspected of using his wife ill, 
 A.nd being as sly as his half-brother Blifil. 
 (Miss Seagrim, 'tis well known, was now in high feather, 
 And " people did say" they'd been seen out together, 
 A fact, the " Boy Jones," who, in our days, with malice 
 Aforethought, so often got into the Palace, 
 Would seem to confirm, as, 'tis whispered 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 filled the back ground, And among whom were found 
 The elite of the old County families round, 
 Such as Honeywood, Oxenden, Knatchbull, and Norton, 
 Matthew Robinson, 1 too, with his beard from Monk's Horton, 
 The Faggs, and Finch-Hattons, Tokes, Derings, and Deedses, 
 And Fairfax, (who then called the castle of Leeds his ;) 
 
 Esquires, Knights, and Lords, In bag-wigs and swords ; 
 
 And the troops, and the groups Of fine Ladies in hoops ; 
 The pompoons, the toiipe'es, and the diamonds and feathers, 
 
 The flowered-silk aacques 
 
 Which they wore on their backs, 
 
 How? sacqi/w and pompoms, with the Squire's boots and 
 leathers ? 
 
 1 A worthy and eccentric country gentleman, afterwards the second Lord 
 Rokeby, being cousin ("a great many times removed ") and successor in the 
 barony to Richard, Archbishop of Armagh, wluo first bore that title. His 
 beard was truly patriarchal. Mr. Muntz's pooh !
 
 424 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 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 Eoger de Coverley's laced suit to bring 
 Into contact with square-cut coats, such as George Byng, 
 And poor dear Sir Francis appeared in, last spring. 
 So, having for once been compelled 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 ! 
 
 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 coffee, hot rolls, and hot toast, 
 Cold pigeon-pie (rook ?), and cold boil'd and cold roast, 
 Scotch marmalade, jellies, cold creams, colder ices 
 Blancmange, which young Ladies say, so very nice is, 
 Rock-melons in thick, Pines in much thinner slices, 
 Char, potted with clarified butter and spices, 
 Renewing an appetite long past its crisis 
 Refined barley-sugar, in various devices, 
 Such as bridges, and baskets, and temples, and grottoes 
 And nasty French lucifer snappers with mottoes. 
 In short, all those gimcracks together were met 
 Which people of fashion tell Gunter to get 
 When they give a grand dejeilner a la fourchette 
 (A phrase which, though French, in our language still lingers, 
 Intending a breakfast with forks and not fingers.) 
 And see ! what a mountainous bridecake ! a tiling 
 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,
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 425 
 
 Rubbing his hands, He calls out, as lie stands, 
 To the serving-men waiting "his Honour's" commands, 
 "The wine ! to be sure here you, Hariy 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 bricked up so strong ! " 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear ! Squire Ingoldsby, bethink you what 
 
 you do ! " 
 
 Exclaims old Mrs. Botherby, 1 she is in such a stew ! 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear ! what do I hear 1 full oft you've heard 
 
 ine tell 
 Of the curse ' Wild Roger ' left upon whoe'er should break his 
 
 cell ! 
 
 " Full five-and-twenty years are gone since Roger went away, 
 As I bethink me, too, it was upon this very day ! 
 And I was then a comely dame, and you, a springald gay, 
 Were up and down to London town, at opera, ball, and play ; 
 Your locks were nut-brown then, Squire you grow a little 
 grey ! 
 
 ' ' Wild Roger,' so we call'd him then, your Grandsire's youngest 
 
 son, 
 
 He was in truth A wayward youth, 
 We feared him, every one. 
 
 In ev'ry thing he had his will, he would be stayed 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 Roger' came again, 
 He spoke of forays and of frays upon the Spanish Main ; 
 And ne had store of gold galore, and silks, and satins fine, 
 And flasks and casks of Malvoisie, and precious Gascon wine ! 
 Rich booties he had brought, he said, across the western wave, 
 And came, in penitence and shame, now of his Sire to crave 
 Forgiveness and a welcome home his Sire was in his grave ! 
 
 " Your Father was a kindly man he played a brother's part, 
 He press'd his brother to his breast he had a kindly heart, 
 
 1 Great grandmamma, by the father's side, to the excellent lady of the 
 .same name who yet " keeps the keys " at Tappington.
 
 426 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 Fain would he have him tarry here, their common hearth to 
 
 share, 
 But Koger was the same man still, he 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 ; 1 
 
 But ere he went, And quitted Kent, 
 I well recall the day, 
 
 His flasks and casks of Gascon wine he safely ( stow'd away ; ' 
 Within the cellar's deepest nook, he safely stow'd them all, 
 And Mason Jones brought bricks and stones, and they built 
 
 up the wall. 
 
 " Oh ! then it was a fearful thing to hear ' Wild Roger's ' ban ! 
 Good gracious me ! I never heard the like from mortal man ; 
 ' Here's that,' quoth he, ' shall serve me well when I return at 
 
 last, 
 
 A batter'd hulk, to quaff and laugh at toils and dangers past ; 
 Accurst be he, whoe'er he be, lays hand on gear of mine, 
 Till I come back again from sea, to broach my Gascon wine ! ' 
 And more he said, which filled with dread all those who 
 
 listen'd there ; 
 
 In sooth my very blood ran cold, it lifted up my hair 
 With very fear, to stand and hear ' Wild Roger ' curse and 
 
 swear ! ! 
 He saw my fright, as well he might, but still he made his 
 
 game, 
 He called 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 awhile, give heed to what I tell, 
 Nor break, on such a day as this, ' Wild Roger's ' secret cell ! " 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " quoth the Squire, 
 
 As he mov'd from the fire, 
 And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire, 
 
 " Pooh ! never tell me ! Nonsense fiddle-de-dec ! 
 What ? wait Uncle Roger's return back from sea 1 
 
 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 Barrell 
 I hardly know which, but I think it was Bering, 
 
 1 Azores? Mrs. Botherby's orthography, like that of her distinguished 
 contemporary Baron Duberly, was "a little loose."
 
 THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE.
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 429 
 
 Sent him back in a huff to his old privateering, 
 Or what his unfriends chose to call Buccaneering, 
 It's twenty years since, as we very well know, 
 He was knock'd on the head in a skirmish, and so 
 Why rake up ' auld warld ' tales of deeds long ago ? 
 Foul befall him who would touch the deposit 
 Of living man, whether in cellar or closet ! 
 
 But since, as I've said, Knock'd on the head, 
 Uncle Roger has now been some twenty years dead. 
 
 As for his wine, I'm his heir, and it's mine ! 
 And I'd long ago work'd it well, but that I tarried 
 
 For this very day 
 
 And I'm sure you'll all say 
 
 I was right when my own darling Maud should get married ! 
 So lights and a crow-bar ! the only thing lies 
 On my conscience, at all, with respect to this pri/.e, 
 Is some little compunction anent the Excise 
 
 Come you, Master Jack, 
 
 Be the first, and bring back 
 
 Whate'er comes to hand Claret, Burgundy, Sack 
 Head the party, and mind that you're back in a crack ! " 
 
 Away go the clan, With cup and with can, 
 Little Jack Ingoldsby leading the van ; 
 Little reck they of the Buccaneer's ban : 
 Hope whispers, " Perchance we'll fall in with strong beer too 
 
 here ! " 
 Blest thought ! which sets them all grinning from ear to ear ! 
 
 Through cellar one, through cellars two, 
 Through cellars three they past ! 
 
 And their way they took To the farthest nook 
 Of cellar four the last ! 
 Blithe and gay, they batter awav, 
 On this wedding-day of Maud's, 
 With all their might, to bring to light 
 "Wild Roger's" "Custom-house frauds ! " 
 
 And though stone and brick Be never so thick, 
 When stoutly assailed, 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 ! 
 " Where is he ? now come where's Master John ?" 
 There's a breach in the wall three feet by two, 
 And little Jack Ingoldsby soon pops through !
 
 430 THE WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 Hark ! what sound's that 1 a sob ? a sigh ? 
 The choking gasp of a stifled cry 1 
 
 _What can it be? 
 
 Let's see ! let's see ! 
 It can't be little Jack Ingoldsby 1 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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'd as bodied of foul black air ! 
 
 In Mariner's dress, with cutlass braced 
 
 By buckle and broad black belt, to its waist, 
 
 On a cock'd-hat, laced With gold, and placed 
 
 With a deyagtfe, devil-may-care, kind of taste, 
 
 O'er a balafre brow by a scar defaced ! 
 
 That Form, they said, so foul and so black, 
 
 Grinn'd as it pointed at poor little Jack. 
 
 I know not, I, how the truth may be, 
 
 But the pent-up vapour, at length set free, 
 
 Set them all sneezing, And coughing, and wheezing, 
 As, working its way To the regions of day, 
 
 It, at last, let a purer and healthier breeze in ! 
 
 Of their senses bereft, To the right and the left, 
 Those varlets so lately courageous and stout, 
 There they lay kicking and sprawling about, 
 Like Billingsgate fresh fish, unconscious of ice, 
 Or those which, the newspapers give us advice, 
 Mr. Taylor, of Lombard-street, sells at half-price ; 
 Nearer the door, some half dozen, or more ! 
 
 Scramble away To the rez de 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 the 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, " bleeds, physicks, and sweats 'em." 
 
 All ? a ll_save One " But He ! my Son >. 
 Merciful Heaven ! where WHERE is JOHN V
 
 A FAMILY LEGEND. 431 
 
 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 ! uiy Boy ! my" Boy 1 
 
 Enough ! I may not, dare not, show 
 The wretched Father's frantic woe, 
 The Mother's tearless, speechless No ! 
 I may not such a theme essay 
 Too bitter thoughts crowd in and stay 
 My pen sad memory will have way I 
 Enough ! at once I close the lay, 
 Of fair Maud's fatal Wedding-day ! 
 
 It has a mournful sound, 
 
 That single, solemn Bell ! 
 As to the hills and woods around 
 
 It flings its deep-toned knell ; 
 That measured toll ! alone apart, 
 It strikes upon the human heart ! 
 It has a mournful sound ! 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way, 
 Or you'll leave me as dull as ditch-water all day. 
 Try arid squeeze out a Moral or two from your lay ! 
 And let us part cheerful, at least, if not gay ! 
 
 First and foremost then, Gentlefolks, learn from my song, 
 Not to lock up your wine, or malt-liquor, too long ! 
 
 Though Port should have age, Yet I don't think it sage 
 To entomb it, as some of your connoisseurs do, 
 Till it's losing in flavour, and body, and hue ; 
 I question if keeping it does it much good 
 After ten years in bottle and three in the wood. 
 
 If any young man, though a snubb'd younger brother, 
 When told of his faults by his father and mother, 
 Runs restive, and goes off to sea in a hufl', 
 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 Havanna cigars, or French gloves, or French boots,
 
 432 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 Whatever you want, pay the duty ! nor when you 
 Buy any such articles, cheat the revenue ! 
 
 And "now to conclude," For it's high time I should, 
 When you do rejoice, mind, whatsoever you do, 
 That the hearts of the lowly rejoice with you too ! 
 
 Don't grudge them their jigs, And their frolics and " rigs," 
 And don't interfere with their soapy-tail'd pigs ; 
 Nor "because thou art virtuous," rail, and exhale 
 An anathema, breathing of vengeance and wail, 
 Upon every complexion less pale than sea-kail ! 
 Nor dismiss the poor man to his pump and his pail, 
 With " Drink there ! we'll have henceforth no more cakes and 
 
 ale ! ! " 
 
 Mox Kegina filium peperit a multis optatum et a Deo sanctificatum. 
 Cumque Infans natus fuisset, statim clara voce, omnibus audientibus, clamavit 
 " Christianus sum! Christianus sum! Christianus sum!" Ad hanc vocem 
 Presbyter! duo, Widerinus et Edwoldus, dicentes Deo Oratias, et omnes qui 
 aderant mirantes, cceperunt cantare Te Deum laudamus. Quo facto rogabat 
 Infans cathecumeuum a Widerino sacerdote fieri, et ab Edwoldo teneri ad 
 praesignaculum fidei et Romwoldum vocari. Nov. LEGEND. ANGL. IN VITA 
 SCTI ROMUALDI. 
 
 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 
 
 IN Kent, we are told, There was seated of old, 
 A handsome young gentleman, courteous and bold, 
 He'd an oaken strong-box, well replenish'd with gold, 
 With broad lands, pasture, arable, woodland, and wold, 
 Not an acre of which had been mortgaged or sold ; 
 He'd a Plesaunce and Hall passing fair to behold, 
 He had beeves in the byre, he had flocks in the fold, 
 And was somewhere about five-and-twenty years old. 
 
 His figure and face, For beauty and grace, 
 To the best in the county had scorn'cl to give place. 
 
 Small marvel, then, If, of women and men 
 Whom he chanced to foregather with, nine out of ten 
 Express'd themselves charm'd with Sir Alured Denne.
 
 A LAY 01'' ST. ROMWOLD. 433 
 
 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 Eeader, without any jesting, I 
 So far at least, have accomplished 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 cast 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, 
 But reflect back his blushes, and give sigh for sigh. 
 (A line that's not mine, but Tom Moored, by-the-bye.) 
 
 There was many a gay and trim bachelor near, 
 Who felt sick at heart when the news met his ear, 
 That fair Edith Ingoldsby, she whom they all 
 The " Rosebud of Tappington " ceased not to call, 
 
 Was going to say, " Honour, love, and obey " 
 So Sir Alured Denne, Knight, of Bonnington Hall, 
 That all other suitors were left in the lurch, 
 And the parties had even been " out-asked " in church, 
 
 2F
 
 434 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 For every one says, In those primitive days. 
 And I must own I think it redounds to their praise, 
 None dream'd of transferring a daughter or niece 
 As a bride, by an " unstamp'd agreement," or lease, 
 'Fore a Register's Clerk, or a Justice of Peace, 
 
 While young ladies had fain Single women remain, 
 And unwedded maids to the last "crack of doom" stick, 
 Ere marry, by taking a jump o'er a broomstick. 
 
 So our bride and bridegroom agreed to appear 
 
 At holy St. Romwold's, a Priory near, 
 
 Which a long while before, I can't say in what year, 
 
 Their forebears had join'd with the neighbours to rear, 
 
 And endow'd, some with bucks, some with beef, some with 
 
 beer, 
 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 fill'd in ; 
 (Papistic in substance and form, and on this count 
 With Judge Herbert Jenner Fust justly at discount. 
 See Cambridge Societas Camdeniensis 
 V. Faulkner, tert. prim. Januarii mensis, 
 With "Judgment reversed, costs of suit, and expenses ;") 
 All raised to St. Romwold, with some reason, styled 
 By Duke Humphrey's confessor, 1 " a Wonderful Child," 
 For ne'er yet was Saint, except him, upon earth 
 Who made "his profession of faith" at his birth, 
 And when scarce a foot high, or six inches in girth, 
 Converted his " Ma," and contrived to amend a 
 Sad hole in the creed of his grandsire, King Penda. 
 
 Of course to the shrine Of so young a divine 
 Flow'd much holy water, and some little wine, 
 And when any young folks did to marriage incline, 
 The good friars were much in request, and not one 
 Was more "sought unto" than the Sub-prior, Mess John ; 
 
 To him, there and then, Sir Alured Denne 
 Wrote a three- corner 'd note with a small crow-quill pen. 
 To say what he wanted, and fix " the time when," 
 And, as it's well known that your people of quality 
 Pique themselves justly on strict punctuality, 
 Just as the clock struck the hour he'd nam'd in it, 
 The whole bridal party rode up to the minute. 
 
 1 Honest John Capgrave, the veracious biographer of "English Saints," 
 author, or rather compiler of the " Nova Legenda Angliae," 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. 435 
 
 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 icas 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 peur. 
 The fact is, that many distinguish'd commanders 
 " Swore terribly (teste T. Shandy) in Flanders." 
 Now into these parts our Knight chancing to go, countries 
 Named from this sad, vulgar custom, " The Low Countries," 
 Though on common occasions as courteous as daring, 
 Had pick'd up this shocking bad habit of swearing. 
 And if anything vex'd him, or matters went wrong, 
 Was given to what low folks call " Coming it strong. 
 Good, bad, or 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. 
 Now if there are those, and I've some in my eye, 
 Who'd esteem this a crime of no very deep dye, 
 Let them read on they'll find their mistake by and bye. 
 
 Near or far, Few people there are 
 But have heard, read, or sung about Young Lochinvar, 
 How in Netherby Chapel, " at morning ti<le," 
 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,
 
 436 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 And yet to experience so serious a blight in 
 One's dearest affections, is somewhat exciting. 
 
 'Tis manifest then That Sir Alured Denne 
 Had far less excuse for such bad language, when 
 It was only the Priest not the Bride who was missing 
 He had fill'd up the interval better with kissing. 
 
 And 'twas really surprising, And not very wise in 
 A Knight to go on so anathematising, 
 When the head and the front of the Clergyman's crime 
 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 perched o'er the door, 
 St. Eomwold himself, as I told you before, 
 
 What will scarce be believed, Was plainly perceived 
 To shrug up his shoulders, as very much grieved, 
 
 And look down with 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, seem'd " taken aback." 
 
 In so much that when now The " prime cause of the row," 
 Father John, in the chapel at last made his bow, 
 The Bridegroom elect was so mild and subdued, 
 None could ever suppose he'd been noisy and rude, 
 Or made use of the language to which I allude ; 
 Fair Edith herself, while the knot was a tying, 
 Her bridemaids around her, some sobbing, some sighing, 
 Some smiling, some blushing, half-laughing, 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,
 
 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 437 
 
 When, the rite being over, the fees were all paid, 
 And the party remounting, the whole cavalcade 
 Prepared to ride home with no little parade. 
 
 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 helter-skelter 
 In search of some building or other for shelter. 
 
 Now it seems that the sky, Which had been of a dye 
 As bright and as blue as your lady-love's eye, 
 The season in fact being genial and diy, 
 
 Began to assume An appearance of gloom 
 From the moment the Knight began fidget and fume, 
 Which deepen'd and deepen'd till all the horizon 
 Grew blacker than aught they had ever set eyes on, 
 And soon, from the far west the elements' rumbling 
 Increased, and kept pace with Sir Alured's grumbling, 
 
 Bright flashes between, Blue, red, and green, 
 All livid and lurid began to be seen ; 
 At length down it came a whole deluge of rain, 
 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. Romwold's church door, 
 Had scarce gain'd a mile, or a mere trifle more, 
 
 Ere the whole of the crew Were completely wet through.
 
 438 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 They dasli'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 frighteii'd 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, 
 Reins, traces, bits, breechings were all of no use ; 
 If the Pylian Sage, without any delay, 
 
 Had not whipp'd them sharp round and away from the fray, 
 They'd have certainly upset his cabriolet, 
 And there'd been the a name I won't mention to pay. 
 
 Well, the Knight in a moment recovered his seat, 
 
 Mr. Widdicombe'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 Widdicombe, then 
 
 In the heyday of life, had afforded some ten 
 
 Or twelve lessons in riding to Alured Denne, 
 
 It is certain the Knight Was so agile and light 
 That an instant sufficed him to set matters right, 
 Yet the Bride was by this time almost out of sight ; 
 For her palfrey, a rare bit of blood, who could trace 
 Her descent from the " pure old Caucasian race," 
 
 Sleek, slim, and bony, as Mr. Sidonia's 
 
 Fine " Arab Steed " Of the very same breed, 
 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."
 
 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 4.?9 
 
 " More fleet than the roe-Luck," and free as the wind, 
 
 She had left the good company rather behind ; 
 
 They whipp'd and they spurr'd, and they after her prest, 
 
 Still Sir Alured's steed was " by long chalks " the best 
 
 Of the party, and very soon distanced the rest ; 
 
 But long ere e'en he had the fugitive near'd, 
 
 She dash d into the wood and at once disappear'd ! 
 
 It's a " fashions " affair when you're out on a ride, 
 
 Ev'n supposing you're not in pursuit of a bride, 
 
 If you are it's more fashions, which can't be denied, 
 
 And you come to a place where three cross-roads divide 
 
 Without any way-post, stuck up by the side 
 
 Of the road, to direct you and act as a guide, 
 
 With a road leading here, and a road leading there, 
 
 And a road leading no one exactly knows where. 
 
 When Sir Alured came In pursuit of the dame 
 To a fork of this kind, a three-prong'd one small blame 
 To his scholarship if in selecting his way 
 His respect for the Classics now led him astray ; 
 But the rule, in a w r ork I won't stop to describe, is 
 In media semper tutissimus ibis, 
 
 So the Knight being forced of the three paths to enter one, 
 Dash'd, with these words on his lips, down the centre one. 
 
 Up and down hill, Up and down hill, 
 Through brake and o'er briar he gallops on still 
 Aye, banning, blaspheming, and cursing his fill 
 At his courser because he had given him a " spill ; " 
 
 Yet he did not gain ground On the palfrey, the sound, 
 On the contrary, made by the hoofa 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 ; 
 For his steed, though a freer one ne'er had a shoe on, 
 Stood fix'd as the Governor's nag in " Don Juan," 
 Or much like the statue that stands, cast in copper, a 
 Few yards south-east of the door of the Opera, 
 Save that Alured's horse had not got such a big tail, 
 While Alured wanted the cock'd hat and pig-tail. 
 
 Before him is seen A diminutive Green 
 Scoop'd out from the covert a thick leafy screen 
 Of wild foliage, trunks with broad branches between 
 Encircle it wholly, all radiant and sheen, 
 For the weather at once appear'd clear and serene, 
 And the sky up above was a bright mazarine, 
 Just as though no such tiling as a tempest had been,
 
 440 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 In short it was one of those sweet little places 
 In Egypt and Araby known as " oases." 
 
 There, under the shade That was made by the glade, 
 The astonish'd Sir Alured sat and survey'd 
 A little low building of Bethersden stone, 
 With ivy and parasite creepers o'ergrown, 
 
 A Sacellum, or cell, In which Chronicles tell 
 Saints and anchorites erst were accustom'd to dwell ; 
 A little round arch, on which, deeply indented, 
 The zig-zaggy pattern by Saxons invented 
 Was cleverly chisell'd, and well represented, 
 
 Surmounted a door, Some five feet by four, 
 It might have been less or it might have been more, 
 In the primitive ages they made these things lower 
 Than we do in buildings that had but one floor. 
 
 And these Chronicles say When an anchorite gray 
 Wish'd to shut himself up and keep out of the way, 
 He was commonly wont in such low cells to stay, 
 And pray night and day on the rez de 
 
 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 ; 
 
 In fact, from his christening, according to rumour, he 
 
 Beat Mr. Brummell to sticks, in perfumery. 1 
 
 " Sir Alured Denne ! " Said the Saint, " be atten- 
 tive ! Your ancestors, all most respectable men, 
 Have for some generations been vot'ries of mine ; 
 They have bought 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 Syne.' 
 And I now come to tell you, your cursing and swearing 
 Have reach'd to a pitch that is really past bearing. 
 
 1 In eodem autem prato in quo baptizatus Sanctus Komualdus nunquam 
 gratissimus odor deficit ; neque ibi lierbas pallescunt, sed semper in viriditate 
 permanentes magna nectaris suavitate redolent. Nov. Legend. Anyl.
 
 A. LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 441 
 
 'Twere a positive scandal In even a Vandal, 
 It ne'er should be done, save with bell, book, and candle : 
 And though I've now learn'd, as I've always suspected, 
 Your own education's been somewhat neglected ; 
 Still, you're not such an uninformed 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 as a 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 lip, 
 
 I'll soon make you rue it ! I've said it I'll do it ! 
 ' Forewarned is forearmed,' you shan't say but you knew it ; 
 Whate'er you hold dearest or nearest your heart, 
 I'LL TAKE IT AW AT, if I come in a cart ! 
 I will, on my honour ! you know 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 ! I'll do't if I don't, I'm a Dutchman ! " 
 
 He ceased he was gone as he closed his harangue, 
 And some one inside shut the door with a bang ! 
 
 Sparkling with dew, Each green herb anew 
 Its profusion of sweets round Sir Alured threw, 
 As pensive and thoughtful he slowly withdrew, 
 (For the hoofs of his horse had got rid of their glue,) 
 And the 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 
 'Twixt the odour of garlic and bouquet du Roi. 
 
 Merrily, merrily sounds the horn, 
 And cheerily ring the bells ; 
 
 For the race is run, The goal is won, 
 The little lost mutton is happily found, 
 The Lady of Bonnington's safe and sound 
 
 In the Hall where her new Lord dwells ! 
 Hard had they ridden, that company gay, 
 After fair Edith, away and away :
 
 442 THE BLASPHEMERS WARNING. 
 
 This had slipp'd hack 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 lie'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 whole group had foregathered 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 Denne 
 Let a word fall from his lip or his pen 
 That began with a D, or left off with an N ! 
 
 Once, and once only, when put in a rage, 
 
 By a careless young rascal he'd hired as a Page, 
 
 All buttons and brass, Who in handling a glass 
 Of spiced hippocras, throws It all over his clothes, 
 And spoils his best pourpoint, and smartest trunk hose, 
 While stretching his hand out to take it and quaff it (he 
 'd given a rose noble a yard for the taffety), 
 Then, and then only, came into his head 
 A very sad word that began with a Z, 
 But he check'd his complaint, 
 He remember'd the Saint, 
 
 In the nick Lady Denne was beginning to faint 
 That sight on his mouth acted quite as a bung, 
 Like Mahomet's coffin, the shocking word hung 
 Half-way 'twixt the root and the tip of his tongue. 
 
 Many a year Of mirth and good cheer 
 Flew over their heads, to each other more dear 
 Every day, they were quoted by peasant and peer 
 As the rarest examples of love ever known, 
 Since the days of Le Chivaler D'Arbie and Joanne, 
 Who in Bonnington chancel lie sculptured in stone.
 
 A LAY OF ST. BOM WOLD. 443 
 
 Well it happen'd at last, After certain years past, 
 That an embassy came to our court from afar 
 From the Grand-duke of Muscovy now call'd the Czar, 
 And the Spindleshank'd Monarch, determined to do 
 All the grace that he could to a Nobleman, who 
 Had sail'd all that way from a country which few 
 In our England had heard of, and nobody 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 fine things, Such as Kings say to Kings 
 When each tries to humbug his dear Royal Brother, in 
 Hopes by such " gammon " to take one another in 
 
 King Longshanks, I say, Being now on his way 
 Bound for France, where the rebels had kept him at bay 
 
 Was living in clover At this time at Dover 
 I' the castle there, waiting a tide to go over. 
 
 He had summon'd, I can't tell you how many men, 
 Knights, nobles, and squires to the wars of Guienne, 
 And among these of course was Sir Alured 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, 1 and their bright chain-mail tights 
 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 ordered at once for a score, 
 Or more, of the corps that had just come on shore, 
 And the King, though he thought it " a bit of a bore, 
 
 Ask'd all the dite Of his lev& 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 fidgetty looks 
 Of Robert de Burghersh, the constables, cooks ; 
 1 This silk, of great repute among our ancestors, had been brought home, a 
 few years before, by Edward, from the Holy Land.
 
 444 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 For of course the cuisine Of the King and the Queen 
 Was behind them at London, or Windsor, or Sheene, 
 Or wherever the Court ere it started had been, 
 
 And it's really no jest, When a troublesome guest 
 Looks in at a time when you're busy and prest, 
 Just going to fight, or to ride, or to rest, 
 And expects a good lunch when you've none ready drest. 
 
 The servants no doubt Were much put to the rout 
 By this very extempore sort of set out, 
 But they wisely fell back upon Poor Kichard'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 Denne'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 Dapifer, Eudo (or Tide), 
 They lighted the town up, sat ringing the bells, 
 And borrow'd the waiters from all the hotels. 
 A bright thought, moreover, came into the head 
 Of Dapifer Eudo, who'd some little dread, 
 As he said, for the thorough success of his spread. 
 So he said to himself, " What a thing it would be 
 
 Could I have here with me Some one two or three 
 Of their outlandish scullions from over the sea ! 
 It's a hundred to one if the Suite or their Chief 
 Understand our plum-puddings, and barons of beef ; 
 But with five minutes' chat with their cooks or their valets 
 We'd soon dish up something to tickle their palates ! " 
 With this happy conceit for improving the Mess, 
 Pooh-poohing expense, he dispatch'd an express 
 In a waggon and four on the instant to Deal, 
 Who dash'd down the hill without locking the wheel, 
 And, by means which I guess but decline to reveal, 
 Seduced from the Downs, where at anchor their vessel rode, 
 Lumpoff Icywitz, serf to a former Count Nesselrode, 
 
 A cook of some fame, Who invented the same 
 Cold pudding that still bears the family name. 
 This accomplish'd, the Chef's peace of mind was restor'd 
 And in due time a banquet was placed on the board 
 " In the very best style," which implies in a word 
 "All the dainties the season" (and king) "could afford." 
 There were snipes, there were rails, 
 There were woodcocks and quails, 
 There were peacocks served up in their pride (that is tails),
 
 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 445 
 
 Fricandeau, fricassees, Ducks and green peas, 
 Cotelettes a I'Indienne, and chops a la Soubise 
 (Which last you may call " onion sauce " if you please), 
 
 There were barbecu'd pigs Stuff d with raisins and figs, 
 Omelettes and lutricots, 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, Bourdeaux, 
 
 Marasquin, Curacoa, Kirchen Wasser, Noyeau, 
 And Gin which the company voted " No Go ; " 
 
 The guests all hob-nobbing, And bowing and bobbing ; 
 Some prefer white wine, while others more value red, 
 
 Few, a choice few, Of more orthodox gotit, 
 Stick to " old crusted port," among whom was Sir Alured ; 
 Never indeed at a banquet before 
 Had that gallant commander enjoy'd himself more. 
 
 Then came " sweets " served in silver were tartlets and pies 
 
 in glass 
 
 Jellies composed of punch, calves' feet, and isinglass, 
 Creams, and whipt-syllabubs, some hot, some cool, 
 Blancmange, and quince-custards, and gooseberry fool. 
 And now from the good taste which reigns it's confest 
 In a gentleman's, that is an Englishman's, breast, 
 And makes him polite to a stranger and guest, 
 They soon play'd the deuce 
 With a large Charlotte Russe ; 
 
 More than one of the party dispatched his plate twice 
 With " I'm really ashamed, but another small slice ! 
 Your dishes from Russia are really so nice ! " 
 Then the prime dish of all ! " There was nothing so good in 
 
 The whole of the Feed " One and all were agreed, 
 " As the great Lumpoff Icy witz' Nesselrode pudding ! " 
 Sir Alured Denne, who'd all day, to say sooth, 
 Like lago, been " plagued with a sad raging tooth," 
 Which had nevertheless interfered very little 
 With his what for my rhyme I'm obliged to spell vittle, 
 
 Requested a friend Who sat near him to send 
 Him a spoonful of what he heard all so commend, 
 And begg'd to take wine with him afterwards, grateful 
 Because for a spoonful he'd sent him a plateful. 
 Having emptied his glass he ne'er balk'd it or spill'd it 
 The gallant Knight open'd his mouth and then fill'd it !
 
 446 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 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 eyes ! 
 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, 
 
 The short, half-stifled shriek from the chair on the right, 
 
 Where the Lady of Bonnington sat by her Knight ; 
 
 And very few saw some the number was small, 
 
 In the large ogive window that lighted the hall, 
 
 A small stony Saint in a small stony pall, 
 
 With a small stony mitre, and small stony crosier, 
 
 And small stony toes that owed nought to the hosier, 
 
 Beckon stonily downward to some one below, 
 
 As Merryman says, " for to come for to go ! " 
 
 While every one smelt a delicious perfume 
 
 That seem'd to pervade every part of the room ! 
 
 Fair Edith Denne, The lonne et belle then, 
 Never again was beheld among men ! 
 But there was ihefauteuil on which she was placed, 
 And there was the girdle that graced her small waist, 
 And there was her stomacher brilliant with gems, 
 And the mantle she wore, edged with lace at the hems, 
 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 !
 
 A LAY OF ST. ROMWOLD. 447 
 
 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 offered 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, Archaeologists 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 sheep-skins- 
 He, too, like the rest was accustom'd to do so ; 
 His beard, as no barber came near liim, too, grew so, 
 He bore some resemblance to Robinson Crusoe, 
 In Houndsditch, I'm told, you'll sometimes see a Jew so. 
 
 He 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 marked with an A and a D. 
 
 Alas ! for the glories of Bonnington Hall 1 
 Alas, for its splendour 1 alas for its fall ! 
 
 Long years have gone by Since the trav'ler might spy 
 Any decentish 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 the chair? 
 And the tables to rights, would oft pop unawares 
 In one of the parlours, or galleries, or stairs.
 
 448 THE BLASPHEMER'S WARNING. 
 
 On a tall female figure, or find her, i'ar horrider, 
 Slowly o' nights promenading the corridor ; 
 But whatever the hour, or wherever the place, 
 No one could ever get sight of her face! 
 
 Nor 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 clouds 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 ornde 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-furnished room in his ancestors' Hall, 
 Then left the old Mansion to stand or to fall, 
 Having previously barr'd up the windows and gates, 
 To avoid paying sesses and taxes and rates, 
 And settled on one of his other estates, 
 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 down 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, 
 " Perierunt," as some one says, " etiam ruince." 
 
 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, 
 Whatever you do, have your eye on the joint ! 
 Keep clear of side dishes, don't meddle with those 
 Which the servants in livery, or those in plain clothes, 
 Poke over your shoulders and under your nose ; 
 Or, if you must live on the fat of the land, 
 And feed on fine dishes you don't understand,
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS 2 BECKET. 449 
 
 Buy a good book of cookery ! I've a compact one, 
 
 First rate of the kind, just brought out by Miss Acton, 
 
 This will teach you their names, the ingredients they're made of, 
 
 And which to indulge in, and which be afraid of, 
 
 Or else, ten to one, between ice and cayenne, 
 
 You'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 your pardon, 
 And don't snub the parson, the clerk, or churchwarden ! 
 
 To married men this For the rest of your lives, 
 Think how your misconduct may act on your wives ! 
 Don't swear then before them, lest haply they faint, 
 Or what sometimes occurs run away with a Saint I 
 
 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 
 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 is 
 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 I'm going to prose 
 O'er Queen Eleanor's wrongs, or Miss Rosamond's woes, 
 With the dagger and bowl, and all that sort of thing. 
 Not much to the credit of Miss, Queen, or King. 
 2o
 
 450 THE BROTHERS OF BIRGHINGTON. 
 
 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 occurred 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 Herne Bay 
 And Margate, the place where you're going to stay, 
 A village called Birchington, fam'd 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 brown, 
 A little bald patch on the top of his crown. 
 
 His bright sparkling eye Was of hazel, and nigh 
 Rose a finely arch'd eyebrow of similar dye, 
 He'd a small, well-formed mouth with the Cupidon lip 
 And an aquiline nose, somewhat red at the tip. 
 
 In doors and out He was very devout, 
 With his Aves and Paters and oh, such a knout ! ! 
 For his self-flagellations ! the Monks used to say 
 He would wear out two penn'orth of whip-cord a day ! 
 
 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.
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A REGRET. 451 
 
 In brief, I don't stick To declare Father Dick 
 So they call'd him, "for short" was a " Regular Brick," 
 A metaphor taken I have not the page aright 
 Out of an ethical work by the Stagyrite. 
 
 Now Nature, 'tis said, Is a comical jade, 
 And among the fantastical tricks she has play'd, 
 Was the making our good Father 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-arch'd sourcil of similar dye ; 
 He'd a small, well-shaped mouth, with a Cupidon lip, 
 And a good Roman nose, rather red at the tip. 
 
 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 sport, 
 And High Jinks going on night and day at " the Court," 
 Where Sir Robert, instead of devotion and charity, 
 Spent all his time in unseemly hilarity. 
 
 He drinks and he eats Of choice liquors and meats, 
 And he goes out on We'n'sdays and Fridays to treats, 
 Gets tipsy whenever he dines or he sups, 
 And is wont to come quarrelsome home in his cups. 
 
 No Paters, no Aves ; An absolute slave he's 
 To tarts, pickled salmon, and sauces, and gravies ; 
 While as to his beads what a shame in a Knight ! 
 He really don't know the wrong end from the right 1 
 
 So, though 'twas own'd then By nine people in ten, 
 That " Robert and Richard were two pretty men," 
 Yet there the praise ceased, or, at least the good Priest 
 Was consider'd the "Beauty," Sir Robert the "Beast."
 
 452 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. 
 
 Indeed, I'm afraid More might have been laid 
 To the charge of the Knight than was openly said, 
 For then we'd no " Phiz's," no " H. B.'s," nor "Leeches," 
 To call Roberts " Bobs," and illustrate their speeches. 
 
 'Twas whisper'd he'd rob, Nay murder ! a job 
 Which would stamp him no " Brick," but a " Regular Snob,'' 
 (An obsolete term, which, at this time of day, 
 We should probably render by Mauvais &tjet.) 
 
 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 aufati, 
 
 Of course, when he heard What his people averr'd 
 Of Sir Robert's proceedings in deed and in word, 
 He asked for the ledger, and hastened 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 cetera, set down in Sir Robert'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 Levybub here ! " and he filled up a writ 
 Of " Ca sa" duly prefaced with " Limbo to wit." 
 
 " Here Levybub, quick ! " To his bailiff, said Nick, 
 " I'm ' ryled,' and ' my dander's up,' ' Go a-head slick ' 
 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, 
 Ralph, Robert, or Richard ? they've not gone so far, 
 Our critturs have put it down merely as ' R.' 
 
 " But he's tall arid upright, About six feet in height, 
 His complexion, I reckon, you'd calculate light, 
 And he's farther ' set down ' having ringlets of brown, 
 With a little bald patch on the top of his crown.
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BUCKET. 453 
 
 " 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 
 Of soon grabbing his man, and be back in a crack ! " 
 
 That same afternoon, Father Dick, who as soon 
 Would "knock in" or "cut chapel" as jump o'er the moon. 
 Was missing at vespers at compline all night ! 
 And his monks were, of course, in a deuce of a fright. 
 
 Morning dawn'd 'twas broad day, 
 
 Still no Prior ! the tray 
 
 With his muffins and eggs went untasted away ; 
 He came not to luncheon all said, " it was rum of him ! ; 
 None could conceive what on earth had become of him. 
 
 They examined his cell, They peep'd down the well ; 
 They went up the tow'r, and looked 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 fall'n over the cliff ? tumbled into the sea ? " 
 " Stay he talk'd," exclaimed one, " if I recollect right, 
 Of making a call on his brother, the Knight ! " 
 
 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 seem'd to threaten a serious tfmeute, 
 When, just in the midst of the uproar and racket, 
 Who should walk in but St. Thomas a Becket.
 
 454 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. 
 
 Quoth his saintship, " How now ? 
 
 Here's a fine coil, I trow ! 
 
 I should like to know, gentlemen, what's all this row ? 
 Mr. Wickliffe or Wackliffe whatever your name is 
 And you, Mr. May'r, don't you know, Sirs, what shame is 1 
 
 " Pray what's all this clatter 
 
 About 1 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, 
 " J Tis all dickey with poor Father Dick he's no more ! " 
 
 " How ! what ? " says the saint, 
 
 " Yes he is no he ain't l 
 
 He can't be deceased pooh ! it's merely a faint, 
 Or some foolish mistake which may serve for our laughter, 
 ' He should have died,' like the old Scotch Queen, ' hereafter.' 
 
 " His time is not out ; Some blunder, no doubt, 
 It shall go hard but what I'll know what it's about 
 I sha'n't be surprised if that scurvy Old Nick's 
 Had a hand in't ; it savours of one of his tricks." 
 
 When a crafty old hound Claps his nose to the ground. 
 Then throws it up boldly, and bays out, " I've found ! " 
 And the Pack catch the note, I'd as soon think to check it. 
 As dream of bamboozling St. Thomas a Becket. 
 
 Once on the scent, To business he went, 
 "You Scoundrel, come here, Sir," ('twas Nick that he meant,) 
 " Bring your books here this instant bestir yourself do, 
 I've no time to waste on such fellows as you." 
 
 Every corner and nook In all Erebus shook, 
 As he struck on the pavement his pastoral crook, 
 All its tenements trembled from basement to roofs, 
 And their nigger inhabitants shook in their hoofs. 
 
 Hanging his ears, Yet dissembling his fears, 
 Ledger in hand, straight " Auld Hornie " appears, 
 "With that sort of half-sneaking, half- impudent look, 
 Bankrupts sport when cross-question'd by Cresswell or Cooke. 
 
 " So Sir-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 1 
 
 1 Cantise for " is not ; " St. Thomas, it seems, had lived long enough in the 
 country to pick up a few of its provincialisms.
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET. 455 
 
 " Now, none of your lies, Mr. Nick ! I'd advise 
 You to tell me the truth without any disguise, 
 Or-r-r ! " The Saint, while his rosy gills seem'd to grow rosier, 
 Here gave another great thump with his Crosier. 
 
 Like a small boy at Eton, Who's not quite a Crichton, 
 And don't know his task but expects to be beaten, 
 Nick stammer'd, scarce knowing what answer to make, 
 " Sir, I'm sadly afraid here has been a mistake. 
 
 " These things will occur, We are all apt to err, 
 The most cautious sometimes as you know, holy Sir ; 
 For my own part I'm sure I do all that I can 
 But the fact is I fear we have got the wrong man." 
 
 " Wrong man ! " roar'd the Saint 
 
 But the scene I can't paint, 
 
 The best colours I have are a vast deal too faint 
 Nick afterwards own'd that he ne'er knew what fright meant, 
 Before he saw Saint under so much excitement. 
 
 " Wrong man ! don't tell me Pooh ! fiddle-de-dee ! 
 What's your right, Scamp, to 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 ! " 
 
 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, 
 Enough to have eked out a decent-sized volume 1 
 
 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! you call this/" he exclaimed in a searching 
 
 tone, 
 " This ! ! ! the account of my friend Dick de Birchington ! " 
 
 " Why," said Nick, with an air 
 
 Of great candour, " it's there 
 Lies the awkwardest part of this awkward affair 
 I thought all was right see the height tallies quite, 
 The complexion's what all must consider as light ;
 
 466 THE BROTHERS OF BIRCHINGTON. 
 
 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 
 I don't know I can't tell how the accident came, 
 But some how I own it's a very sad job, 
 But my bailiff grabb'd Dick when he should have nabb'd Bob. 
 
 " I am vex'd beyond bounds 
 You should have such good grounds 
 For complaint ; I would rather have given five pounds, 
 And any apology, Sir, you may choose, 
 I'll make with much pleasure, and put in the news." 
 
 " An apology ! pooh ! Much good that will do ! 
 An 'apology' quoth a ! and that too from you ! 
 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 
 Snr son stant and, what was as wondrous as pleasing, 
 At once began coughing, and snifting, and sneezing. 
 
 While, strange to relate, The Knight, whom the fate 
 Of his brother had reach'd, and who'd knocked at the gate, 
 To make further enquiries, 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 Hicjacet 
 That sentence which man his mortality teaches 
 Sir Eobert had disappear^!, body and breeches ! 
 
 " Heyday ! Sir, heyday ! What's the matter now eh ? :: 
 Quoth A'Becket, observing the gen'ral dismay, 
 " How, again ! 'pon my word this is really too bad ! 
 It would drive any Saint in the calendar mad. 
 
 " What, still at your tricking ? You will have a kicking ? 
 I see you won't rest till you've got a good licking 
 Your claim, friend ? what claim ? why you show'd me before 
 That your old claim was cancell'd you've crossed 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 tip a new one ? 
 
 Of the thousands you've cheated And scurvily treated, 
 Name one you've dared charge with a bill once receipted !
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BECKET. 457 
 
 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, drat him ! 
 Stand out of the way there, and let me get at him ! " 
 
 The Saint raised his arm, But Old Nick, in alarm, 
 Dash'd up through the skylight, not doing much harm, 
 While, quitte pour la peur, the Knight, sound on the whole, 
 Down the chimney came tumbling as black as a coal ! 
 
 Spare we to tell Of what after befell ! 
 How the Saint lectured Eobert de Birchington well, 
 Bade him alter his life, and held out as a warning 
 The narrow escape he'd made on't that morning. 
 
 Nor need we declare How, then and there, 
 The Jury and Coroner blew up the May'r 
 For his breach of decorum as one of the 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 St. Thomas a Becket, whose reverend pate 
 Fitzurse and De Morville, and Brito and Tracy 
 Shaved off, as his crown had been merely a jasey. 1 
 
 Suffice it to say, From that notable day 
 The " Twin Birchington Brothers " together grew gray : 
 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. 
 
 1 Nee satis fuit eis sanguine sacerdotis et nece ecclesiam prophanare, nisi, 
 corona capitis amputata, funestis gladiis jam defuncti ejicerent cerebrum. 
 Matt. Paris.
 
 458 THE BROTHERS OF BIRVHINGTON. 
 
 One spot alone Of all he had known 
 Of his spacious domain he retain'd as his own, 
 In a neighbouring parish, whose name, I may say, 
 Scarce any two people pronounce the same way. 
 
 Re-cwZ-ver some style it, While others revile it 
 As bad, and say .Re-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 Regulbium. 
 
 Call't as you will, The Traveller stiU, 
 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 believe but I really don't know. 
 
 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 Robert 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, 
 
 When the cordage and tackling 
 
 Are flapping and crackling, 
 
 And the boy with the bell Thinks it useless to tell 
 You that " dinner's on table," because you're unwell ; 
 
 When above you all's " scud," And below you the flood 
 Looks a horrible mixture of soap-suds and mud, 
 When the timbers are straining, 
 And folks are complaining, 
 The dead-lights are letting the spray and the rain in, 
 
 When the helm's-man looks blue, And Captain Large too, 
 And you really don't know what on earth you shall do.
 
 A LAY OF ST. THOMAS A BEGKET. 459 
 
 In this hubbub and row, Think where you'd be now 
 Except for the Birchington boys and their vow ! 
 And while o'er the wide wave you feel the craft pitch hard, 
 $rjti* for ge zotohs at globectte anb 
 
 MOBAL. 
 
 It's a subject of serious complaint in some houses, 
 With young married men who have elderly spouse?, 
 That persons are seen in their figures and faces, 
 With very queer people in very queer places, 
 So like them that one for the other's oft taken, 
 And conjugal confidence thereby much shaken : 
 Explanations too often are thought mere pretences, 
 And Richard gets scolded for Eobert's offences. 
 
 In a matter so nice, If I'm ask'd my advice, 
 I say copy King Henry to obviate that, 
 And stick something remarkable up in your hat ! 
 
 Next, observe, in this world where we've so many cheats, 
 
 How useful it is to preserve your receipts ! 
 
 If you deal with a person whose truth you don't doubt, 
 
 Be particular, still, that your bill is cross'd out ; 
 
 But, with any inducement to think him a scamp, 
 
 Have a formal receipt on a regular stamp I 
 
 Let every gay gallant my story who notes, 
 
 Take warning, and not go on " sowing wild oats ! " 
 
 Nor depend that some friend Will always attend, 
 And by " making all right " bring him off in the end ; 
 He may be mistaken, so let him beware, 
 St. Thomas & Beckets are now rather rare. 
 
 Last of all, may'rs and magistrates, never be rude 
 To juries ! they are people who won't be pooh-pooh'd ! 
 Especially Sandwich ones no one can say 
 But himself may come under their clutches one day ; 
 
 They then may pay off In kind any scoff, 
 And, turning their late verdict quite " ivisey Mersey," 
 " Acquit you," and not " recommend you to mercy." 1 
 
 1 At a Quarter Sessions held at Sandwich, (some six miles from Birchington,) 
 on Tuesday the 8th of April last, before W. F. Boteler, Esq., the recorder, 
 Thomas Jones, mariner, aged 17, was tried for stealing a jacket, value ten 
 shillings. The jury, after a patient hearing, found him "not guilty," and 
 "recommended him to mercy." See the whole case reported in the "Kentish 
 Observer," April 10, 1845.
 
 460 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 
 
 A DOMESTIC LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNK. 
 
 " Hail, wedded love ! mysterious tie ! " 
 
 Thomson or Somebody. 
 THE Lady Jane was tall and slim, 
 
 The Lady Jane was fair, 
 
 And Sir Thomas, her Lord, was stout of limb, 
 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'rywhere hail'd with the loudest acclaim ; 
 And wherever they went, or wherever they came, 
 
 Far and wide, The people cried, 
 Huzza ! for the Lord of this noble domain, 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! Huzza ! once again ! 
 
 Encore ! Encore ! One cheer more ! 
 All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain 
 To Sir Thomas the Good, and the Fair Lady Jane ! ! 
 
 Now Sir Thomas the Good, Be it well understood, 
 Was a man of 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, All agree, 
 
 Look'd less like her Mari, 
 As he walk'd by her side, than her Pdre, 1 
 
 1 My friend, Mr. Hood, 
 
 In his comical mood, 
 
 Would have probably styled the good Knight and his Lady 
 Him " Stern-old and Hopkins," and her " Tete and Braidy."
 
 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. 461 
 
 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, 
 Really demanded some sort of apology ; 
 
 No doubt, it would vex One half of the sex 
 To see their own husband, in horrid green " specs," 
 Instead of enjoying a sociable chat, 
 Still poking his nose into this and to that, 
 At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat, 
 
 Or great ugly things, All legs and wings, 
 With nasty long tails arm'd with nasty longs stings ; 
 And they'd join such a log of a spouse to condemn, 
 
 One eternally thinking, And blinking, and winking 
 At grubs, when he ought to be winking at them. 
 
 But no ! oh no ! 'Twas by no means so 
 With the Lady Jane Ingoldsby she, far 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. 
 
 Tout au contraire, No lady so fair 
 Was e'er known to wear more contented an air ; 
 And, let who would call, every day she was there, 
 Propounding receipts for some delicate fare, 
 Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple, or pear, 
 Or distilling strong waters, or potting a hare, 
 Or counting her spoons and her crockery- ware ; 
 Or else, her tambour-frame before her, with care 
 Embroidering a stool or a back for a chair, 
 With, needle-work roses, most cunning and rare, 
 Enough to make less-gifted visitors stare, 
 
 And declare, where'er They had been, that, " they ne'er 
 In their lives had seen aught that at all could compare 
 With dear Lady Jane's housewifery that they would swear." 
 
 Nay more ; don't suppose With such doings as those 
 This account of her merits must come to a close ; 
 No ; examine her conduct more closely, you'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,
 
 462 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 
 
 Her cousin, fourteen-times removed, as you'll see 
 If you look at the Ingoldsby family tree, 
 In "Burke's Commoners," vol. xx. page 53. 
 
 All tha papers I've read agree, Too, with the pedigree, 
 Where, among the collateral branches, appears 
 "Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusileers;" 
 And I doubt if you'd find in the whole of his clan 
 A more highly-intelligent, worthy young man ; 
 
 And there he'd be sitting, While she was a-knitting, 
 Or hemming, or stitching, or darning and fitting, 
 Or putting " a gore," or a " gusset," or " bit" in, 
 Beading aloud, with a very grave look, 
 Some very " wise saw " from some very good book, 
 
 Some such pious divine as St. Thomas Aquinas : 
 
 Or, equally charming, The works of Bellarmine ; 
 
 Or else he unravels The " voyages and travels " 
 Of Hackluytz (how sadly these Dutch names do sully verse !) 
 Purchas's, Hawksworth's, or Lemuel Gulliver's, 
 Not to name others, 'mongst whom there are few so 
 Admired as John Bunyan, and Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 No matter who came, It was always the same, 
 The Captain was reading aloud to the Dame, 
 Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, 
 They were almost as wise as Sir Thomas himself. 
 
 Well, it happened one day, I really can't say 
 The particular month ; but I think 'twas in May, 
 'Twas, I know, in the Spring-time, when " Nature looks gay," 
 As the Poet observes, and on tree-top and spray 
 The dear little dickey-birds carol away ; 
 When the grass is so green, and the sun is so bright, 
 And all things are teeming with life and with light, 
 That the whole of the house was thrown into affright, 
 For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight ! 
 
 It seems he had taken A light breakfast bacon, 
 An egg with a little broiled 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 eau de vie, 
 Which with nine out of ten would perhaps disagree. 
 
 In fact, I and my son Mix " black " with our " Hyson,' 1 
 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,
 
 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. 463 
 
 And his " specs " with the tortoiseshell rim, and his cane 
 
 With the crutch-handled top, which he used to sustain 
 
 His steps in his walks, 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 euphonous clang 
 At five folks kept early hours then and the "Last" 
 Ding-dongM, as it ever was wont, at half-past, 
 
 While Betsey, and Sally, And Thompson, the Vakt, 
 And every one else was beginning to bless himself, 
 Wondering the Knight had not come in to dress himself. 
 Quoth Betsey, " Dear me ! why, the fish will be cold ! " 
 Quoth Sally, " Good gracious ! how ' Missis ' will scold ! " 
 
 Thompson, the Valet, Look'd gravely at Sally, 
 As who should say " Truth must not always be told ! " 
 Then, expressing a fear lest the Knight might take cold, 
 Thus exposed to the clews, 
 Lambs'-wool stockings, and shoes, 
 
 Of each a fresh pair, He put down to air, 
 And hung a clean shirt to the fire on a chair. 
 
 Still the Master was absent the Cook came and said, " he 
 Much fear'd, as the dinner had been so long ready, 
 
 The roast and the boil'd Would be all of it spoil'd, 
 And the puddings, her Ladyship thought such a treat, 
 He was morally sure, would be scarce fit to eat ! " 
 
 This closed the debate " 'Twould be folly to wait," 
 Said the Lady. " Dish up ! Let the meal be served straight ; 
 And let two or three slices be put on a plate, 
 And keep hot for Sir Thomas. He's lost, sure as fate ! 
 And, a hundred to one, won't be home till it's late ! " 
 Captain Dugald MacBride then proceeded to face 
 The Lady at table, stood up, and said grace, 
 Then set himself down in Sir Thomas's place. 
 
 Wearily, wearily, all that night, 
 That live-long night, did the hours go by ; 
 
 And the Lady Jane, In grief and in pain, 
 She sat herself down to cry ! 
 
 And Captain MacBride, Who sat by her side, 
 Though I really can't say that he actually cried, 
 
 At least had a tear in his eye ! 
 As much as can well be expected, perhaps, 
 From very " young fellows," for very " old chaps ; " 
 And if he had said What he'd got in his head, 
 'Twould have been, " Poor old Buffer ! he's certainly dead ! "
 
 464 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 
 
 The morning dawn'd, and the next, and the next 
 
 And all in the mansion were still perplex'd ; 
 
 No watch-clog " bay'd a welcome home," as 
 
 A watch-dog should, to the " Good Sir Thomas ; ; ' 
 
 No knocker fell His approach to tell, 
 Not so much as a runaway ring at the bell 
 The Hall was silent as Hermit's cell. 
 
 Yet the sun shone bright upon tower and tree, 
 And the meads smiled green as green may be, 
 And the dear little dickey-birds caroll'd with glee, 
 And the lambs in the park skipp'd merry and free 
 Without, all was joy and harmony ! 
 
 " And thus 'twill be, nor long the day, 
 
 Ere we, like him, shall pass away ! 
 
 Yon Sun, that now our bosoms warms, 
 
 Shall shine, but shine on other forms ; 
 
 Yon Grove, whose choir so sweetly cheers 
 
 Us now, shall sound on other ears, 
 
 The joyous Lamb, as now, shall play, 
 
 But other eyes its sports survey, 
 
 The Stream we loved shall roll as fair, 
 
 The flowery sweets, the trim Parterre 
 
 Shall scent, as now, the ambient air, 
 
 The Tree, whose bending branches bear 
 
 The One loved name shall yet be there ; 
 
 But where the hand that carved it ? Where 1 " 
 
 These were hinted to me as The very ideas 
 Which passed through the mind of the fair Lady Jane, 
 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 1 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 ! 
 
 1 The familiar abbreviation for Tappington Everard still in use among the 
 tenantry. Fide Prefatory Introduction to the Ingoldsby Legends.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. 465 
 
 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 out the Crier, and had him well cried 
 
 ' MISSING ! ! Stolen, or stray'd, Lost, or mislaid, 
 A GENTLEMAN ; middle-aged, sober, and staid ; 
 Stoops slightly ; and when he left home was array'd 
 In a sad-coloured suit, somewhat dingy and fray'd ; 
 Had spectacles on with a tortoiseshell rim, 
 And a hat rather low-crowned, and broad in the brim. 
 
 Whoe'er Shall bear, Or shall send him with care, 
 (Right side uppermost) home ; or shall give notice where 
 The said middle-aged 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 REWARD of FIVE POUNDS for his trouble, 
 
 KB. If defunct the REWARD will be double ! 
 
 " Had he been above ground He must have been found. 
 No ; doubtless he's shot, or he's hang'd, or he's drown'd ! 
 
 Then his Widow ay ! ay ! But, what will folk say ! 
 To address her at once at so early a day ! 
 Well what then 1 who cares ? let 'em say what they may 
 A fig for their nonsense and chatter ! suffice it, her 
 Charms will excuse one for casting sheep's eyes at her ! " 
 
 When a man has decided As Captain MacBride did, 
 And once fully made up his mind on the matter, he 
 Can't be too prompt in unmasking his battery. 
 He began on the instant, and vow'd that " her eyes 
 Far exceeded in brilliance the stars in the skies, 
 That her lips were like roses her cheeks were like lilies 
 Her breath had the odour of daffy-down-dillies ! " 
 With a thousand more compliments equally true, 
 And expressed in similitudes equally new ! 
 Then his left arm he placed 
 Round her jimp, taper waist 
 
 Ere she'd fix'd to repulse, or return, his embrace, 
 Up came running a man, at a deuce of a pace, 
 With that very peculiar expression of face 
 Which always betokens dismay or disaster, 
 
 Crying out, 'twas the Gardener, " Oh, Ma'am ! we've found 
 Master ! " 
 
 " Where ? where ? " scream'd the lady ; and Echo scream'd 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 The man couldn't say "There ! " He had no breath to spare, 
 ' 2 H
 
 460 THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY. 
 
 But, gasping for air, he could only respond, 
 
 By pointing he pointed, alas ! TO THE POND ! ! 
 
 'Twas e'en so poor dear Knight ! with his "specs" and hi* h;it 
 He'd gone poking his nose into this and to that ; 
 
 When, close to the side Of the bank, he espied 
 An " uncommon fine " Tadpole, remarkably fat ! 
 He stooped ; and he thought her 
 His own ; he had caught her ! 
 
 Got hold of her tail, and to land almost brought her, 
 When he plump'd head and heels into fifteen feet water ! 
 
 The Lady Jane was tall and slim, 
 
 The Lady Jane was fair, 
 Alas, for Sir Thomas ! she grieved for him, 
 As she saw two serving-men, sturdy of limb, 
 
 His body between them bear. 
 She sobb'd, and she sigh'd ; she lamented, and cried, 
 
 For of sorrow brimful was her cup ; 
 She swoon'd, and I think she'd have fall'n down and died, 
 
 If Captain MacBride Had not been by her side. 
 With the Gardener ; they both their assistance supplied, 
 And managed to hold her up. 
 
 But, when she " comes to," Oh ! 'tis shocking to view 
 The sight which the corpse reveals ! 
 
 Sir Thomas's body, It look'd so odd he 
 Was half eaten up by the eels ! 
 His waistcoat and hose, and the rest of his clothes 
 Were all gnawed through and through ; 
 
 And out of each shoe An eel they drew ; 
 And from each of his pockets they pull'd out two ! 
 And the Gardener himself had secreted a few, 
 
 As well we may suppose ; 
 For, when he came running to give the alarm, 
 He had six in the basket that hung on his arm. 
 
 Good Father John * Was summon'd anon ; 
 Holy water was sprinkled, And little bells tinkled, 
 And tapers were lighted, And incense ignited, 
 And masses were sung, and masses were said, 
 All day, for the quiet repose of the dead, 
 And all night no one thought about going to bed. 
 
 But Lady Jane was tall and slim, 
 And Lady Jane was fair, 
 
 1 For some account of Father John Ingoldsby, to whose papers I am so mnrh 
 beholden, see Inyoldsby Legends, First Scries, p. 216 (2nd Edit.). Thi^ was 
 the last ecclesiastical act of his long and valuable life.
 
 THE KNIQHT AND THE LADY.
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 469 
 
 And, ere morning came, that winsome dame 
 
 Had made up her mind or, what's much the same, 
 
 Had thought about once more "changing her name," 
 
 And she said, with a pensive air, 
 To Thompson, the valet, while taking away, 
 When supper was over, the cloth and the tray, 
 " Eels a many I've ate ; but any 
 
 So good ne'er tasted before ! 
 
 They're a fish, too, of which I'm remarkably fond. 
 Go pop Sir Thomas again in the Pond 
 
 Poor dear ! HE'LL CATCH us SOME MORE ! ! " 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 All middle-aged Gentlemen let me advise, 
 If you're married, and have not got very good eyes, 
 Don't go poking about after blue-bottle flies ! 
 If you've spectacles, don't have a tortoiseshell rim, 
 And don't go near the water, unless you can swim ! 
 
 Married Ladies, especially such as are fair, 
 Tall, and slim, I would next recommend to beware 
 How, on losing one spouse, they give way to despair ; 
 But let them reflect, " There are fish, and no doubt on't 
 As good in the river as ever came out on't ! " 
 
 Should they light on a spouse who is given to roaming 
 
 In solitude raison de plus, in the "gloaming," 
 
 Let them have a tix'd time for said spouse to come home in ! 
 
 And if, when "last dinner-bell" 's rung, he is late, 
 
 To insure better manners in future Don't wait ! 
 
 If of husband or children they chance to be fond, 
 Have a stout iron-wire fence put all round the pond ! 
 
 One more piece of advice, and I close my appeals 
 That is if you chance to be partial to eels, 
 Then Crede experto trust one who has tried 
 Have them Bpitch-cock'd, or etew'd they're too oily when 
 fried ! 
 
 THE HOUSE- WARMING ! 1 
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YAKD. 
 * Did you ever see the Devil dance ? OLD QUERY. 
 
 SIR CHRISTOPHER HATTON he danced with grace, 
 
 He'd a very fine form and a very fine face, 
 
 And his cloak ami his doublet were guarded with lace,
 
 470 THE HOUSE-WARMIKd. 
 
 And the rest of his clothes, As you well may 
 In taste were by no means inferior to those ; 
 
 He'd a yellow-starched ruff, And his gloves were oi' bull', 
 On each of his shoes a red heel and a rose, 
 And nice little moustaches under his nose ; 
 
 Then every one knows How he turned out his toes, 
 And a very great way that accomplishment goes, 
 In a Court where it's thought, in a lord or a duke, a 
 Disgrace to fall short in " the Brawls " (their Cachouca). 
 So what with his form, and what with his face, 
 And what with his velvet cloak guarded with lace, 
 And what with his elegant dancing and grace, 
 
 His dress and address So tickled Queen Bess 
 That her Majesty gave him a very snug place ; 
 And seeing, moreover, at one single peep, her 
 Advisers were, few of them, sharper or deeper 
 (Old Burleigh excepted), she made him Lord Keeper ! 
 
 I've heard, I confess, with no little surprise, 
 English history called a farrago of lies ; 
 
 And a certain Divine, A. connexion of mine, 
 Who ought to know better, as some folks opine, 
 
 Is apt to declare, Leaning back in his chair, 
 With a sort of a smirking, self-satisfied air, 
 That " all that's recorded in Hume, and elsewhere, 
 
 " Of our early 'Annales' A trumpery tale is, 
 " Like the ' bold Captain Smith's,' and the ' Luckless Mis.s 
 
 Bayley's ' 
 
 " That old Eoger Hoveden, and Ralph de Diceto, 
 " And others (whose names should I try to repeat o- 
 "ver, well I'm assured you would put in your veto), 
 
 " Though all holy friars, Were very great liars, 
 " And raised stories faster than Grissel and Peto 
 " That Harold escaped with the loss of a ' glim ' 
 " That the shaft which killed Kufus ne'er glanced from a 
 
 limb 
 
 " Of a tree, as they say, but was aimed slap at him, 
 " That Fair Rosamond never was poisoned or spitted, 
 " But outlived Queen Nell, who was much to be pitied ; 
 " That Nelly her namesake, Ned Longshanks's wife, 
 " Ne'er went crusading at all in her life, 
 " Nor suck'd the wound made by the poison-tipped knife ! 
 " For as she, O'er the sea, 
 " Towards far Galilee, 
 
 " Never, even in fancy, march'd carcass or shook shanks, 
 "Of course she could no more suck Longshanks than Cruik- 
 shanks,
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 471 
 
 " But, leaving her spindle-legged liege-lord to roam, 
 
 " Stayed behind, and suck'd something much better at home, 
 
 " That it's quite as absurd To say Edward the Third, 
 " In reviving the Garter, afforded a handle 
 " For any Court-gossip, detraction, or scandal, 
 
 "As 'twould be to say That at Court t'other day, 
 " As the fete which the newspapers say was so gay, 
 " His Great Representative then stole away 
 " Lady Salisbury's garters as part of the play, 
 " That as to Prince Hal's being taken to jail, 
 " By the London Police, without mainprize or bail, 
 
 " for cuffing a judge, It's a regular fudge ; 
 " And that Chief-Justice Gascoigne, it's very well known, 
 " Was kicked out the moment he came to the throne, 
 " Then that Richard the Third was a 'marvellous proper 
 
 man ' 
 "Never killed, injured, or wrongM of a copper, man ! 
 
 " Ne'er wished to smother The sons of his brother, 
 "Nor ever stuck Harry the Sixth, who, instead 
 " Of being squabashed, as in Shakspeare we've read, 
 " Caught a bad influenza, and died in his bed, 
 " In the Tower, not far from the room where the Guard is 
 "(The octagon one that adjoins Duff us Hardy's) ; 
 " That, in short, all the 4 facts ' in the Decem Scriptores, 
 " Are nothing at all but sheer humbugging stories. 
 
 Then if, as he vows, both this country and France in, 
 Historians thus gave themselves up to Romancing, 
 Notwithstanding what most of them join in advancing 
 Respecting Sir Christopher's capering and prancing, 
 
 'Twill cause no surprise If we find that his rise 
 Is not to be solely ascribed to his dancing ! 
 The fact is, Sir Christopher, early in life, 
 As all bachelors should do, had taken a wife, 
 A Fanshawe by family, one of a house 
 Well descended, but boasting loss "nobles" than nous ; 
 
 Though e'en as to purse He might have done worse, 
 For I find, on perusing her Grandfather's will, it is 
 Clear she had " good gifts beside possibilities," 1 
 
 Owches and rings, And such sort of things, 
 Orellana shares (then the American Stocks), 
 Jewell'd stomachers, coifs, ruffs, silk-stockings with clocks, 
 Point-lace, cambric handkerchiefs, nightcaps, and socks 
 (Recondite apparel contained in her box), 
 
 Then the height of her breeding 
 And depth of her reading 
 
 1 " Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts." 
 
 SIK HUGH EVANS.
 
 472 THE HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 Might captivate any gay youth, and, in leading 
 Him on to " propose," well excuse the proceeding : 
 Truth to tell, as to " reading," the Lady was thought to do 
 More than she should, and know more than she ought to do ; 
 
 Her maid, it was said, Declared that she read 
 (A custom all staid folks discourage) in bed ; 
 
 And that often o' nights Odd noises and sights 
 In her mistress's chamber had giv'n her sad frights, 
 After all in the mansion had put out their lights, 
 And she verily thought that hobgoblins and sprites 
 Were there, kicking up all sorts of devil's delights ; 
 Miss Alice, in short, was supposed to " collogue " I , 
 Don't much like the word with the subtle old rogue, I 
 've heard call'd by so many names one of them's " Bogy "- 
 
 Indeed 'twas conceived, And by most folks believed, 
 A thing at which all of her well-wishers griev'd 
 That should she incline to play such a vagary, 
 Like sage Lady Branxholm, her contempo-rary, 
 (Excuse the false quantity, reader, I pray), 
 She could turn a knight into a waggon of hay, 
 Or two nice little boys into puppies at play, 
 Raison de plus, not a doubt could exist of her 
 Pow'r to turn " Kit Hatton " into " Sir Christopher ; " 
 But what " mighty magic," or strong " conjuration," 
 Whether love-powder, philtre, or other potation 
 
 She used, I confess, I'm unable to guess, 
 
 Much less to express By what skill and address 
 She " cut and contrived " with such signal success, 
 As we Londoners say, to " inwiggle " Queen Bess, 
 
 Inasmuch as I lack heart To study the Black Art ; 
 Be that as it may, it's as clear as the sun, 
 That, however she did it, 'twas certainly done ! 
 
 Now, they're all very well, titles, honour, and rank, 
 Still we can't but admit, if we choose to be frank, 
 There's no harm in a snug little sum in the Bank ! 
 
 An old proverb says, " Pudding still before praise ! " 
 An adage well known I've no doubt in those days, 
 And George Colman the Younger, in one of his plays, 
 Makes one of his characters loudly declare 
 That " a Lord without money," I quote from his " Heir- 
 At-Law" '"s but a poor wishy-washy affair ! " 
 In her subsequent conduct I think we can see a 
 Strong proof the Dame entertain'd some such idea, 
 
 For, once in the palace, We find Lady Alice 
 Again playing tricks with her Majesty's chalice 
 In the way that the jocose, in 
 Our days, term " hocussing ; "
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 473 
 
 The liquor she used, as I've said, she kept close, 
 But, whatever it was, she now doubled the dose ! 
 
 (So true is the saying, " We never can stay, in 
 Our progress, when once with the foul fiend we league us.") 
 She " doctor'd " the punch, and she " doctor'd " the negus, 
 Taking care not to put in sufficient to flavour it, 
 
 Till, at every fresh sip That moisten'd her lip, 
 The Virgin Queen grew more attach'd to her Favourite. 
 
 " No end " now he commands Of money and lands, 
 And, as George Robins says, when he's writing about houses, 
 " Messuages, tenements, crofts, tofts, and outhouses," 
 Parks, manors, chases, She " gives and she grants, 
 To him and his heirs, and his uncles and aunts ; " 
 Whatever he wants, he has only to ask it, 
 And all other suitors are " left in the basket," 
 
 Till Dudley and Rawleigh Began to look squally, 
 While even grave Cecil, the famous Lord Burleigh, 
 Himself, " shook his head," and grew snappish and surly. 
 
 All this was fine sport, As our authors report, 
 To dame Alice, become a great Lady at Court, 
 Where none than her Ladyship's husband look'd bigger, 
 Who " led the brawls " l still with the same grace and vigour, 
 Though losing a little in slimness and figure ; 
 For eating and drinking all day of the best 
 
 Of viands well drest, With " Burgess's Zest," 
 Is apt, by degrees, to enlarge a man's vest ; 
 And, what in Sir Christopher went to increase it, he 
 'd always been rather inclined to obesity ; 
 Few men in those times were found to grow thinner 
 With beefsteaks for breakfast and pork-pie for dinner. 
 
 Now it's really a difficult problem to say- 
 How long matters might have gone on in this way, 
 If it had not unluckily happened one day 
 
 That NICK, who, because He'd the gout in his claws, 
 And his hoofs -(he's by no means so young as he was, 
 And is subject of late to a sort of rheumatic a- 
 -ttack that partakes both of gout and sciatica,) 
 All the night long had twisted and grinn'd, 
 His pains much increased by an easterly wind, 
 Which always compels him to hobble and limp, 
 Was strongly advised by his Medical Imp 
 To lie by a little, and give over work, 
 For he'd lately been slaving away like a Turk, 
 
 1 The grave Lord Keeper led the brawls, 
 
 The seals and maces danced before him, GH4Y,
 
 474 THE HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 On the Guinea-coast, helping to open a brave trade 
 
 In Niggers, with Hawkins l who founded the slave-trade, 
 
 So he call'd for his ledger, the constant resource 
 
 ( )f your Mercantile folk, when they're " not in full force ; " 
 
 If a cold or catarrh makes them husky and hoarse, 
 
 Or a touch of gout keeps them away from " the BOURSE,'"' 
 
 They look over their books a a matter of course. 
 
 Now scarce had Nick turn'd over one page, or two, 
 Ere a prominent item attracted his view, 
 A Bill ! that had now been some days overdue, 
 From one Alice Hatton, iiee Fanshawe a name 
 Which you'll recognise, reader, at once as the same 
 With that borne by Sir Christopher's erudite dame ! 
 The signature much more proiioncee than pink, 
 Seem u Avritten in blood but it might be red ink 
 
 While the rest of the deed He proceeded to read, 
 Like eVry " bill, bond, or acquittance " whose date is 
 Three hundred years old, ran in Latin, " Sciatis 
 (Diaboli?) omnes ad quos hccc pervenient" 
 But courage, dear Reader, I mean to be lenient, 
 And scorn to inflict on you half the " Law-reading " 
 I picked up " umquhile " in three days' Special-pleading, 
 Which cost me a theme I'll not pause to digress on 
 Just thirty-three pounds six-and-eightpence a lesson 
 ' As I'm stout, I'll be merciful," therefore, and sparing 
 All those technicalities, end by declaring 
 
 The Deed so correct As to make one suspect, 
 (Were it possible any such person could go there) 
 Old Nick had a Special Attorney below there : 
 'Twas so fram'd and express'd no tribunal could shake it, 
 And firm as red wax and black ferret could make it. 
 
 By the roll of his eye As Old Nick put it by, 
 It was clear he had made up his mind what to do 
 In respect to the course he should have to pursue, 
 When his hoof would allow him to put on a shoe ! I 
 
 No, although the Lord Keeper held under the crown, house 
 And land in the country he'd never a Town-house, 
 
 And, as we have seen, His course always had been, 
 When he wanted a thing, to solicit the Queen, 
 So now, in the hope of a fresh acquisition, 
 He danced off to Court with his " Humble Petition." 
 
 1 Sir John Hawkins for "his tcorthyc attempts and services," an J Ijecause "in 
 the same he had dyvers confliglits with the Moryans and slew and toke dyvi-rs 
 of the same Moryans " received from Elizabeth an honourable augmentation to 
 his coat armour, including, for his crest, " ADemi-Moor sable, with two manacles 
 on each arm, or."
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 475 
 
 " Please your Majesty's Grace, I have not a place 
 " I can well put my head in, to dine, sup, or sleep ! 
 " Your Grace's Lord Keeper has nowhere to keep, 
 
 "So I beg and intreat, At your Majesty's feet, 
 "That your Grace will be graciously pleas'd for to say, 
 
 " With as little delay As your Majesty may, 
 " Where your Majesty's Grace's Lord Keeper's to stay 
 " And your Grace's Petitioner ever will pray ! " 
 
 The Queen, when she heard This petition preferr'd, 
 ( lave ear to Sir Christopher's suit at a word ; 
 "Odds Bobs, my good Lord ! " was her gracious reply, 
 
 " I don't know, not I, Any good reason why 
 "A Lord Keeper, like yoxi, should not always be nigh 
 ''To advise and devise and revise our supply 
 " A House ! we're surprised that the thing did not strike 
 " Us before Yes ! of course ! Pray, whose House would you 
 
 like? 
 
 " When I do things of this kind, I do them genteelly, 
 " A House ? let me see ! there's the Bishop of Ely ! 
 " A capital mansion, I'm told, the proud knave is in, 
 " Up there in Holborn, just opposite Thavies' Inn 
 " Where the Strawberries grow so fine and so big, 
 ' Which our Grandmother's Uncle tucked in like a pig, 
 ' King Richard the Third, which you all must have read of 
 ' The day, don't you know ? he cut Hastings' head off 
 ' And mark me, proud Prelate ! I'm speaking to you, 
 ' Bishop Heaton ! you need not, my lord, look so blue 
 " Give it up on the instant ! I don't mean to shock you, 
 
 'Or else by ! (The Bishop icas shocked!) I'll unfrock 
 
 you ! 1 " 
 
 The Queen turns abruptly her back on the group, 
 The Courtiers all bow as she passes, and stoop 
 To kiss, as she goes, the hind flounce of her hoop, 
 And Sir Christopher, having thus danced to some tune, 
 Skips away with much glee in his best rigadoon ! 
 
 While poor Bishop Heaton, Who found himself beaten, 
 In serious alarm at the Queen's contumelious 
 And menacing tone, at once gave him up Ely House, 
 With every appurtenance thereto belonging, 
 Including the strawberry beds 'twas PO strong in ; 
 Politely he bow'd to the gratified minion, 
 And said, "There can be-, my good lord, in opinion 
 
 No difference betwixt yours And mine as to fixtures, 
 And tables, and chairs We need no survey'rs 
 Take them just as you find them, without reservation, 
 Grates, coppers, and all, at your own valuation ! "
 
 476 THE HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 Well ! the object is gain'd ! A good Town-house obtained ! 
 The next thing to be thought of, is now 
 The " house-warming " party the when and the how 
 
 The Court ladies call, One and all, great and small, 
 For an elegant " Spread," and more elegant Ball, 
 So, Sir Christopher, vain as we know of his capering, 
 No sooner had finished his painting and papering, 
 
 Than he sat down and wrote A nice little pink note 
 To every great Lord, whom he knew, and his spouse, 
 " From our poor place on Holborn-hill (late Ely House), 
 " Lord Keeper and Dame Alice Hatton request 
 " Lord So-and-so's (name, style, or title exprest) 
 
 " Good company on The next Eve of St. John, 
 'Viz. : Friday week, June 24th, as their guest, 
 
 " To partake of pot-luck, And taste a fat buck. 
 "N.B. Venison on table exactly at 3, 
 " Quadrilles in the afternoon, R. S. V. P. 
 " For my good Lord of So-and-so these, and his wife ; 
 " Ride ! ride ! for thy life ! for thy life ! for thy life ! " 
 Thus courtiers were wont to indorse their expresses 
 In Harry the Vlllth's time, and also Queen Bess's. 
 The Dame, for her part, too, took order that cards 
 Should be sent to the mess-rooms of all the Hussards, 
 The Household troops, Train-bands, and horse and foot Guards. 
 
 Well, the day for the rout At length came about, 
 And the bells of St. Andrew's rang merrily out, 
 As horse-litter, coach, and pad-nag, with its pillion, 
 (The mode of conveyance then used by the " Million,") 
 
 All gallant and grand, Denied from the Strand, 
 Some through Chancery (then an unpaved and much wetter) Lane, 
 Others through Shoe (which was not a whit better) Lane ; 
 Others through Fewtar's (corrupted to Fetter) Lane ; 
 Some from Cheapside, and St. Mary-le-Bow, 
 From Bishopsgate Street, Dowgate Hill, 1 and Budge Row. 
 
 They come and they go, Squire and Dame, Belle and Beau, 
 Down Snore Hill (which we have since whitewashed to Snow), 
 All eager to see the magnificent show, 
 And sport what some call " a fantastical toe ; " 
 
 In silk and in satin, To batten and fatten 
 Upon the good cheer of Sir Christopher Hatton. 
 
 A flourish, trumpets ! sound again ! 
 
 He comes, bold Drake, the chief who made a 
 
 Fine hash of all the pow'rs of Spain, 
 And so serv'd out their Grand Armada : 
 
 1 Sir Francis Drake's house, " the Arbour," stood here.
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 477 
 
 With him come Frobisher and Hawkins, 
 In yellow ruffs, rosettes, and stockings. 
 
 Room for my Lord ! proud Leicester's Earl 
 
 Retires awhile from courtly cares, 
 Who took his wife, poor hapless girl ! 
 
 And pitch'd her neck and heel down stairs ; 
 Proving, in hopes to wed a richer, 
 If not her "friend," at least her " pitcher." 
 
 A flourish, trumpets ! strike the drums ! 
 
 Will Shakspeare, never of his pen sick, 
 Is here next Doctor Masters comes, 
 
 Renown'd afar for curing men sick, 
 Queen's Serjeant Barham a with his bums 
 
 And tipstaves, coif, and wig forensic ; 
 (He lost, unless Sir Richard lies, his 
 Life at the famous " Black Assizes.") 
 
 Room ! Room ! for great Cecil ! place, place, for his Dame ! 
 Room, Room ! for Southampton for Sidney, whose name 
 Asa Preux Chevalier, in the records of Fame, 
 " Beats Banagher " e'en now his praises, we all sing 'em, 
 Knight, Poet, Gentleman ! Room ! for sage Walsingham ! 
 
 Room ! for Lord Hunsdon ! for Sussex ! for Rawleigh ! 
 For INGOLDSBY ! ! Oh ! it's enough to appal ye ! 
 Dear me ! how they call ! 
 How they squall ! how they bawl ! 
 This dame has lost her shoe that one her shawl 
 My lord's got a tumble my lady a fall ! 
 
 Now a Hall ! a Hall ! A Brawl ! a Brawl ! 
 Here's my Lord Keeper Hatton, so stately and tall ! 
 Has led out Lady Hunsdon to open the Ball ! 
 
 Fiddlers ! Fiddlers ! fiddle away 1 
 Resin your catgut ! fiddle and play ! 
 
 A roundelay ! Fiddle away ! 
 Obey ! obey ! near what they all say ! 
 Hip ! Music 1 Nosey ! ! play up there '.play ! 
 Never was anything half so gay 
 As Sir Christopher Hatton's grand holiday ! 
 
 The clock strikes twelve ! Who cares for the clock ? 
 
 Who cares for Hark ! What a loud Single-knock ! 
 
 Dear me ! dear me ! Who can it be ? 
 Why, who can be coining at this time of night, 
 With fll knock like that honest folk to affright ? 
 
 1 Called by Sir Richard Baker " The famous Lawyer." See his Chronicle.
 
 478 THE HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 " Affright ? " yes affright I there are many who mock 
 At fear, and in danger stand firm as a rock, 
 Whom the roar of the battle-field never could shock, 
 Yet quail at the sound of a vile " Single-knock ! " 
 Hark ! what can the Porter be thinking of 1 What ! 
 If the booby has not let him in I'll be shot ! 
 
 Dear me ! how hot The room's all at once got ! 
 
 And what rings through the roof ? 
 
 It's the sound of a hoof! 
 It's some donkey a-coming upstairs at full trot ! 
 Stay ! the folding-doors open ! the leaves are thrown back, 
 And in dances a tall Figurant ALL IN BLACK ! ! 
 
 Gracious me what an entrechat ! Oh, what a bound ! 
 Then with what an a-plomb he comes down to the ground ! 
 
 Look there ! look there ! Now he's up in the air ! 
 Now he's here! now he's there now he's no one knows 
 
 where ! 
 
 See ! see ! he's kick'd over a table and chair ! 
 There they go ! all the strawberries, flowers, and sweet herbs, 
 
 Turn'd o'er and o'er, Down on the floor, 
 Ev'ry caper he cuts oversets or disturbs 
 All the " Keen's Seedlings " and Wilmot's Superbs ! " 
 
 There's a pirouette /we're All a great deal too near ! 
 A ring ! give him room or he'll "shin" you stand clear ! 
 There 13 a spring again ! oh ! 'tis quite frightful ! oh dear ! 
 His toe's broke the top of the glass chandelier ! ! 
 Now he's down again ! look at the congees and bows 
 And salaams which he makes to the Dame of the House, 
 Lady Alice, the noble Lord Treasurer's spouse ! 
 
 Come, now we shall view A grand pas de deux 
 Perform'd in the very first style by these two 
 But no ! she recoils she could scarce look more pale, if 
 Instead of a Beau's 'twas the bow of a Bailiff ! 
 He holds out his hand she declines it, and draws 
 Back her own see ! he grasps it with horrid black claws, 
 Like the short, sharp, strong nails of a Polar Bear's paws ! ! 
 
 Then she " scream'd such a scream ! " 
 
 Such another, I deem, 
 
 As, long after, Miss Mary Brown x scream'd in her dream. 
 Well she might ! for 'twas shrewdly remark'd by her Page, 
 A sharp little boy about twelve years of age, 
 
 Who was standing close by When she utter'd her cry, 
 That the whole of her arm shrivell'd up, and grew dry, 
 
 i Vide the celebrated ballad of " Giles Scroggins." Catnach's etl, 7 Dials, 
 Lund. 1841.
 
 THE HOUSE-WABMINa. 
 
 479
 
 A LEGEND OF BLEEDING HEART YARD. 48l 
 
 While the fingers and thumb of the hand he had got 
 In his clutches became on the instant BED HOT ! ! 
 
 NOAV he whirls and he twirls 
 Through the girls in their curls, 
 And their rouge, and their feathers, and diamonds, and pearls ; 
 
 Now high, now low, Now fast, and now slow, 
 In terrible circumgyration they go, 
 The flame-coloured Belle and her coffee-faced Beau ! 
 Up they go once ! and up they go twice ! 
 Round the hall ! round the hall ! and now up they go thrice ! 
 Now one grand pirouette, the performance to crown ! 
 Now again they go UP ! ! and they NEVER COME DOWN ! ! ! 
 
 The thunder roars ! And the rain it pours ! 
 And the lightning comes in through the windows and doors ! 
 Then more calling, and bawling, 
 And squalling, and falling, 
 Oh ! what a fearful " stramash " they are all in\ 
 
 Out they all sally, The whole corps de ballet 
 Some dash down Holborn-hill into the valley, 
 Where stagnates Fleet Ditch at the end of Harp Alley, 
 Some t'other way, with a speed quite amazing, 
 Nor pause to take breath till they get beyond Gray's Inn. 
 In every sense of the word, such a rout of it, 
 Never was made in London, or out of it ! 
 
 When they came the next day to examine the scene, 
 
 There was scarcely a vestige of all that had been ; 
 
 The beautiful tapestry, blue, red, and green, 
 
 Was all blacken'd and scorch'd, and look'd dirty and mean, 
 
 All the crockery broken, dish, plate, and tureen ! 
 
 While those who look'd up could perceive in the roof 
 
 One very large hole in the shape of a hoof! 
 
 Of poor Lady Hatton, it's needless to say 
 
 No traces have ever been found to this day, 
 
 Or the terrible dancer who whisk'd her away ; 
 
 But out in the court-yard and just in that part 
 
 Where the pump stands lay bleeding a LARGE HUMAN HEART ! 
 
 And sundry large stains Of blood and of brains, 
 Which had not been wash'd off notwithstanding the rains, 
 Appear'd on the wood, and the handle and chains, 
 As if somebody's head with a very hard thump, 
 Had been recently knock'd on the top of the pump. 
 That pump is no more ! that of which you've just read, 
 But they've put a new iron one up in its stead, 
 Si
 
 482 THE HOUSE-WARMING. 
 
 And still, it is said, At that " small hour " so dread, 
 When all sober people are cosey in bed, 
 There may sometimes be seen on a mooushiny night, 
 Standing close by the new pump, a Lady in White, 
 Who keeps pumping away with, 'twould seem, all her might, 
 Though never a drop comes her pains to requite ! 
 And hence many passengers now are debarr'd 
 From proceeding at nightfall through Bleeding Heart Yard ! 
 
 MORAL, 
 
 Fair ladies, attend ! And if you've a " friend 
 At Court," don't attempt to bamboozle or trick her ! 
 Don't meddle with negus, or any mix'd liquor ! 
 Don't dabble in " Magic ! " my story has shown 
 How wrong 'tis to use any charms but your own ! 
 
 Young Gentlemen, too, may, I think, take a hint 
 
 Of the same kind, from what I've here ventured to print, 
 
 All Conjuring's bad ! they may get in a scrape 
 
 Before they're aware, and whatever its shape, 
 
 They may find it no easy affair to escape. 
 
 It's not every body that comes off so well 
 
 From leger-de-main tricks as Mr. Brunei. 
 
 Don't dance with a Stranger who looks like a Guy, 
 And when dancing don't cut your capers too high ! 
 
 Depend on't the fault's in Your method of waltzing, 
 If ever you kick out the candles don't try ! 
 
 At a ball or a play, Or any soiree, 
 When a petit souper constitutes the "Apres," 
 If strawb'ries and cream with CHAMPAGNE form a part, 
 Take care of your HEAD ! and take care of your HEART ! 
 
 If you want a new house For yourself and your spouse, 
 Buy, or build one, and honestly pay, every brick, for it ! 
 Don't be so green as to go to Old Nick for it 
 Go to George Robins he'll find you " a perch," 
 (Dulce domum's his word,) without robbing the Church ! 
 
 The last piece of advice which I'd have you regard 
 
 Is, "don't go of a night into Bleeding- Heart- Yard," 
 
 It's a dark, little, dirty, black, ill-looking square, 
 
 With queer people about, and unless you take care, 
 
 You may fin* 1 , when your pocket's cleau'd out and left bare, 
 
 That the iron one is not the only " PUMP" there !
 
 THE FORLORN ONE JERRY JARVISB WIG. 483 
 
 THE FORLORN ONE. 
 
 AH ! why those piteous sounds of woe, 
 Lone wanderer of the dreary night ? 
 
 Thy gushing tears in torrents flow, 
 Thy bosom pants in wild affright ! 
 
 And thou, within whose iron breast 
 Those frowns austere too truly tell, 
 
 Mild pity, heaven-descended guest, 
 Hath never, never deign'd to dwell. 
 
 That rude, uncivil touch forego, 
 
 Stern despot of a fleeting hour ! 
 Nor " make the angels weep " to know 
 
 The fond " fantastic tricks " of power ! 
 
 Know'st thou not " mercy is not strain'd, 
 
 But droppeth as the gentle dew," 
 And while it blesseth him who gain'd, 
 
 It blesseth him who gave it too 1 
 
 Say, what art thou ? and what is he, 
 
 Pale victim of despair and pain, 
 Whose streaming eyes and bended kneu 
 
 Sue to thee thus and sue in vain I 
 
 Cold, callous man ! he scorns to yield, 
 
 Or aught relax his felon gripe, 
 Hut answers, "I'm Inspector Field ! 
 
 And this here Warmint's priggVl your wipe ! " 
 
 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 
 
 A LEGEND OP THE WEALD OF KENT. 
 ' The wig's the thing ! the wig ! the wig." Old Sony. 
 
 "JoE," said old Jarvis, looking out of his window, it was his 
 ground-floor back, " Joe, you seem to be very hot, Joe, and you 
 have sot no wi" ! "
 
 484 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 
 
 " Yes, sir," quoth Joseph, pausing, and resting upon his spade, 
 " it's as hot a day as ever I see ; but the celery must be got in, or 
 there'll be no autumn crop, and " 
 
 " Well, but, Joe, the sun's so hot, and it shines so on your bald 
 head, it makes one wink to look at it. You'll have a coup de soleil, 
 Joe." 
 
 "A. what, sir?" 
 
 " No matter ; it's very hot working ; and if you'll step in doors, 
 I'll give you " 
 
 " Thank ye, your honour, a drop of beer will be very acceptable." 
 
 Joe's countenance brightened amazingly. 
 
 " Joe, I'll give you my old wig ! " 
 
 The countenance of Joseph fell, his grey eye had glistened as a 
 blest vision of double X flitted athwart his fancy ; its glance faded 
 again into the old, filmy, gooseberry-coloured hue, as he growled in 
 a minor key, " A wig, sir ! " 
 
 "Yes, Joe, a wig ! The man who does not study the comfort of 
 his dependents is an unfeeling scoundrel. You shall have my old, 
 worn-out wig." 
 
 " I hope, sir, you'll give me a drop o' beer to drink your honour's 
 health in, it is' very hot, and 
 
 " Come in, Joe, and Mrs. Witherspoon shall give it you." 
 
 " Heaven bless your honour ! " said honest Joe, striking his spade 
 perpendicularly into the earth, and walking with more than usual 
 alacrity towards the close-cut, quickset hedge which separated Mr. 
 Jarvis's garden from the high road. 
 
 From the quickset hedge aforesaid he now raised, with all due 
 delicacy, a well-worn and somewhat dilapidated jacket, of a stuff by 
 drapers most pseudonymously termed "everlasting." Alack! alack ! 
 what is there to which tempus edax rerum will accord that epithet ? 
 In its high and palmy days it had been all of a piece ; but as its 
 master's eye now fell upon it, the expression of his countenance 
 seemed to say with Octavian, 
 
 " Those days are gone, Floranthe ! " 
 
 It was now, from frequent patching, a coat not unlike that of the 
 patriarch, one of many colours. 
 
 Joseph Washford inserted his wrists into the corresponding orifices 
 of the tattered garment, and with a steadiness of circumgyration, to 
 be acquired only by long and sufficient practice, swung it horizontally 
 over his ears, and settled himself into it.
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 485 
 
 " Confound your old jacket ! " cried a voice from the other side 
 the hedge, " keep it down, you rascal ! don't you see my horse is 
 frightened at it 1 " 
 
 " Sensible beast ! " apostrophized Joseph, " I've been frighten'd at 
 it myself every day for the last two years ! " 
 
 The gardener cast a rueful glance at its sleeve, and pursued his 
 way to the door of the back kitchen. 
 
 " Joe," said Mrs. Witherspoon, a fat, comely dame, of about five- 
 and-forty, " Joe, your master is but too good to you ; he is always 
 kind and considerate. Joe, he has desired me to give you his old 
 wig." 
 
 " And the beer, Ma'am Witherspoon ? " said Washford, taking the 
 proffered caxon, and looking at it with an expression somewhat short 
 of rapture ; " and the beer, ma'am ? " 
 
 " The beer, you guzzling wretch ! what beer ? Master said 
 nothing about no beer. You ungrateful fellow, has not he given 
 you a wig ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, Madam Witherspoon ; but then, you see, his honour 
 said it was very hot, and I'm very dry, and : 
 
 " Go to the pump, sot ! " said Mrs. Witherspoon, as she slammed 
 the back-door in the face of the petitioner. 
 
 Mrs. Witherspoon was " of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion," and 
 Honorary Assistant Secretary to the Appledore branch of the 
 " Ladies' Grand Junction Water- working Temperance Society." 
 
 Joe remained for a few moments lost in mental abstraction ; he 
 looked at the door, he looked at the wig ; his first thought was to 
 throw it into the pig-stye, his corruption rose, but he resisted the 
 impulse ; he got the better of Satan ; the half-formed imprecation 
 died before it reached his lips. He looked disdainfully at the wig ; 
 it had once been a comely jasey enough, of the colour of over-baked 
 ginger-bread, one of the description commonly known during the 
 latter half of the last century by the name of a " brown George." 
 The species, it is to be feared, is now extinct, but a few, a very few 
 of the same description might, till very lately, be occasionally seen, 
 rari nantes in gurgite vasto, the glorious relics of a by-gone day, 
 crowning the cerebellum of some venerated and venerable provost, or 
 judge of assize ; but Mr. Jar vis's wig had one peculiarity ; unlike 
 most of its fellows, it had a tail ! " cribbed and confined," indeed, 
 by a shabby piece of faded shalloon. 
 
 Washford looked at it again ; he shook his bald head ; the wig 
 had certainly seen its best days ; still it had about it something of
 
 486 JERRY JAR VIS'S WIG. 
 
 an air of faded gentility, it was " like ancient Rome, majestic in 
 decay," and as the small ale was not to be forthcoming, why after 
 all, an old wig was better than nothing ! 
 
 Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis, of Appledore, in the Weald of Kent, was a 
 gentleman by act of parliament ; one of that class of gentlemen who, 
 disdaining the bourgeois-sounding name of " attorney-at-law," are, 
 by a legal fiction, denominated solicitors. I say by a legal fiction, 
 for surely the general tenor of the intimation received by such as 
 enjoy the advantage of their correspondence, has little in common 
 with the idea usually attached to the term " solicitation." " If you 
 don't pay my bill, and costs, I'll send you to jail," is a very energetic 
 entreaty. There are, it is true, etymologists who derive their style 
 and title from the Latin infinitive " solicitare" to " make anxious," 
 in all probability they are right. 
 
 If this be the true etymology of his title, as it was the main end 
 of his calling, then was Jeremiah Jarvis a worthy exemplar of the 
 genus to Avhich he belonged. Few persons in his time had created 
 greater solicitude among his Majesty's lieges within the " Weald." 
 He was rich, of course. The best house in the country-town is 
 always the lawyer's, and it generally boasts a green door, stone steps, 
 and a brass knocker. In neither of these appendages to opulence 
 was Jeremiah deficient ; but then, he was so very rich ; his reputed 
 wealth, indeed, passed all the common modes of accounting for its 
 increase. True, he was so universal a favourite that every man 
 whose will he made was sure to leave him a legacy ; that he was a 
 sort of general assignee to all the bankruptcies within twenty miles 
 of Appledore ; was clerk to half the " trusts ; " and treasurer to most 
 of the " rates," " funds," and " subscriptions," in that part of the 
 country ; that he Avas land-agent to Lord Mountrhino, and steward 
 to the rich Miss Tabbytale of Smerrididdle Hall ! that he had been 
 guardian (?) to three young profligates, who all ran through their 
 property, which, somehow or another, came at last into his hands, 
 " at an equitable valuation." Still his possessions were so consider- 
 able, as not to be altogether accounted for, in vulgar esteem, even by 
 these and other honourable modes of accumulation ; nor were there 
 wanting those who conscientiously entertained a belief that a certain 
 dark-coloured gentleman, of indifferent character, known principally 
 by his predilection for appearing in perpetual mourning, had been 
 through life his great friend and counsellor, and had mainly assisted 
 in the acqi;irement of his revenues. That " old Jerry Jarvis had 
 sold himself to the devil" was, indeed, a dogma which it were heresy
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 487 
 
 to doubt in Appledore ; on this head, at least, there were few 
 schismatics in the parish. 
 
 When the worthy " Solicitor " next looked out of his ground-floor 
 back, he smiled with much complacency at beholding Joe Washford 
 again hard at work in his wig the little tail aforesaid oscillating 
 like a pendulum in the breeze. If it be asked what could induce a 
 gentleman, whose leading principle seems to have been self-appro- 
 priation, to make so magnificent a present, the answer is, that Mr. 
 Jarvis might, perhaps, have thought an occasional act of benevolence 
 necessary or politic ; he is not the only person, who, having stolen 
 a quantity of leather, has given away a pair of shoes, pour I'amour de 
 J)ieu, perhaps he had other motives. 
 
 Joe, meanwhile, worked away at the celery bed ; but truth obliges 
 us to say, neither with the same degree of vigour or perseverance as 
 had marked the earlier efforts of the morning. His pauses were 
 more frequent ; he rested longer on the handle of his spade ; while 
 ever and anon his eye would wander from the trench beneath him 
 to an object not unworthy the contemplation of a natural philosopher. 
 Thia was an apple-tree. 
 
 Fairer fruit never tempted Eve, or any of her daughters ; the 
 bending branches groaned beneath their luxuriant freight, and, 
 drooping to earth, seemed to ask the protecting aid of man either to 
 support or to relieve them. The fine, rich glow of their sun-streaked 
 clusters derived additional loveliness from the level beams of the 
 descending day-star. An anchorite's mouth had watered at the 
 pippins. 
 
 On the precise graft of the espalier of Eden, " Sanchoniathon, 
 Manetho, and Berosus " are undecided ; the best-informed Talmudists, 
 however, have, if we are to believe Dr. Pinner's German Version, 
 pronounced it a Eibstone pippin, and a Eibstone pippin-tree it was 
 that now attracted the optics, and discomposed the inner man of the 
 thirsty, patient, but perspiring gardener. The heat was still 
 oppressive ; no beer had moistened his lip, though its very name, 
 uttered as it was in the ungracious tones of a Witherspoon, had left 
 behind a longing as intense as fruitless. His thirst seemed super- 
 natural, when at this moment his left ear experienced " a slight and 
 tickling sensation," such as we are assured is occasionally produced 
 by an infinitesimal dose in honwopathy ; a still, small voice it was 
 as though a daddy-long-legs were whispering in his tympanum a 
 email voice seemed to say, "Joe ! take an apple, Joe ! ! " 
 
 Honest Joseph started at the suggestion ; the rich crimson of his
 
 488 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 
 
 jolly nose deepened to a purple tint in the beams of the setting sun ; 
 his very forehead was incarnadine. He raised his hand to scratch 
 his ear, the little tortuous tail had worked its way into it, he 
 pulled it out by the bit of shalloon, and allayed the itching, then 
 cast his eye wistfully towards the mansion where his master was 
 sitting by the open window. Joe pursed up his parched lips into 
 an arid whistle, and with a desperate energy struck his spade once 
 more into the celery-bed. 
 
 Alack ! alack ! Avhat a piece of work is man ! how short his 
 triumphs ! how frail his resolutions ! 
 
 From this fine and very original moral reflection we turn re- 
 luctantly to record the sequel. The celery-bed, alluded to as the 
 main scene of Mr. Washford's operations, was drawn in a rectilinear 
 direction, nearly across the whole breadth of the parallelogram that 
 comprised the "kitchen garden." Its northern extremity abutted 
 to the hedge before mentioned, its southern one woe is me that 
 it should have been so ! was in fearful vicinity to the Ribstone 
 pippin-tree. One branch, low bowed to earth, seemed ready to dis- 
 charge its precious burden into the very trench. As Joseph stooped 
 to insert the last plant with his dibble, an apple of more than 
 ordinary beauty bobbed against his knuckles. "He's taking snuff, 
 Joe," whispered the same small voice; the tail had twisted itself 
 into its old position. " He is sneezing ! now, Joe ! now ! " And, 
 ere the agitated horticulturist could recover from his surprise and 
 alarm, the fruit was severed, and in his hand ! 
 
 " He ! he ! he ! " shrilly laughed, or seemed to laugh, that 
 accursed little pigtail. Washford started at once to the perpen- 
 dicular ; with an enfrenzied grasp he tore the jasey from his head, 
 and, with that in one hand, and his ill-acquired spoil in the other, 
 he rushed distractedly from the garden ! 
 
 All that night was the humble couch of the once happy gardener 
 haunted with the most fearful visions. He was stealing apples, 
 he was robbing hen-roosts, he was altering the chalks upon the 
 milk-score, he had purloined three chemises from a hedge, and he 
 awoke in the very act of cutting the throat of one of Squire Hodge's 
 sheep ! A clammy dew stood upon his temples, the cold per- 
 spiration burst from every pore, he sprang in terror from the 
 bed. 
 
 " Why, Joe, what ails thee, man ? " cried the usually incurious 
 Mrs. Washford; "what be the matter with thee? Thee hast done
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 489 
 
 nothing but grunt and growl all t' niglit long, and now thee dost 
 stare as if thee saw summut. What bees it, Joe 1 " 
 
 A long-drawn sigh was her husband's only answer ; his eye fell 
 upon the bed. " How the devil came that here 1 " quoth Joseph, with 
 a sudden recoil : " who put that thing on my pillow 1 " 
 
 " Why, I did, Joseph. Th' ould night-cap is in the wash, and thee 
 didst toss and tumble so, and kick the clothes off, I thought thee 
 mightest catch cowld, so I clapt t' wig atop o' thee head." 
 
 And there it lay, the little sinister - looking tail impudently 
 perked up, like an infernal gnomon on a Satanic dial-plate Larceny 
 and Ovicide shone in every hair of it ! 
 
 " The dawn was overcast, the morning lower'd, 
 And heavily in clouds brought on the day," 
 
 when Joseph Washford once more repaired to the scene of liis daily 
 labours ; a sort of unpleasant consciousness flushed his countenance, 
 and gave him an uneasy feeling as he opened the garden gate ; for 
 Joe, generally speaking, was honest as the skin between his eye- 
 brows ; his hand faltered as it pressed the latch. " Pooh, pooh ! 
 'twas but an apple, after all ! " said Joseph. He pushed open the 
 wicket, and found himself beneath the tempting tree. 
 
 But vain now were all its fascinations ; like fairy gold seen by 
 the morning light, its charms had faded into very nothingness. 
 Worlds, to say nothing of apples, which in shape resemble them, 
 would not have bought him to stretch forth an unhallowed hand 
 again. He went steadily to his work. 
 
 The day continued cloudy, huge drops of rain fell at intervals, 
 stamping his bald pate with spots as big as halfpence ; but Joseph 
 worked on. As the day advanced, showers fell thick and frequent ; 
 the fresh -turned earth was itself fragrant as a bouquet. Joseph 
 worked on and when at last Jupiter Pluvius descended in all his 
 majesty, soaking the ground into the consistency of a dingy pudding, 
 he put on his party-coloured jacket, and strode towards his humble 
 home, rejoicing in his renewed integrity. "'Twas but an apple, 
 after all ! Had it been an apple-pie, indeed ! " 
 
 " An apple-pie ! " the thought was a dangerous one too danger- 
 ous to dwell on. But Joseph's better Genius was at this time lord 
 of the ascendant ; he dismissed it, and passed on. 
 
 On arriving at his cottage, an air of bustle and confusion prevailed 
 within, much at variance with the peaceful serenity usually observ- 
 able in its economy. Mrs. Washford was in high dudgeon ; her
 
 490 JERRY JARVIS'X WIG. 
 
 heels clattered on tlie red-tiled floor, and she whisked about tlie 
 house like a parched pea upon a drum-head ; her voice, generally 
 small and low, "an excellent thing in woman," was pitched at 
 least an octave above its ordinary level ; she was talking fast and 
 furious. Something had evidently gone wrong. The mystery was 
 soon explained. The " cussed ould tv:oad of a cat" had got into the 
 dairy, and licked off the cream from the only pan their single cow 
 had filled that morning! And there she now lay, purring as in 
 scorn, Tib, heretofore the meekest of mousers, the honestest, the 
 least " scaddle" of the feline race, a cat that one would have sworn 
 might have been trusted with untold fish, yes, there was no 
 denying it, proofs were too strong against her, yet there she lay, 
 hardened in her iniquity, coolly licking her whiskers, and reposing 
 quietly upon what ? Jerry Jarvis's old wig ! ! 
 
 The patience of a Stoic must have yielded ; it had been too 
 much for the temperament of the Man of Uz Joseph Washford 
 lifted his hand that hand which had never yet been raised on 
 Tibby, save to fondle and caress it now descended on her devoted 
 head in one tremendous " dowse." Never was cat so astonished, 
 so enraged all the tiger portion of her nature rose in her soul. 
 Instead of galloping off, hissing and sputtering, with arched back 
 and tail erected, as any ordinary Grimalkin would unquestionably 
 have done under similar circumstances, she paused a moment, drew 
 back on her haunches, all her energies seemed concentrated for 
 one prodigious spring ; a demoniac fire gleamed in her green and 
 yellow eyeballs, as, bounding upwards, she fixed her talons firmly in 
 each of her assailant's cheeks ! many and many a day after were 
 sadly visible the marks of those envenomed claws, then, clashing 
 over his shoulder with an unearthly mew, she leaped through the 
 open casement, and was seen no more. 
 
 " The Devil's in the cat ! " was the apostrophe of Mrs. Margaret 
 Washford. Her husband said nothing, but thrust the old wig into 
 his pocket, and went to bathe his scratches at the pump. 
 
 Day after day, night after night, 'twas all the same Joe Wash- 
 ford's life became a burden to him ; his natural upright and honest 
 mind struggled hard against the frailty of human nature. He was 
 ever restless and uneasy ; his frank, open, manly look, that blenched 
 not from the gaze of the spectator, was no more ; a sly and sinister 
 expression had usurped the place of it. 
 
 Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis had little of what the world calls " Taste," 
 still less of Science Ackerman would have called him a " Snob,"
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD Of KE&T. 491 
 
 and Buckland a "Nincompoop." Of the Horticultural Society, 
 its fetes, its fruits, and its fiddlings, he knew nothing. Little recked 
 he of flowers save cauliflowers in these, indeed, he was a con- 
 noisseur to their cultivation and cookery the respective talents of 
 Joe and Madame Witherspoon had long been dedicated ; but as for 
 a bouquet ! Hardham's 37 was " the only one fit for a gentleman's 
 nose." And yet, after all, Jerry Jarvis had a good-looking tulip- 
 bed. A female friend of his had married a Dutch merchant ; Jerry 
 drew the settlements ; the lady paid him by a cheque on " Child's," 
 the gentleman by a present of a "box of roots." Jerry put the 
 latter in his garden he had rather they had been schalots. 
 
 Not so his neighbour, Jenkinson ; he was a man of " Taste " and 
 of " Science ;" he was an F.R.C.E.B.S., which, as he told the vicar, 
 implied " Fellow of the Royal Cathartico - Emetico - Botanical 
 Society," and his autograph in Sir John Frostyface's album stood 
 next to that of the Emperor of all the Russias. Neighbour 
 Jenkinson fell in love with the pips and petals of "neighbour 
 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 bestow, his neighbour dared not offer to pur- 
 chase from so wealthy a man ; and, worse than all, Joe the gardener 
 was incorruptible ay, but the Wig ? 
 
 Joseph Washford was working away again in the blaze of the 
 mid-day sun ; his head looked like a copper saucepan fresh from 
 the brazier's. 
 
 " Why, where's your wig, Joseph ? " said the voice of his master 
 from the well-known window ; " what have you done with your 
 wig?" The question was 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 benefits 
 should be ill appreciated by the recipient. " Hark ye, Joseph 
 Washford," said he, "either 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."
 
 492 JERRY JARVJSB WIG. 
 
 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 
 pigtail wriggled itself into its accustomed position. 
 
 At this moment neighbour Jenkinson peeped over the hedge. 
 
 " Joe Washford ! " said neighbour Jenkinson. 
 
 " Sir, to you," was the reply. 
 
 " How beautiful your tulips look after the rain ! " 
 
 " All ! sir, master seta no great store by them flowers," returned 
 the gardener. 
 
 " Indeed ! Then perhaps he would have no objection to part 
 with a few?" 
 
 " Why, no ! I don't think master would like to give them, or 
 anything else, away, sir ; " and Washford scratched his ear. 
 
 "Joe ! ! "said Mr. Jenkinson" Joe ! ! " 
 
 The Sublime, observes Longinus, is often embodied in a mono- 
 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 Averni !" says Virgil. " It is only the first step 
 that is attended with any difficulty," 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 could it be lost 1 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 thousand ! it was
 
 A LEGEND OF THE \VEALD OF KENT. 493 
 
 marked with a great W in the corner ! Lost 1 impossible ? She 
 would see ! " Alas ! she never did see the chemise abiit, erupit, 
 evasit ! it was 
 
 " Like the lost Pleiad, seen on earth no more ! " 
 
 but Joseph Washford's Sunday shirt was seen, finer and fairer 
 than ever, the pride and dulce decus of the 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 Rev. Mr. Slyandry exhorted 
 or made way for the Rev. Mr. Tearbrain. Let who would officiate, 
 there was Joe. As I have said before, he never missed ; but other 
 people missed one missed an umbrella, one a pair of clogs. 
 Farmer Johnson missed his tobacco - box, Farmer Jackson his 
 greatcoat; Miss Jackson missed her hymn-book, a diamond 
 edition, bound in maroon-coloured velvet, with gilt corners and 
 clasps. Everything, in short, was missed but Joe Washford ; there 
 he sat, grave, sedate, and motionless all save that restless, trouble- 
 some, fidgety little Pigtail attached to his wig, which nothing could 
 keep quiet, or prevent from tickling and interfering with Miss 
 Thompson's curls, as she sat, back to back with Joe, in the adjoining 
 pew. After the third Sunday, Nancy Thompson eloped with the 
 tall recruiting sergeant of the Connaught Rangers. 
 
 The summer passed away, autumn came and went, and 
 Christmas, jolly Christmas, that period of which we are accustomed 
 to utter the mournful truism, it "comes but once a-year," was at 
 hand. It was a fine bracing morning ; the sun was just beginning 
 to throw a brighter tint upon the Quaker - coloured ravine of 
 Orlestone-hill, when a medical gentleman, returning to the quiet 
 little village of Ham Street, that lies at its foot, from a farm-house 
 at Kingsnorth, rode briskly down the declivity. 
 
 After several hours of patient attention, Mr. Moneypenny had 
 succeeded in introducing to the notice of seven little expectant 
 brothers and sisters a " remarkably fine child," and was now hurry- 
 ing home in the sweet hope of a comfortable " snooze " for a couple 
 of hours before the announcement of tea and muffins should arouse 
 him to fresh exertion. The road at this particular spot had, even 
 then, been cut deep below the surface of the soil, for the purpose of 
 diminishing the abruptness of the descent, and, as either side of the 
 superincumbent banks was clothed with a thick mantle of tangled 
 copsewood, the passage, even by day, was sufficiently obscure, the
 
 494 JERRY JARVIS'S WIG. 
 
 level beams of the rising or setting sun, as they happened to 
 enfilade the gorge, alone illuminating its recesses. A long stream 
 of rosy light was just beginning to make its way through the vista 
 and Mr. Moneypenny's nose had scarcely caught and reflected its 
 kindred ray, when the sturdiest and most active cob that ever 
 rejoiced in the appellation of a "Suffolk punch," brought herself 
 up in mid career upon her haunches, and that with a suddenness 
 which had almost induced her rider to describe that beautiful 
 mathematical figure, the parabola, between her ears. Peggy her 
 name was Peggy stood stock-still, snorting like a stranded grampus, 
 and alike insensible to the gentle hints afforded her by hand and heel. 
 
 " Teh ! tch ! get along, Peggy ! " half exclaimed, half whistled 
 the equestrian. If ever steed said in its heart, " I'll be shot if I 
 do ! " it was Peggy at that moment. She planted her forelegs deep 
 in the sandy soil, raised her stump of a tail to an elevation approach- 
 ing the horizontal, protruded her nose like a pointer at a covey, 
 and with expanded nostril continued to snuffle most egregiously. 
 
 Mr. Geoffrey Gambado, the illustrious "Master of the Horse to 
 the Doge of Venice," tells us, in his far-famed treatise on the Ait 
 Equestrian, that the most embarrassing position in which a rider 
 can be placed is, when he wishes to go one way, and his horse is 
 determined to go another. There is, to be sure, a tertium quid, 
 which, though it "splits the difference," scarcely obviates the incon- 
 venience ; this is when the parties compromise 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
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 495 
 
 chattering teeth, " progressed," as uear as the utmost extremity of 
 the extended bridle would allow him, to peep among the weeds and 
 brushwood that flanked the road, in. order to discover, if possible, 
 what it was that so exclusively attracted the instinctive attention of 
 his Bucephalus. 
 
 His curiosity was not long at fault ; the sunbeam glanced partially 
 upon some object ruddier even than itself it was a scarlet waist- 
 coat, the wearer of which, overcome perchance by Christmas com- 
 potation, 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 
 have uttered, at the highest pitch of his contralto, " What are you 
 doing there, you drunken rascal ? frightening my horse ! " We 
 have already hinted, if not absolutely asserted, that Peggy was a 
 mare ; but this was no time for verbal criticism. " Get up, I say, 
 get up,. and go. home, .you scoundrel!" But the "scoundrel" and 
 " drunken rascal " answered not ; he moved not, nor could the 
 prolonged shouting of the appellant, aided by significant explosions 
 from a double-thonged whip, succeed in eliciting a reply. No 
 motion indicated that the recumbent figure, whose outline alone was 
 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 run away." 
 
 IVggy threw up her head, and snorted disdain of the insinuation, 
 she had not the slightest intention of doing any such thing. 
 
 Mr. Moneypenny meanwhile, disencumbered of his restive nag, 
 proceeded by manual application to arouse the sleeper. Alas ! the 
 Seven of Ephesus might sooner have been awakened from their 
 century of somnolency. His was that " dreamless sleep that 
 knows no walking ; " his cares in this world were over. Vainly 
 did Moneypenny practise his own constant precept, "To be well 
 shaken ! " there lay before him the lifeless body of a MUKDERED
 
 496 JERRY JARVI&S WIG. 
 
 The corpse lay stretched upon its back, partially concealed, as we 
 have before said, by the nettles which had sprung up among the 
 stumps of the half-grubbed underwood ; the throat was fearfully 
 lacerated, and the dark, deep, arterial dye of the coagulated blood 
 shewed that the carotid had been severed. There was little to 
 denote the existence of any struggle ; but as the day brightened, 
 the sandy soil of the road exhibited an impression as of a body that 
 had fallen on its plastic surface, and had been dragged to its present 
 position, while fresh horse - shoe prints seemed to intimate that 
 either the assassin or his victim had been mounted. The pockets 
 of the deceased were turned out, and empty ; a hat and heavy -loaded 
 whip lay at no great distance from the body. 
 
 " But what have we here ? " quoth Doctor Moneypenny ; " what 
 is it that the poor fellow holds so tightly in his hand ? " 
 
 That hand had manifestly clutched some article with all the 
 spasmodic energy of a dying grasp IT WAS AN 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 brick and timber, with 
 what Johnson would have styled " interstices, reticulated, and 
 decussated between intersections" of lath and plaster. Its less 
 euphonious designation in the "Weald" is a "noggin." One half 
 the basement story is usually of the more solid material, the other, 
 open to the street, from which it is separated only by a row of 
 dingy columns, supporting a portion of the superstructure, is paved 
 with tiles, and sometimes does duty as a market-place, while, in its 
 centre, flanking the broad 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 undignified position, an inconvenience much 
 increased at times by some mischievous urchin, who, after abstract- 
 ing the shoes of the helpless detenu, amuses himself by tickling the 
 soles of his feet. 
 
 It was in such a place, or rather in the Court-room above, that in 
 the year 1761 a hale, robust man, 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-
 
 JERRY JARVIS'8 WIG 
 
 2K
 
 A LEGEND OF THE WEALD OF KENT. 4!)!) 
 
 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, homicidium quod nullo vidente, nullo auscultante, 
 clam perpetratur. 
 
 The victim was one Humphry Bourne, a reputable grazier of 
 Ivychurch, worthy and well to do, though, perchance, a thought too 
 apt to indulge on a market-day, when "a score of ewes" had 
 brought in a reasonable profit. Some such cause had detained him 
 longer than usual at an Ashford cattle-show ; he had left the town 
 late and alone ; early in the following morning his horse was found 
 standing at his own stable-door, the saddle turned round beneath 
 its belly, and much about the time that the corpse of its unfortunate 
 master was discovered some four miles off, by our friend the 
 pharmacopolist. 
 
 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 piece 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 pieces were found 
 in Joe Washford's pockets, Joe Washford 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 priming-knife red with the evi- 
 dence of his crime "the grey hairs yet stuck to the heft !" 
 
 For their humane administration of the laws, the lieges of this 
 portion of the realm have long boon celebrated. Here it was that 
 merciful verdict was recorded in the case of the old lady accused of 
 larceny, " We find her Not 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
 
 500 JERRY JARVISS WIG. 
 
 usual reply, " By God and my country," that of " By your worship 
 and a Dymchurch Jury." Here it was but enough ! not even 
 a Dymchurch jury could resist such evidence, even though the 
 gallows (i.e. the expense of erecting one) stared them, as well as the 
 criminal, in the face. The very pig-tail alone ! ever at his ear ! 
 a clearer case of suadente Diabolo never was made out. Had there 
 been a doubt, its very conduct in the Court-house would have 
 settled the question. The Kev. Joel Ingoldsby, umquhile chaplain 
 to the Romney Bench, has left upon record that, when exhibited in 
 evidence, together with the blood-stained knife, its twisting*, its 
 caperings, its gleeful evolutions quite "flabbergasted" the jury, and 
 threw all beholders into a consternation. It was remarked, too, by 
 many in the Court, that the Forensic Wig of the 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 insigni- 
 ficant. 
 
 Why prolong the painful scene? Joe Washford was tried Joe 
 Washford was convicted Joe Washford was hanged ! ! 
 
 The fearful black gibbet, on which his body clanked in its chains 
 to the midnight winds, frowns no more upon Orlestone Hill ; it has 
 sunk beneath the encroaching hand of civilization ; but there it 
 might be seen late in the last century, an awful warning to all bald- 
 pated gentlemen how they wear, or accept, the old wig of a Special 
 Attorney, 
 
 Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes ! 
 
 Such gifts, as we have seen, may lead to a " Morbid Delusion, the 
 climax of which is Murder ! " 
 
 The fate of the Wig itself is somewhat doubtful : nobody seems 
 to have recollected, with any degree of precision, what became of it. 
 Mr. Ingoldsby " had heard " that, when thrown into the fire by the 
 Court-keeper, after whizzing, and fizzling, and performing all sorts 
 of 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
 
 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. 501 
 
 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 WISHES. 
 
 BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLD9BY, AGED 15. 
 (Communicated by her Cousin Tom.) 
 
 OH ! how I should like in a Coach to ride, 
 
 Like the Sheriffs I saw upon Lord Mayor's day, 
 
 "With a Coachman and little Postilion astride 
 On the back of the leader, a prancing bay. 
 
 And then behind it, oh ! I should glory 
 
 To see the tall serving men standing upright, 
 
 Like the two who attend Mister Montefiore, 
 (Sir Moses I should say) for now he's a Knight. 
 
 And then the liveries, I know it is rude to 
 
 Find fault but I'll hint as he can't see me blush, 
 
 That I'd not have the things I can only allude to 
 Either orange in hue or constructed of plush ; 
 
 But their coats and their waistcoats and hats are delightful, 
 Their charming silk stockings I vow and declare 
 
 Our John's ginger gaiters so wrinkled and frightful, 
 I never again shall be able to bear. 
 
 Oh ! how I should like to have diamonds and rubies, 
 And large plume of feathers and flowers in my hair, 
 
 My gracious 1 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 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.
 
 502 UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES. 
 
 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 white teeth and his cheek like a rose, 
 And his black cravat and his diamond pin, 
 
 And the nice little mustache under his nose, 
 And the dear little tuft on the tip of his chin. 
 
 And how I should 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.
 
 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 priorj', * 
 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 clergymen's cassocks. 
 
 The new married folks Taken in by this hoax, 
 Mister Hermann grows frisky and full of his jokes : 
 To the serious chagrin of her late happy suitor, 
 Catching hold of the Bride, he attempts to 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 scandalized, stopp'd all his fun ! 
 
 Just conceive what a caper He cut, when her taper 
 Long fingers scrawled this upon whitey-brown paper, 
 (At the instant he seized, and before he had kissed 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 pickle, 
 Offences of this kind severely to tickle, 
 
 503
 
 504 HERMANN; OR, THE BROKEN SPEAR, 
 
 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 Condottieri : 
 And the next thing we hear of this penitent villain, 
 He is begging in rags in the suburbs of Milan. 
 
 Half starv'd, meagre, and pale, His energies fail, 
 When his sister comes in with a pot of mild ale ; 
 But though tatter'd his jerkins, 
 His heart is whole, workings 
 Of conscience debar him from " Barclay and Perkins." 
 
 " I'll drink," exclaims he, " Nothing stronger than tea, 
 And that but the worst and the weakest Bohea, 
 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 equal the joy of his fair sister Isabel, 
 
 And the Dumb Lady too, Who runs off to a Jew, 
 And buys him a coat of mail spick and span new, 
 In the hope that his prowess 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 m<?Me, Pounds this to a jelly, 
 Runs that through the back, and a third through the belly. 
 Till many a broken bone, bruised rib, and flat head, 
 Make his ci-devant friends curse the hour that he ratted. 
 
 Amid so many blows, Of course you'll suppose 
 He must get a black eye, or, at least, bloody nose : 
 " Take that ! " cried a bandit, and struck, while he spoke it, 
 His spear in his breast, and, in pulling out, broke it. 
 
 Hermann fainted away When, as breathless he lay, 
 A rascal claimed all the renown of the day ; 
 A recreant, cowardly, white-livered knight, 
 Who had skulked in a furze-bush the whole of the fight. 
 
 But the Dumb Lady soon Put some gin in a spoon, 
 And half strangles poor Hermann, who wakes from his swoon, 
 And exhibits his wound, when the head of the spear 
 Fits its handle, and makes its identity clear. 
 The murder thus out, Hermann's feted and thanked, 
 While his rascally rival gets tossed in a blanket : 
 
 And to finish the play As reformed rakes, they say, 
 Make the best of all husbands the very same day
 
 HINTS FOE AN HISTORICAL PLAY. 505 
 
 Hermann sends for a priest, as he must wed with some lady, 
 Buys a ring and a licence, and marries the Dumb Lady. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Take warning, young people of every degree, 
 
 From Hermann's example, and don't live too free ! 
 
 If you get in bad company, fly from it soon ! 
 
 If you chance to get thrash'd, take some gin in a spoon ; 
 
 And remember, since wedlock's not all sugar-candy, 
 
 If you wish to 'scape " wigging," a dumb wife's the dandy ! 
 
 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY; 
 
 TO BE CALLED 
 
 WILLIAM RUFUS ; OR, THE RED ROVER. 
 ACT 1. 
 
 WALTER TYRREL, the son of a Norman Papa, 
 
 Has, somehow or other, a Saxon Mama : 
 
 Though humble, yet far above mere vulgar loons, 
 
 lie's a sort of a sub in the Rufus dragoons ; 
 
 Has travelled, but comes home abruptly, the rather 
 
 That some unknown rascal has murder'd his father ; 
 
 And scarce has he picked 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, 
 
 And preventing his breaking King Rufus's neck. 
 
 ACT 2. 
 
 Sir Walter has dress'd himself up like a Ghost, 
 And frightens a soldier away from his post ; 
 Then, discarding his helmet, he pulls his cloak higher, 
 Draws it over his ears and pretends he's a Friar. 
 This gains him access to his sweetheart, Miss Faucit ; 
 But, the King coming in, lie hides up in her closet ;
 
 506 HINTS FOR AN HISTORICAL PLAY. 
 
 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 ! 
 Forgetting his funk, lie 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 list, and exhibits such airs, 
 That his Majesty bids his men kick him down stair.s. 
 
 ACTS. 
 
 King Rufus is cross when he comes to reflect, 
 That as King, he's been treated with gross disrespect ; 
 So he pens a short note to a holy physician, 
 And gives him a rather unholy commission, 
 Viz., to mix up some arsenic and ale in a cup, 
 Which the chances are Tyrrel may find and drink up. 
 Sure enough, on the very next morning, Sir Walter 
 Perceives, in his walks, this same cup on the altar. 
 As he feels rather thirsty, he's just about drinking, 
 When Miss Faucit in tears, comes in running like winking 
 He pauses of course, and as she's thirsty too, 
 Says, very politely, " Miss, I after you ! " 
 The young lady curtsies, and being so dry, 
 Raises 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 en passant on the desperate lover, 
 Who has vow'd, not five minutes before, to transfix him, 
 So he does, he just pulls out his arrow and sticks him. 
 From the strength of his arm, and the force of his blows, 
 The Red-bearded Rover falls flat on his nose ; 
 And Sir Walter, thus having concluded his quarrel, 
 Walks down to the footlights, and draws this fine moral : 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 
 Lead sober lives : 
 
 Don't meddle with other folks' Sweethearts or Wives ! 
 When you go out a sporting, take care of your gun, 
 And never shoot elderly people in fun ! "
 
 MARIE MIGNOT. 507 
 
 MAEIE MIGNOT. 
 
 Miss MARIE MIGNOT was a nice little Maid, 
 Her Uncle a Cook, and a Laundress her trade, 
 And she loved as dearly as any one can 
 Mister Lagardie, a nice little man. 
 
 But Oh ! But Oh ! Story of woe ! 
 A sad interloper, one Monsieur Modeau, 
 
 Ugly and old, "With plenty of gold, 
 
 Made his approach In an elegant coach, 
 Her 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 stuffed, 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 &lat, 
 Had cut the Cook's shop and followed 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 Marshal of France Had just asked her to dance ; 
 In a twinkling, the ci-devant Madame Modeau 
 Was wife of the Marshal Lord Marquis Dinot. 
 Mister Lagardie was shocked 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 showed her the ring : 
 To be Queen, she conceived was a very fine thing ; 
 
 But the King turned 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."
 
 508 THE TRUANTS. 
 
 Thus between the two stools, Like some other fools, 
 Her Ladyship found Herself plump on the ground ; 
 So she cried, and she stamped, 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 
 Tf a fine moral lesson you'd draw from a play, 
 
 To the Haymarket go And see Marie Mignot, 
 Miss Kelly plays Marie, and Williams Modeau ; 
 
 Mrs. Glover and Vining Are really quite shining, 
 
 And though Thompson for a Marquis 
 
 Has almost too much carcass, 
 
 Yet it's not fair to pass him or 
 
 John Cooper's Cassimir, 
 
 And the piece would be barren 
 
 Without Mr. Farren ; 
 
 Xo 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 Lawyer nor Marquis Dinot, 
 She had ne'er been a nun, whose fare very hard is, 
 But the mother of half-a-score little Lagardies. 
 
 THE TRUANTS. 
 
 THREE little Demons have broken loose 
 
 From the National School below ! 
 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 ! 
 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 meet your eyes, 
 
 "Pray is Old Nick a-brewing?" 
 Thither these three little Devils repair, 
 And mount by steam to the uppermost air.
 
 THE TRUANTS. 505) 
 
 They have got hold of a wandering star, 
 That happened to come within hail. 
 
 O swiftly they glide ! As they merrily ride 
 
 All a cock-stride Of that Comet's tail. 
 
 Oh the pranks ! Oh the pranks, 
 
 The merry pranks, the mad pranks, 
 
 These wicked urchins play ! 
 They kissed the Virgin and filled her with dread, 
 They popped the Scorpion into her bed ; 
 They broke the pitcher of poor Aquarius, 
 They stole the arrows of Sagittarius, 
 And they skimmed the Milky Way. 
 They filled the Scales with sulphur full, 
 They halloed the Dog-star on at the Bull, 
 And pleased themselves with the noise. 
 
 They set the Lion On poor Orion ; 
 
 They shaved all the hair Off the Lesser Bear ! 
 
 They kicked 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 ! Away ! 
 Let us go down to the earth and play ! 
 
 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 called ? 
 These three little Fiends so gay ? 
 
 One was Cob ! Another was Mob ! 
 The last and the least was young Chittabob f 
 Queer little Devils were they ! 
 
 Cob was the strongest, Mob was the wrongest, 
 Chittabob's tail was the finest and longest ! 
 Three more frolicsome Imps, I ween, 
 Beelzebub's self hath seldom seen. 
 
 Over Mountain, over Fell, Glassy Fountain, mossy Dell, 
 Rocky 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 wheeleries, 
 
 Down they drop at the gate of the Tuilleries. 
 
 Courtiers were bowing and making legs, 
 While Charley le Hoi was boiling eggs ;
 
 610 THE TRUANTS. 
 
 " Mob," says Cob, " Chittabob," says Mob, 
 " Come here, you young Devil, we're in for a job!'' 
 . Up jumps Cob to the Monarch's ear, 
 
 " Charley, my jolly boy, never fear ; 
 
 If you mind all their jaw About Charter and Law, 
 Y"ou might just as well still be the Count d'Artois! 
 
 No such thing, Show 'em you're King, 
 Tip 'em an Ordinance, that's the thing ! " 
 
 Charley dined, Took his pen and signed ; 
 Then Mob kicked over his throne from behind ! 
 " Huzza ! Huzza ! we may scamper now ! 
 For here we have kicked 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 ecstasy, 
 And blew up the nobles of high degree. 
 
 " Mr. Brougham, Mr. Hume, May fret and may fame 
 And so may all you whom I see in this room ; 
 Come weal, come woe, come calm, come storm 
 I'll see you all blessed ere I give you reform ; ; ' 
 
 " Bravo," says Chittabob, " That's your sort, 
 Come along, schoolfellows, here's more sport. 
 
 Look there 1 look there ! There's the great Lord May'r 
 With the gravest of Deputies close to his chair ; 
 
 With Hobbler, his Clerk ! Just the thing for a lark ; 
 Huzza ! huzza ! 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 ! 
 
 Tom Macaulay beheld the flight 
 Of these three little dusky sons of night,
 
 THE TRUANTS. 511 
 
 And his heart swell'd with joy and elation 
 
 " Oh, see ! " quoth he, " Those Nigycrlinys three, 
 Who have just got emancipation !" 
 
 Lord Key took fright : At the very first sight, 
 The whole Court of Aldermen wheel'd to the right ; 
 Some ran from Chittabob more from Mob, 
 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 weened while the ground he thus ran over, 
 Tvvas a Cob he bestrode not his white horse from Hanover. 
 
 Back they came galloping through the Strand, 
 When Joseph Lancaster, stick in hand, 
 Popped 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 off in a crack, 
 To flog those three little runaways back. 
 
 Fear each assails ; Every one quails ; 
 ' Oh dear ! how 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 just 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 say he's down in Kent. 
 
 But where'er he may roam, 
 Hi' has not ventured home 
 Since the day the three took wing, 
 
 And many suppose He has chongM his clothes, 
 And now goes by the name of "Swiny."
 
 512 THE POPLAR-MY LETTERS. 
 
 THE POPLAR. 
 
 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. 
 
 Yes, here is the G which proclaimed Georgiana ; 
 
 Our heart's empress then ; see, 'tis grown all askew ; 
 And it's not without grief we perforce entertain a 
 
 Conviction, it now looks much more like a Q. 
 
 This should be the great D too, that once stood for Dobbin, 
 
 Her lov'd patronymic ah ! can it be so 1 
 Its once fair proportions, time too has been robbing ; 
 
 A D ? we'll be Deed 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 X es, 
 
 And turn true-love's alphabet all upside down ! 
 
 MY LETTERS. 
 
 " Litera scripta manet." OLD SAW. 
 
 ANOTHER mizzling, drizzling 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 wooed JEneas back to bliss, 
 Or Troilus gone to hunt for Cressid ! 
 
 No, they'd have stayed at home, like me, 
 And popped 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 
 
 Bring that Portfolio stir the fire 
 Now off as fast as you are able !
 
 MY LETTERS. 513 
 
 First here's a card from Mrs. Grimes, 
 
 " A Ball ! " slie 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," 
 Why, Z ds ! 
 I've seen the man but twice here, burn it. 
 
 One from my Cousin Sophy Daw 
 Full of Aunt Margery's distresses ; 
 
 " The Cat has kittened in ' the draw,' 
 And ruined two bran-new silk dresses." 
 
 From Sam, " The Chancellor's motto," nay, 
 Confound his puns, he knows I hate 'em ; 
 
 " Pro Rege, Lege, Grege," Ay, 
 " For King read Mob ! " 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 doing 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 wish they'd call it Nebuchadnezzar, 
 Or thrown it in the Thames and drowned it. 
 
 What have we next 1 A civil Dun : 
 
 " John Brown would take it as a favour " 
 
 Another, and a surlier one, 
 
 " I can't put up with sich behaviour." 
 2 L
 
 514 MY LETTERS. 
 
 " Bill so long standing," " quite tired out," 
 " Must sit down to insist on payment," 
 
 " Called 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 wlien his bill's as " tired of standing " 
 As he is, beg 'twill " sit down also." 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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. 
 
 " D'ye give it up ? " indeed I do ! 
 
 Confound these antiquated minxes ; 
 I won't play " Billy Black " to a " Blue" 
 
 Or CEdipus to such old sphinxes. 
 
 A note sent iip from Kent to show me, 
 
 Left with my bailiff, Peter King : 
 " I'll burn them precious stacks down, blow me ! 
 
 " Your's 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 go that way ; " 
 
 " And buy at Pearsal's in the City 
 Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses : 
 
 Colour no matter, so it's pretty ; 
 
 Two hundred pens " two hundred curses 
 
 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 1
 
 NEW-MADE HONOUR. 515 
 
 " And then, perhaps, you will as well, see 
 
 The poor dear fellow safe to school 
 At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea ! " 
 
 Heaven send lie flog the little fool ! 
 
 From Lady Snooks : " Dear Sir, you know 
 
 You promised me last week a Rebus ; 
 A something smart and apropos, 
 
 For my new Album 1 " Aid me, Phoebus ! 
 
 " My first is followed by my second ; 
 
 Yet should my first my second see, 
 A dire mishap it would be reckoii'd, 
 
 And sadly shocked my first would be, 
 
 " Were I but what my whole implies, 
 
 And passed by chance across your portal ; 
 You'd cry, ' Can I believe my eyes ? 
 
 I never saw so queer a mortal ! ' 
 
 " For then my head would not be on, 
 
 My arms their shoulders must abandon ; 
 My very body would be gone, 
 
 I should not have a leg to stand on." 
 
 Come, that's dispatched what follows ? Stay, 
 
 " Reform demanded by the nation ; 
 Vote for Tagrag and Bobtail ! " Ay, 
 
 By Jove, a blessed Reformation I 
 
 Jack, clap the saddle upon Rose 
 
 Or no ! the filly she's the fleeter 
 The devil take the rain here goes, 
 
 I'm off a plumper for Sir Peter 1 
 
 NEW-MADE HONOUR. 
 (IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.) 
 
 A FRIEND I met, some half hour since 
 " Good-morrow, Jack ! " quoth I ; 
 
 The new-made Knight, like any Prince, 
 Frowned, nodded, and passed by ;
 
 516 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 When up came Jem " Sir 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, 
 
 He's spoilt an honest tradesman and my dinner. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 THERE'S somewhat on my breast, father, 
 
 There's somewhat on my breast ! 
 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 oppresseth me 
 
 This weary weight of woe ! 
 
 ! Tis not the lack of gold, father, 
 
 Nor want of worldly gear ; 
 My lands are broad, and fair to see, 
 
 My friends are kind and dear. 
 My kin are leal and true, father, 
 
 They mourn to see my grief ; 
 But oh ! 'tis not a kinsman's hand 
 
 Can give my heart relief ! 
 
 'Tis not that Janet's false, father, 
 
 'Tis not that she's unkind ; 
 Tho' busy flatterers swarm around 
 
 I know her constant mind. 
 'Tis not her coldness, father, 
 
 That chills my labouring breast, 
 It's that confounded cucumber 
 
 I've eat and can't digest.
 
 EPIGRAM SONG 517 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 BRAVE L , so says a knight of the pen, 
 
 " Has exposed himself much at the head of his men," 
 As 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 stayed and exposed himself more at their tail 1 
 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. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THERE sits a bird on yonder tree, 
 
 More fond than Cushat 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 May our meeting spy, 
 
 For all are clos'd in rest, 
 My love ! 
 
 Each eye is closed in rest.
 
 518 EPIGRAM-SONG. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, sweet is the breath of morn ! 
 
 When the sun's first beams appear ; 
 Oh ! sweet is the shepherd's strain, 
 
 When it dies on the listening 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 ! 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 EHEU FUGACES. 
 
 WHAT Horace says is, Eheu fugaces 
 
 Anni labuntur, Postume, 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 Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, 
 
 Sighing I murmur, "0 mihi prcderitos ! " 
 
 SONG. 
 
 'Tis sweet to think the pure ethereal being, 
 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.
 
 AS I LA YE A-THYNKYNGK 519 
 
 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 tenderest love united, 
 Together seek the realms of endless day ! 
 
 AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE. 
 
 THE LAST LINES OF THOMAS INGOLDSBY. 
 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkyngc, 
 Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye ; 
 There came a noble Knyghte, 
 With his hauberke shynynge brighte, 
 And his gallant heart was lyghte, 
 
 Free and gaye ; 
 As I lay a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye. 
 
 As I lay a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, 
 Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree ! 
 There seem'd a crimson plain, 
 Where a gallant Knyghte laye slayne, 
 And a steed with broken rein 
 
 Ban free, 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see ! 
 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, 
 Merrie sting 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-thynkynge, 
 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.
 
 520 A8 I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE. 
 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, a-tliynkynge, a-tliynkynge, 
 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. 
 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, 
 And sadly sang the Birde as it perch'd upon a bier : 
 
 That joyous smile was gone, 
 
 And the face was white and wan, 
 
 As the downe upon the Swan 
 
 Doth appear, 
 As I laye a-thynkynge oh ! bitter flow'd the tear ! 
 
 As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking, 
 O merrie sang that Birde as it glitter'd on her breast 
 
 With a thousand gorgeous dyes, 
 
 While soaring to the skies, 
 
 'Mid the stars she seem'd to rise, 
 
 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 ! " T. I. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 MORRISON AND GI1JI!, EDINBURGH, 
 PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE, 
 
 267051188(568.
 
 A 
 
 CATALOGUE 
 
 OF 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE&CO/S
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Arranged in Order of Price as far as possible. 
 
 In demy 8vo, price 4, cloth gilt, the LIBRARY EDITION of 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES, HISTORIES, 
 
 TRAGEDIES AND POEMS. By J. PAYNE COLLIER. 6 Vols. 
 In crown 8vo, Five Vols., price 2 izs. 6d., cloth, gilt top. 
 
 HISTORY of the PEOPLE of the UNITED STATES, 
 
 from the Revolution to the Civil War. By JOHN BACH McMASTER. 
 
 In fcap. 4to, white vellum, gilt, uncut edges, 2 2s. ; fcap. 410, hand- 
 some cloth binding, i us. 6d. 
 
 THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. By PAUL FISHER. 
 
 Edited by G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES. Choice Edition, with 
 original Woodcuts and Steel Engravings by BECKWITH and 
 TOPHAM. Printed on India paper. 
 
 In 4to, elegant binding design, price 255. 
 
 THE EARL'S RETURN. By OWEN MEREDITH (Earl 
 
 LYTTON.) A Choice Work, Illustrated with numerous Photo- 
 gravures and Wood Engravings from Drawings by W. L. TABOR. 
 This Edition is limited to 250 copies. 
 
 In cloth binding, calf back, illuminated linings, price 155. 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS SONGS: Containing Original Music 
 by Thirty-two Composers, written for the Poems and Jingles of 
 St. Nicholas Magazine. 200 pages (the size of music' sheets), with 
 112 Songs and 140 Illustrations. 
 
 In royal 8vo, gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price IDS. 6d. 
 
 THE CHRONICLE OF THE DRUM. By WILLIAM 
 
 MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. Embellished with Fifty finely engraved 
 Illustrations, and printed on the finest plate paper by FRANCIS 
 HART & Co., the original printers of Scribner's Monthly. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 COMPENDIUMS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 In Four Vols. , with a complete Index and Steel Illustrations, crown 8vo, 
 price 205. , cloth gilt ; or half -calf extra, 35*. 
 
 HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS 
 
 Remodelled by its Original Editor, CHARLES KNIGHT, with Selec- 
 tions from Authors, added, whose works have placed them amongst 
 the "Best Authors" since the publication of the First Edition. 
 ** This book contains 320 Extracts of the best efforts of pur great Standard 
 Authors, whether they be Poets or Historians, Essayists or Divines, Travellers or 
 Philosophers, arranged so as to form half an hour's reading for every day of the year. 
 The student finds a taste of every quality, and a specimen of every style. Should he 
 grow weary of one author, he can turn to another ; and if inclined to be critical, he 
 can weigh the merits of one writer against those of his fellow. It gives us a glimpse 
 of the celebrities assembled within its portals. At a glance the student can obtain 
 some idea of the subject. Such books are the true foundations of that knowledge which 
 renders men celebrated and famous. 
 
 In Four Vols., crown 8vo, price 205., cloth gilt ; or half-calf extra, 355. 
 
 HALF-HOURS OF ENGLISH HISTORY 
 
 (LIBRARY EDITION), with Steel Portraits, new style of binding. 
 Volumes i and 2, from the Roman Period to the Death of Elizabeth, 
 
 Selected and Edited, with Notes, by CHARLES KNIGHT. Volumes 
 
 3 and 4, continuing the History from James to Victoria, by L, 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 Contains the Choicest Historical Extracts from upwards of Fifty Standard Authors, 
 including BURKE, PALGRAVK, GUIZOT, SHERIDAN KNOWLES, THIERRY, H. TAYLOR, 
 Rev. JAMES WHITE, CHARLES KNIGHT, G. L. CRAIK, LANDOR, HUME, KEATS, 
 HALLAM, SOUTHEY, SHAKSPEARE, FROISSART, Sir WALTER SCOTT, HALL, BARANTE, 
 Lord BACON, CAVENDISH, Bishop BURNET, Rev. H. H. MILMAN, WORDSWORTH, Lord 
 MACAULAY ; with a General Index. 
 
 The articles are chiefly selected so as to afford a succession of graphic parts oi 
 English History, chronologically arranged, from the consideration that the portions 
 of history upon which general readers delight to dwell are those which tell some 
 story which is complete in itself, or furnish some illustration which has a separate as 
 well as a general interest. 
 
 In crown 8vo, Six Volumes, cloth gilt, price i los. 
 
 ISAAC D'ISRAELI'S WORKS. With Notes, &c., by 
 
 the EARL OF BEACONSFIELD. Comprising 
 
 The Curiosities of Literature. Three Volumes. 
 The Literary Character of Men of Genius. 
 The Calamities and Quarrels of Authors. 
 The Amenities of Literature. 
 
 In crown 8vo, Three Volumes, gilt, price 155. , with Portrait. 
 
 GIBBON'S DECLINE and FALL of the ROMAN 
 
 EMPIRE. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 THE CAVENDISH LD3RAKY. 
 
 Printed on superfine paper. A Series of Standard Works, uniformly 
 bound, in large crown 8vo, gilt, uncut, price 35. 6d. per volume. 
 
 HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 Edited by CHARLES KNIGHT. In Four Volumes, with Steel 
 Frontispieces. Each Volume contains Extracts from our Great 
 Standard Authors, including MACAULAY, THACKERAY, SMOLLETT, 
 ADDISON, DICKENS, CHARLES KINGSLEY, DE QUINCEY, MILTON, 
 CHARLOTTE BRONTE, GEORGE ELIOT, ISAAC D'ISRAELI, and others. 
 
 HALF-HOURS OF ENGLISH HISTORY. In Four 
 
 Volumes, with Steel Frontispieces. 
 
 Edited by CHARLES KNIGHT. 
 Vol. I. From the Roman Period 
 to the Death of Henry III. 
 Vol. II. From Edward I. to the 
 
 Edited by L. VALENTINE. 
 Vol. III. From James I. to 
 William and Mary. 
 
 Vol. IV. From Anne to Victoria. 
 
 Death of Elizabeth. 
 
 THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. By 
 
 JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY. Complete Edition, in Three Volumes, 
 with Notes, Index, &c. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA, 
 
 and in the South of France, from the Year 1807 to the Year 1814. 
 By Major-General W. F. P. NAPIER, C.B. Six Volumes, with 
 Notes, Steel Portrait, and 55 Maps and Plans. 
 
 HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AMERICAN 
 
 AUTHORS. Selected and Edited by CHARLES MORRIS. In 
 Four Volumes, containing Extracts from the following Authors : 
 L. M. ALCOTT, JOHN BURROUGHS, MARK TWAIN, OLIVER WENDELL 
 HOLMES, WASHINGTON IRVING, J. R. LOWELL, LONGFELLOW, 
 MOTLEY, POE, PRESCOTT, BAYARD TAYLOR, WHITTIER, and others. 
 
 EVELYN'S DIARY AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 Edited by BRAY. With Frontispiece and full Index. 
 
 THIRD LARGE EDITION. 
 In fcap. 4to, price los. 6d., cloth gilt, gilt edges ; or morocco, \ is. 
 
 OTHER MEN'S MINDS: Seven Thousand Choice 
 
 Extracts on History, Science, Philosophy, Religion, &c. From 
 Standard Authors. Classed in Alphabetical Order. Edited and 
 Selected by E. DAVIES, D.D. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 In Five Vols., crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price i 55. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF HISTORY. 
 
 Comprising 
 
 England. By HENRY NEALE. 21 Illustrations by T. LANDSEER. 
 France. By LEITCH RITCHIE. 21 Illustrations by T. LANDSEER. 
 Spain. By Don T. DE TRUEBA. Illustrations by J. K. MEADOWS. 
 Italy. By C. MACFARLANE. 21 Illustrations by T. LANDSEER. 
 India. By the Rev. HOBART GAUNTER, B.D. With Illustrations. 
 
 In fcap. 4to, half calf, gilt top, price IDS. 6d. 
 
 HALLIWELL'S NURSERY RHYMES OF ENG- 
 LAND. Large Paper Edition, with Original Illustrations, Steel 
 Frontispiece and Title Page (Limited Edition). 
 
 In fcap. 4to, half calf, gilt top, price IDS. 6d. 
 
 PILPAY'S FABLES. Fine Large Paper Edition, 
 Elegantly printed on hand-made paper, and limited to 250 copies. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price IDS. 6d., cloth gilt, 338 pages. 
 
 BILLIARDS. By WILLIAM COOK (Champion). Edited 
 by A. G. PAYNE. With Eight Photographs of COOK, and Illus- 
 trated by Sixty Coloured Diagrams of the actual Play of COOK, 
 BENNETT, ROBERTS, PEALL, and MITCHELL. 
 
 In royal 4to, price 125. 6d., cloth elegant. 
 
 BARON MUNCHAUSEN: His Adventures. Com- 
 prising Eighteen magnificent Coloured Plates from Original 
 Designs by BICHARD, and full Descriptive Text. 
 
 THE STANDARD BOOK OF GAMES AND SPORTS. 
 
 In square crown 8vo, price 85. 6d. t cloth gilt; or gilt edges, 95. 
 
 THE BOY'S MODERN PLAYMATE. A New Book 
 
 of Games, Sports, and Diversions for Boys of all Ages. Compiled 
 and Edited by Rev. J. G. WOOD. With 600 Illustrations. 
 
 In square crown 8vo, price 85. 6d., cloth gilt ; or gilt edges, 95. 
 
 THE HOME BOOK FOR YOUNG LADIES. An 
 
 Original Work, with 250 Choice Illustrations. Edited by Mrs. 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 This Volume aims to be a Standard Book for Play, Work, Art, Duty 
 Games for Play Hours, Work for Leisure in the Home Circle, Art for the 
 Cultivation of Taste, and Duty to ensure Home Happiness. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 In fcap. 4to, price 75. 6d. , cloth gilt, 640 pages ; or half- 
 roxburgh, gilt top, los. 6d. 
 
 SPORT IN MANY LANDS: EUROPE and ASIA; AFRICA 
 and AMERICA. By " THE OLD SHEKARRY." With Two Hundred 
 Illustrations. 
 
 In fcap. 4to, gilt, price 75. 6d. 
 
 THE BOY'S BOOK OF SPORTS AND OUT-DOOR 
 
 LIFE IN AMERICA. Edited by MAURICE THOMPSON. With 
 very numerous Original Illustrations. 
 
 In demy 8vo, 75. 6d., or gilt edges, 8s. 6d. 
 
 HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES. A New 
 
 Translation by Mrs. H. B. PAULL. With numerous Original Il- 
 lustrations and many Page Plates printed in Colours. 
 
 In demy 8vo, price 7-r. 6d, each. 
 
 GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES. Complete Edition, Tran- 
 slated by Mrs. PAULL, with 16 new Coloured Plates and very 
 numerous Illustrations. Handsome binding, cloth gilt, bevelled 
 boards. 
 
 THE ARABIAN NIGHTS, from the Translation of 
 Rev. G. F. TOWNSEND. With 16 new Coloured Plates and very 
 numerous Illustrations. Handsome binding, cloth gilt, bevelled 
 boards. 
 
 PEPPER'S CYCLOPEDIC SCIENCE SIMPLI- 
 FIED. By J. H. PEPPER. A new Edition, with many Illustra- 
 tions. 
 
 GREAT EVENTS OF THE WORLD, in Poetry and 
 Prose. Edited by REBECCA WARREN BROWN, and Illustrated by 
 many beautiful Engravings. 
 
 PALESTINE, HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE; 
 
 or, The Home of God's People. Edited by Rev. W. L. GAGE, and 
 Illustrated with 150 Engravings and Maps. 
 
 PIONEER LIFE AND FRONTIER ADVENTURES: 
 
 An Authentic Record of the Romantic Life and Daring Deeds of 
 Kit Carson and his Companions, from his own Narrative. By 
 DREWITT C. PETERS, Lt.-Col. and Surgeon, U.S.A., with many 
 powerful and graphic Illustrations. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 In square crown 8vo, gilt, gilt edges, price ys. fid. 
 
 DODD'S BEAUTIES OF SHAKESPEARE. (Choice 
 
 Edition.) With 25 Steel Plates by SMIRKE, &c. Finely printed. 
 A VALUABLE WORK OF REFERENCE. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 75. 6d,, half-bound, 750 pp. 
 
 A MANUAL OF 
 
 DOMESTIC MEDICINE & SURGERY. 
 
 A COMPLETELY NEW EDITION. 
 By J. H. WALSH, P.R.C.S. 
 
 Illustrated by Forty-four page Engravings, Sixteen printed in 
 Colours, of the Skin Diseases. 
 
 In royal 4to, price 75. 6d., picture boards. 
 
 DORE'S TWO HUNDRED HUMOROUS AND 
 
 GROTESQUE SKETCHES. 
 In demy 4to, cloth elegant, price 75. 6d. each, gilt, and gilt edges. 
 
 ARMY AND NAVY DROLLERIES. With 24 Original 
 
 Designs, printed in Colours, and Descriptive Letterpress. 
 
 LEAR'S BOOK OF NONSENSE. With no Droll 
 
 Illustrations in Colours. 
 
 In royal 4to, price 55., cloth gilt, gilt edges. 
 
 SHAKSPEARIAN TALES IN VERSE. A Rhyming 
 
 Version of some of the Popular Plays of Shakspeare. Illustrated 
 with 24 page Plates in Colours and numerous Illustrations in Tints 
 in the Text. 
 
 In extra large 4to, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, price 55. each. 
 
 1 THE LITTLE PEOPLE'S FAVOURITE ALBUM. 
 
 2 THE HOLIDAY PLAYMATE. 
 
 Each with Twelve most attractive page Coloured Plates, and 96 
 pages of Letterpress, with 100 Illustrations. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 WABNE'S ONE-VOLUME COPYEIGHT NOVELS. 
 
 At all the Libraries. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 65. , cloth gilt. 
 
 Guenn : A Wave on the Breton Coast. By BLANCHE 
 WILLIS HOWARD, Author of " One Summer," &c. 
 
 A Young Girl's Wooing: A Love Story. By Rev. 
 
 E. P. ROE, Author of "Barriers Burned Away," &c. 
 
 Aulnay Tower. By BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD, Author 
 
 of " Guenn," &c. 
 Conspiracy. By General ADAM BADEAU. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, WITH PHOTOGRAPHS. Crown 8vo, gilt, gilt top, 
 Three Vols., price i8s. 
 
 ABBEYS, CASTLES, AND ANCIENT HALLS OF 
 
 ENGLAND AND WALES. By JOHN TIMES and ALEXANDER 
 
 GUNN. Twelve Photographs. 
 
 Vol. I. SOUTH. | Vol. II. MIDLAND. | Vol. III. NORTH. 
 
 THE PRETTIEST CHILD'S STORY EVER WRITTEN. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. TWENTIETH THOUSAND. 
 In medium 8vo, cloth gilt, bevelled boards, price 6s. 
 
 LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. By FRANCES HODG- 
 SON BURNETT. With numerous Original Illustrations by REGINALD 
 B. BIRCH. This is the first work for Children ever written by the 
 Author of " That Lass o' Lowrie's," " A Fair Barbarian," &c. 
 
 NEW FAIRY GIFT BOOK. 
 
 In demy 4to, cloth, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price 55. 
 
 DAVY AND THE GOBLIN ; or, What Followed Read- 
 
 ing " Alice in Wonderland." By CHARLES CARRYL. Profusely 
 and Artistically Illustrated. 
 
 NEW EDITION, IN A NEW AND HANDSOME STYLE OF BINDING. 
 In crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt edges, bevelled boards, 55. 
 
 MEMOIRS of the LIFE of SIR WALTER SCOTT, 
 
 Bart. By J. G. LOCKHART. Finely printed on good paper, with 
 Steel Portrait and Illustrations, 760 pages. 
 
 Crown 8vo, price 45. 64. , cloth gilt. 
 
 A STORK'S NEST; or, Pleasant Reading from the 
 North. By J. FULFORD VICARY, Author of " An American in 
 Norway," &c. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 A CHOICE LITTLE GIFT BOOK. 
 
 In small 410, cloth gilt, bevelled boards and gilt edges, price 35. 6d. ; 
 
 or picture boards, coloured edges, 2s. 6d. 
 
 SYLVIA'S DAUGHTERS. By FLORENCE SCANNELL. 
 Daintily Illustrated in Tints by EDITH SCANNELL ; Engraved and 
 Printed on fine paper by EDMUND EVANS. 
 
 Beautifully Illustrated, in square i6mo, price 35. 6d., cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. By Sir WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 This Volume a specimen of the best A merican Printing, both in Type 
 and Engravings is superior to any English Edition. 
 
 WASHINGTON IKVING'S WOKKS, 
 
 CHOICE EDITIONS, with numerous Illustrations, Steel Frontispieces, &c. 
 
 Small 4to, gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price 35. 6d. each. 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES FROM THE SKETCH BOOK. 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW AND THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM. 
 ENGLISH SKETCHES. 
 THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE, &c. 
 
 REV. W. ADAMS' ALLEGORIES. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, price 25. 6d. each. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS. 
 THE DISTANT HILLS. 
 
 Choice Red-line Editions, each illustrated with 17 very fine 
 engravings, drawn by H. S. PERCY. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, stiff picture cover, 15. ; cloth gilt, is. 6d. ; and a 
 Special Presentation Edition, printed on fine paper, with 
 
 elegant binding, price 25. 6d. 
 
 THE QUEEN: Her Early Life and Reign. By L. 
 VALENTINE, Author of "On Honour's Roll," Editor of "Half- 
 hours of English History," &c. This work contains 384 pages 
 (nearly 100 more than similar volumes) and 100 Illustrations. It 
 will be found to include a great quantity of Original Information. 
 
 In square fcap. 8vo, cloth gilt, is. 6d. ; or printed in two colours, with 
 
 handsome borders and ornaments, price 25. 6d., cloth gilt, 
 
 gilt edges and bevelled boards, 
 
 THE "VICTORIA" BIRTHDAY BOOK. This 
 
 Volume is singularly appropriate to the present year, and a 
 thoroughly deserving addition to the Birthday Books already 
 issued. It contains Portraits of all the Royal Family, and the 
 borders and ornaments have been specially engraved. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 35. 6d., cloth gilt, bevelled boards. 
 
 SYLVESTER SOUND, The Somnambulist. By HENRY 
 COCKTON. With 12 of the Original Steel Plates by ONWHYN. 
 Also a Cheaper Edition, without the Steel Plates, in crown 8vo, 
 price 25. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 In crown 8vo, 35. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 BIRD-KEEPING : A Practical Guide for the Manage- 
 ment of Singing Cage Birds. By C. E. DYSON. With Coloured 
 Plates and Woodcut Illustrations. 
 
 A CHEAP EDITION, picture boards, 15. 
 
 In square crown 8vo, price 35. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 OUT-DOOR COMMON BIRDS; Their Habits and 
 General Characteristics. Describing nearly Sixty of our most 
 Common Birds ; a Picture of the Eggs of each Species being also 
 given. By HENRY STANNARD. With upwards of Eighty Original 
 Illustrations. A CHEAP EDITION, picture boards, is. 6d. 
 " The habits, appearance, and peculiarities of the birds are graphically and 
 
 minutely described." Graphic. 
 
 A BOOK FOR THE LOVERS OF NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 In imp. i6mo, price 2$. 6d., cloth gilt, gilt edges. 
 
 EVERY DAY IN THE COUNTRY. By HARRISON 
 WEIR. With Four Hundred Original Illustrations, Eight Coloured 
 Plates, &c. 
 
 The Letterpress of this little book will be found to contain much interest- 
 ing and valuable information. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, price 25. 6d. each, cloth gilt. 
 
 THE NATURAL HISTORY ALBUM. With 500 
 
 Illustrations, printed in Colours, and Descriptive Letterpress. 
 
 In square fcap., price 2S. 6d. , cloth gilt, gilt edges ; or in imitation 
 
 Ivory, with elegant floral and landscape design, in a neat box, 
 
 price 25. 6d., gilt edges. 
 
 LANGUAGE AND SENTIMENT OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Compiled and Edited by L. V. With Floral Records and Page 
 Illustrations, printed in Colours. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 25. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 CHARADES FOR ACTING, in Town and Country. 
 By Captain E. C. NUGENT. Twelve Country House Charades 
 in different styles, limited to half-a-dozen characters or there- 
 abouts, requiring very little scenery, and only two or three re- 
 hearsals. With Illustrations by W. B. SNOW. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 HANDY INFOBMATION BOOKS. 
 
 In crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price 25. 6d. each. 
 BY A MEMBER OF THE ARISTOCRACY. 
 
 THE MANNERS AND RULES OF GOOD SOCIETY. Fourteenth 
 and thoroughly Revised Edition. (New Tpye.) 
 
 SOCIETY SMALL TALK; or, What to Say, and When to Say it. 
 Eighth Edition. 
 
 THE MANAGEMENT OF SERVANTS: A Practical Guide to the 
 Routine of Domestic Service. Third Edition. 
 
 PARTY GIVING ON EVERY SCALE; or, The Cost of Entertain- 
 ments. Second Edition. 
 
 THE CORRECT GUIDE TO LETTER WRITING. Third Edition. 
 
 FOOD AND FEEDING. By Sir HENRY THOMPSON, F.R.C.S. Fifth 
 
 Revised Edition. 
 MENUS MADE EASY; or, How to Order Dinner, and give the Dishes 
 
 their French names. By NANCY LAKE. Third Edition. 
 THE HOME, as it Should be : Its Duties and Amenities. By L. VAL- 
 ENTINE. Second Edition. 
 OUR SONS: How to Start Them in Life. By ARTHUR KING. Second 
 
 Edition. 
 HOW WE ARE GOVERNED; or, The Crown, the Senate, and the 
 
 Bench. By FONBLANQUE. Fifteenth Edition, thoroughly revised 
 
 by SMALMAN SMITH. 
 HINTS ON BUSINESS : Financial and Legal. By R. DENNY URLIN, 
 
 F.S.S. A very useful book about Investments, Income, and 
 
 other matters. 
 HEALTH, BEAUTY, AND THE TOILET: Letters to Ladies from a 
 
 Lady Doctor. By ANNA KINGSFORD, M.D., Paris. Second Edition. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price zs. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 THE ELECTRIC LIGHT IN OUR HOMES. By ROBERT HAMMOND 
 (The Hammond Electric Light and Power Supply Company, 
 Limited). With Original Illustrations and Photographs. 
 
 HANDY MANUALS. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 2$. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 THE DOMESTIC EDUCATOR (formerly entitled THE YOUNG 
 WOMAN'S BOOK) : A Gathering of Useful Information in Household 
 Matters, Taste, Duties, Study, &c. With Practical Illustrations. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 2s. 6d. , cloth gilt. 
 
 BEST OF EVERYTHING. By the Author of "Enquire Within." 
 Containing i, 800 Useful Articles on how to obtain "The Best of 
 Everything," with a Special Calendar for the Cook and Gardener 
 for each Month. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 SILAS K. HOCKING'S WORKS- 
 
 In crown 8vo, price zs. 6d. each, cloth gilt, gilt edges. 
 
 WITH ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 HER BENNY: A Story of Street Life. 
 HIS FATHER ; or, A Mother's Legacy. 
 ALEC GREEN : A Story of Cornish Life. 
 IVY : A Tale of Cottage Life. 
 SEA- WAIF : A Tale of the Sea. 
 DICK'S FAIRY: A Story of Good Nature. 
 CRICKET : A Tale of Humble Life. 
 CALEB CARTHEW: A Life Story. 
 REAL GRIT. 
 CROOK-LEIGH : A Village Story. 
 
 See also pp. 17 and 50. 
 
 Uniform with HOCKING'S WORKS. 
 
 By ALICE S O M E R T O N. 
 
 THE TORN BIBLE. A New Edition. With Original 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, price 2s. 6d., gilt, and gilt edges. 
 LAY TON CROFT ; or, The Story of a Prodigal. With 
 Original Illustrations. Crown 8vo, price zs. 6d., gilt, gilt edges. 
 
 By THOMAS KEYWORTH. 
 GRANNY'S BOY; or, Not Kin, but Kind. With 
 
 Original Illustrations. Crown 8vo, price zs. 6d. , gilt, gilt edges. 
 A LONG DELAY. With Original Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo, price zs. 6d., gilt, gilt edges. 
 
 THE EXCELSIOR LIBRARY. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, bevelled boards, gilt, price 2s. 6d. each ; or black cloth, 
 gilt and red edges, price zs. each. 
 
 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. With Coloured 
 
 Plates. 
 
 BOGATZKY'S GOLDEN TREASURY. Printed in 
 
 large type on good paper. 
 
 THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. By ELIOT 
 
 WARBURTON. With Original Illustrations. In crown 8vo, cloth 
 gilt, zs. 6d. ; picture boards, zs. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, in popular form, of General LEW WALLACE'S 
 
 famous Work. 
 
 BEN-HUR; or, The Days of the Messiah. In small 
 crown 8vo, picture cover, is. ; cloth gilt, is. 6d. (See also zs. STAR 
 SERIES, page 16.) 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 WARNE'S LIBBABY OF FICTION. 
 
 A New Series of Copyright Works by well-known English and 
 A merican A uthors. 
 
 In crown 8vo, picture boards, price 25. each. 
 
 1 THROUGH ONE ADMINISTRATION. By F. H.BURNETT. 
 
 2 THE BREAD-WINNERS: A Social Study. 
 
 3 SYLVESTER SOUND. By HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 4 STRICTLY TIED UP. By the Right Hon. BERESFORD HOPE, M.P. 
 
 5 GUENN : A Wave on the Breton Coast. By B. W. HOWARD. 
 
 6 AULNAY TOWER. By the Author of " Guenn." 
 
 WARNE'S STAR SERIES. 
 
 In this Series, from time to time, will be issued a very Popular Edition of 
 well-known Books, many of them Copyright, and published at prices, united 
 with style and completeness, hitherto unequalled. 
 
 In small crown 8vo, stiff picture wrappers, Is. 6d. ; or cloth, 
 
 gilt lettering, 2s. 
 9 WIDE, WIDE WORLD. By SUSAN WARNER (E. WETHERELL). 
 
 10 QUEECHY. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 11 MELBOURNE HOUSE. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 12 DRAYTON HALL. By ALICE GRAY. 
 
 13 SAY AND SEAL. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 36 THE LAMPLIGHTER. By Miss CUMMINS. 
 
 37 HELEN. By MARIA EDGEWORTH. 
 
 43 ELLEN MONTGOMERY'S BOOKSHELF. 
 
 44 OLD HELMET. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 50 STRAIGHT PATHS AND CROOKED WAYS. 
 
 52 ENGLEFIELD GRANGE. By H. B. PAULL. 
 
 62 LITTLE WOMEN AND LITTLE WIVES. By Miss ALCOTT. 
 
 64 LEYTON AUBERRY'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 65 HEDINGTON MANOR. 
 
 66 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. By W. M. L. JAY. 
 
 75 SCEPTRES AND CROWNS, &c. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 88 LITTLE SUNBEAMS. By J. H. MATTHEWS. 
 
 89 EVELYN HOWARD. By Mrs. H. B. PAULL. 
 
 90 ANNE DYNEVOR. By MARIAN JAMES. 
 
 91 BEN-HUR ; or, The Days of the Messiah. LEW WALLACE. 
 
 95 GOLDEN LADDER. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 96 VINEGAR HILL. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 97 WHAT SHE COULD. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 100 WYCH HAZEL. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 101 GOLD OF CHICKAREE. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 102 DIANA. By SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 103 HOLDEN WITH THE CORDS. By W. L. M. JAY. 
 
 105 THE LETTER OF CREDIT. SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 106 THE END OF A COIL. SUSAN WARNER. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 WARflE'S STAB SERIES, continued. 
 
 In this Series, from time to time, will be issued a very Popular Edition of 
 well-known Books, many of them Copyright, and published at prices, united 
 with style and completeness, hitherto unequalled. 
 
 In small crown 8vo, stiff picture wrappers, sewed, price Is. ; 
 
 or cloth gilt, Is. 6d. each. 
 
 i DAISY. S.WARNER. 48 ADMIRAL'S WILL. M. M. BELL. 
 
 DAISY IN THE FIELD. 
 
 2 UAISY IN THE HELD. Ditto. 
 
 3 NETTIE'S MISSION. A. GRAY. 
 
 4 STEPPING HEAVENWARD. 
 
 E. PRENTISS. 
 
 5 WILLOW BROOK. WARNER. 
 
 7 DUNALLAN. GRACE KENNEDY. 
 
 8 FATHER CLEMENT. Ditto. 
 
 14 FROM JEST TO EARNEST. 
 
 Rev. E. P. ROE. 
 
 15 MARY ELLIOT. CATH.D.BELL. 
 
 16 SYDNEY STUART. Ditto. 
 
 17 PICCIOLA. X. B. SAINTINE. 
 
 18 HOPE CAMPBELL. C. D. BELL. 
 
 19 HORACE AND MAY. Ditto. 
 
 20 ELLA AND MAN IAN. Ditto, 
 
 21 KENNETH AND HUGH. Ditto. 
 
 22 ROSA'S WISH. Ditto. 
 
 23 MARGARET CECIL. Ditto. 
 
 24 THE GRAHAMS. Ditto. 
 
 25 HOME SUNSHINE. Ditto. 
 
 26 WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL. 
 
 S. COOLIDGE. 
 
 28 WEARYFOOTCOMMON. RITCHIE. 
 
 29 SYDONIE'S DOWRY. 
 
 Author of " Denise." 
 
 30 AUNT JANE'S HERO. PRENTISS. 
 
 31 AUNT AILIE. C. D. BELL. 
 
 32 WHAT KATY DID. COOLIDGE. 
 
 33 GRACE HUNTLEY. S.C.HALL. 
 
 34 MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. Do. 
 
 35 DAILY GOVERNESS. Ditto. 
 
 38 FLOWER OF THE FAMILY. 
 
 Mrs. E. PRENTISS. 
 
 39 MADAME FONTENOY. 
 
 Author of " Mdlle. Mori." 
 
 41 TOWARD HEAVEN. PRENTISS. 
 
 42 LITTLE CAMP ON EAGLE HILL. 
 
 S. WARNER. 
 
 45 PRINCE' OF THE HOUSE OF 
 
 DAVID. Rev.J.H.lNGRAHAM 
 
 46 THE PILLAR OF FIRE. 
 
 Rev. J. H. INC; RAH AM. 
 
 47 THE THRONE OF DAVID. Ditto. 
 
 49 SYLVIA AND JANET. A. C. D. 
 51 THAT LASS o' LOWRIE'S. 
 
 F. H. BURNETT. 
 
 53 C LOVERLY. MARY A. HICHAM. 
 
 54 ALEC GREEN. S. K. HOCKING. 
 
 55 SWEET COUNSEL. S. TYTLER. 
 
 56 MILESTONES OF LIFE.THOMSON 
 
 57 LITTLE WOMEN. L. M. ALCOTT 
 
 58 LITTLE WIVES. Ditto. 
 
 59 BARRIERS BURNED AWAY. 
 
 Rev. E. P. ROE. 
 
 60 OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
 61 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. STOWE. 
 63 DOROTHY. J. A. NUTT. 
 
 67 PINE NEEDLES. S. WARNER. 
 
 68 HELEN'S SECRET. D. DALE, 
 
 69 HUGUENOT FAMILY. C.D.BELL 
 
 70 ONLY A GIRL'S LIFE. 
 
 Mrs. MERCIER. 
 
 74 BESSIE HARRINGTON'S VEN- 
 TURE. J. A. MATTHEWS. 
 
 76 WITHOUT A HOME. E. P. ROE. 
 
 77 MOODS. LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 
 
 81 THE TORN BIBLE. SOMERTON. 
 
 82 LILY GORDON. C. D. BELL. 
 
 83 A KNIGHT OF THE XIXTH 
 
 CENTURY. Rev. E. P. ROE. 
 
 84 NEAR TO NATURE'S HEART.DO. 
 
 85 His SOMBRE RIVALS. Ditto. 
 
 86 THE HOME AT GREYLOCK. 
 
 Mrs. E. PRENTISS. 
 
 87 OUR RUTH. Ditto. 
 
 92 MARIE MAY. Mrs. CLIFFORD. 
 
 93 UNA. M. BIRD. 
 
 94 A YOUNG GIRL'S WOOING. 
 
 Rev. E. P. ROE. 
 
 98 HOUSE IN TOWN. S. WARNER. 
 
 99 TRADING. Ditto. 
 104 WHAT KATY DID NEXT. 
 
 S. COOLIDGE. 
 
 107 THE BLUE FLAG and THE 
 CLOTH OF GOLD. A.WARNER. 
 
 Bedford Street, Sfand,
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 Imperial i6mo, price is. each, Coloured Plates, cloth gilt, gilt edges. 
 ETIQUETTE FOR LADIES AND i THE BALL-ROOM GUIDE. 
 GENTLEMEN. i THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.* 
 
 * Also in imitation Ivory, is. 6d. 
 
 In square fcap. 8vo, price is., stiff boards; or cloth gilt, is. 6d. each. 
 MODERN HOYLE ; or, How to Play Whist, Chess, Draughts, Back- 
 
 gammon, Napoleon, Cribbage, Poker, Euchre, &c. 
 MODERN ETIQUETTE; in Public and Private. By L. C.ARMSTRONG. 
 TIPS FOR TRICYCLISTS. By Professor HOFFMANN. With nu- 
 merous Illustrations. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price is., cloth, 192 pages. 
 
 BILLIARDS SIMPLIFIED; or, How to Make Breaks. Illustrated 
 by 60 Diagrams of the Actual Play of COOK, BENNETT, ROBERTS, 
 PEALL and MITCHELL. 
 
 LEGAL HANDBOOKS. 
 
 By CHARLES E. BAKER. 
 In fcap. 8vo, price is. each, cloth gilt. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. Including the Law of Divorce and the 
 Custody of Children ; also the Married Women's Property Act. 
 
 LANDLORDS, TENANTS, AND LODGERS. With 40 Forms. 
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT (THE LAW OF). 
 
 WILLS : How to Make and Prove Them, and the Law of Administra- 
 tion. With nearly 150 Forms. And uniform 
 
 THE REPRESENTATION OF THE PEOPLE ACT, 1884, and 
 THE REDISTRIBUTION OF SEATS BILL, 1885, with com- 
 plete Index, Forms, &c. By J. RENWICK SEAGER. 
 
 In small fcap. 8vo, price is., cloth. 
 
 THE MUNICIPAL ACT, 1884. By J. RENWICK SEAGER (Secretary 
 of the City of London Liberal Association). 
 
 LETTER WRITERS. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price is. each, cloth. 
 THE COMPANION LETTER WRITER: A Complete Guide to 
 
 Correspondence. 
 
 THE LADIES' AND GENTLEMEN'S MODEL LETTER WRITER, 
 with Household and Commercial Forms. 
 
 Also in fcap. 8vo, price 6d. each, cloth. 
 
 THE BUSINESS. 
 THE LOVER'S. 
 
 THE LADIES'. 
 
 THE GENTLEMEN'S. 
 
 THE JUVENILE. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 2s. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 THE LETTER WRITER OF MODERN SOCIETY. By a MEMBER 
 OF THE ARISTOCRACY. Third Edition. New binding. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 USEFUL BOOKS for the COUNTRY or the HOME. 
 
 Fcap. and crown 8vo, cloth or picture boards, is. each, fully Illustrated. 
 COMMON SHELLS OF THE SEA SHORE. 
 COMMON SEA WEEDS OF THE BRITISH COAST. 
 FLOWERS AND THE FLOWER GARDEN. 
 VEGETABLES : How to Grow Them. 
 MODERN GYMNAST (THE). 
 POULTRY: Breeding, Rearing, &c. 
 ANGLING : A Practical Guide to Fishing, &c. 
 THE ORCHARD AND FRUIT GARDEN 
 A FERN BOOK FOR EVERYBODY. 
 BIRD KEEPING. By C. E. DYSON. 
 ENGLISH WILD FLOWERS. By J. T. BURGESS. 
 HARDY PLANTS FOR LITTLE FRONT GARDENS. 
 THE DOG : Its Varieties and Management. 
 THE BRITISH BIRD PRESERVER. 
 LOUDON'S AMATEUR GARDENER. 
 COMPANION LETTER WRITER (THE). 
 THE MODERN FENCER. By Captain GRIFFITHS. 
 ONE THOUSAND OBJECTS FOR THE MICROSCOPE. 
 LADIES' AND GENTLEMEN'S LETTER WRITER. 
 THE MONEY MARKET : What it Is, What it Does, and How it 
 
 is Managed. 
 
 THE ART OF VENTRILOQUISM. 
 CARPENTRY AND JOINERY. Or is. 6d., cloth. 
 THE MAGIC LANTERN MANUAL. Or 2s., cloth. 
 ADVICE TO SINGERS. By a Singer. 
 WASHING AND CLEANING. 
 MAGIC AND ITS MYSTERIES. 
 WATER : Its Composition, Collection, and Distribution. By J. 
 
 PARRY. Or is. 6d., cloth. 
 THE MODERN COUNTY COURT GUIDE. By SMALMAN 
 
 SMITH. Or 15. 6d., cloth. 
 HOW TO SEND A BOY TO SEA. By FRANKLIN Fox, formerly 
 
 Surveyor to Lloyd's Agency at Kurrachi, and Captain P. and O. 
 
 Service. 
 
 Unifoim with the above, is. 6d. each. 
 THE SHEEP. | _ ,. . 
 CA -i"i-i r New Editions, by G. ARMATAGE. 
 
 THE HORSE: Its Varieties and Management in Health and 
 
 Disease. 
 OUT-DOOR COMMON BIRDS: Their Habits, &c. 80 Illusts. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 WARNE'S LIBEAEY OF CONTINENTAL AUTHORS. 
 
 A Series of Copyright Works of some of the best known 
 Continental Authors. 
 
 In crown 8vo, sewed, is. 
 
 1 *ALIETTE (LA MORTE). By OCTAVE FEUILLET. Translated by 
 
 J. E. SIMPSON. 
 
 2 EDMEE (LES DAMES DE CROIX-MORT). By GEORGES OHNET. 
 
 Translated by A. K. CALVERT. 
 
 3 IRENE. By the PRINCESS OLGA CANTACUZENE-ALTIERI. Trans- 
 
 lated by J. E. SIMPSON. 
 
 4 HELENE (MADAME VILLEFERAN JEUNE). By LEON DE TINSEAU. 
 
 Translated by J. E. SIMPSON. 
 
 5 HARLETTE. By the Author of " The Princess Wanda." Trans- 
 
 lated by J. E. SIMPSON. 
 
 WASHES LONDON LIBRARY. 
 
 In small crown 8vo, price ONE SHILLING each, sewed. 
 A GIRL IN A THOUSAND. By JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
 A WILFUL YOUNG WOMAN. By Mrs. A. PRICE. 
 NATALIE. By FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, Author of " Little Lord 
 
 Fauntleroy," &c. 
 
 THEO : A Love Story. By F. H. BURNETT. 
 A WOMAN'S WILL; or, Miss Defarge. By F. H. BURNETT. 
 MY FRIEND BELLAMY. By W. G. WATERS. 
 THE LAST OF "THE DACRES." By EVELYN EVERETT GREEN. 
 JOHN BODEWIN'S TESTIMONY : A Mining Romance. By MARY 
 
 HALLOCK FOOTE, Author of "The Led Horse Claim," &c. 
 BEATON'S BARGAIN: A Novel. By Mrs. ALEXANDER. 
 GOBLIN GOLD. By MAY CROMMELIN, Author of " Brown Eyes." 
 AT BAY. By Mrs. ALEXANDER, Author of " The Wooing o't," &c. 
 HOUP-LA. By J. S. WINTER, Author of "Booties' Baby." Fully 
 
 Illustrated. 4Oth Thousand. 
 BOOTLES' BABY : A Story of the Scarlet Lancers. By J. S. 
 
 WINTER, Author of " Houp-la," &c. Fully Illustrated. Fifth 
 
 Edition, 5Oth Thousand. 
 STRUCK DOWN : A Tale of Devon. By Captain HAWLEY SMART 
 
 Author of " Breezie Langton," &c. 35th Thousand. 
 TINTED VAPOURS: A Nemesis. By J. MACLAREN COBBAN. Third 
 
 Edition, i5th Thousand. 
 A FAIR BARBARIAN. By FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT, Author of 
 
 "That Lass o' Lowrie's," &c. Fourth Edition, 24th Thousand. 
 FOUND OUT. By HELEN MATHERS, Author of " Comin' thro' the 
 
 Rye," &c. Eighth Edition, Both Thousand. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers. 
 
 WABNE'S NATIONAL BOOKS. 
 
 MARVELS OF CHEAP LITERATURE. 
 
 SHILLING EDITIONS. In Imperial samo, with 8, 12, or 16 Coloured 
 
 Plates, cloth gilt. 
 EIGHTEENPENNY EDITIONS. With 12, 16, 24, or 32 Coloured Plates. 
 
 gilt and gilt edges. 
 
 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 FOXE'S BOOK OF MARTYRS. Revised Edition. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. By DANIEL DEFOE. 
 
 BUFFON'S NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 BUNYAN'S HOLY WAR. 
 LEGH RICHMOND'S ANNALS OF THE POOR. 
 
 BASKET OF FLOWERS. 
 SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON. 
 
 MILITARY ENTERPRISE. | NAVAL ENTERPRISE 
 
 THE ROBIN REDBREASTS. By MRS. TRIMMER. 
 
 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. By MRS. H. B. STOWE. 
 
 SANDFORD AND MERTON. 
 
 EVENINGS AT HOME. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price ONE SHILLING each, with coloured cover. 
 TEN THOUSAND A YEAR. By SAMUEL WARREN. 
 THE DIARY OF A LATE PHYSICIAN. Ditto. 
 
 THE THREE MUSKETEERS, AND TWENTY YEARS AFTER. By 
 A. DUMAS. 
 
 In small crown 8vo, price ONE SHILLING, sewed. 
 
 THE RUSSIANS AT THE GATES OF HERAT. By CHARLES 
 MARVIN. With Six Portraits and Two Maps. Fifth Edition, 
 35th Thousand. 
 
 In oblong 8vo, price is. 
 
 THE MAN WHO WOULD LIKE TO MARRY. With Twelve Clever 
 and Humorous Illustrations from Pen and Pencil Sketches, by 
 HARRY PARKES, explaining the various Reasons Why he Did Not. 
 
 In small fcap. 8vo, price 6d. , paper cover. 
 
 TAKEN ALIVE ! By the Rev. E. P. ROE, Author of 
 " Barriers Burned Away," &c. 
 
 In crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price is. ; or sewed, picture cover, price 6d. 
 
 FROM LOG CABIN TO WHITE HOUSE : A Nar- 
 rative of the Life of President Garfield. By A. THAYER. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 NOTABLE NOVELS. 
 
 Complete Editions. 
 Demy 8vo, SIXPENCE each, picture wrappers. 
 
 1 Scottish Chiefs. JANE PORTER. 
 
 2 Uncle Tom's Cabin. H. B. STOWE. 
 
 3 St. Clair of the Isles. F. HELME. 
 
 4 Children of the Abbey. E. M.ROCHE. 
 
 5 Lamplighter. Miss CUMMINS. 
 
 6 Mabel Vaughan. Ditto. 
 
 7 Thaddeus of Warsaw. MissPoRTKR. 
 
 8 The Howards of Glen Luna. 
 
 9 Old English Baron, &c. 
 
 10 The Hungarian Brothers. 
 
 11 Marriage. Miss FERRIER. 
 
 12 Inheritance. Ditto. 
 
 13 Destiny. Ditto. 
 
 14 King's Own. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 15 The Naval Officer. Ditto. 
 
 16 Newton Forster. Ditto. 
 
 17 Richelieu. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 18 Darnley. Ditto. 
 
 19 Philip Augustus. Ditto. 
 
 20 Tom Cringle's Log. MICHAELSCOTT. 
 
 21 Peter Simple. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 22 Mary of Burgundy. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 23 Jacob Faithful. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 24 The Gipsy. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 25 Cruise of the Midge.MicHAELScoTT. 
 
 26 Two Years before the Mast. DANA. 
 
 27 The Pirate, and the ThreeCutters. 
 
 Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 28 Henry Masterton. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 29 John Marston Hall. Ditto. 
 
 30 Japhet in Search of a Father. 
 
 31 The Wolfe of Badenoch 
 
 32 Caleb Williams. WM. GODWIN. 
 
 33 The Pachaof Many Tales.MARRYAT. 
 
 34 The Vicar of Wakefield. 
 
 35 Mr. Midshipman Easy. MARRYAT. 
 
 36 Attila. 
 
 37 Rory O'More. 
 
 isy. 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 LYTTON BULWER. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
 38 Pelham. 
 
 39 The Disowned. 
 
 40 Devereux. 
 
 41 Paul Clifford. 
 
 42 Eugene Aram. 
 
 43 The Last Days of Pompeii. Ditto. 
 
 44 Rienzl. Ditto. 
 
 45 Ernest Maltravers. Ditto. 
 
 46 Stories of Waterloo. 
 
 W. H. MAXWELL. 
 
 47 The Bivouac ; or, Stories of the 
 
 Peninsular War. W. H. MAXWELL. 
 
 48 Alice. LYTTON BULWER. 
 
 49 The Robber. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 50 Cyril Thornton. Capt. T.HAMILTON. 
 
 51 Reginald Dalton. J. G. LOCKHART. 
 
 52 The Widow Barnaby. 
 
 Mrs. TROLLOPE. 
 
 53 Topsail Sheet Blocks. M.H. BARKER. 
 
 54 The Huguenot. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 55 The Saucy Arethusa.Capt.CHAMiER. 
 
 56 Jack Brag. THEODORE HOOK. 
 
 57 Phantom Ship. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 58 Robinson Crusoe. DANIEL DEFOE. 
 
 59 Pickwick. CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 60 Harry Lorrequer. CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 61 The Dog Fiend. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 62 Nicholas Nickleby. CHAS. DICKENS. 
 
 63 Oliver Twist. Ditto. 
 
 64 Ben Brace. Captain CHAMIER. 
 
 65 Tom Bowling. Ditto. 
 
 66 Night & Morning. LYTTON BULWER. 
 
 67 Poor Jack. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 68 The Poacher. Ditto. 
 
 70 The Three Musketeers. A. DUMAS. 
 
 71 Twenty Years After. Ditto. 
 
 72 Sylvester Sound. HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 73 The Love Match. Ditto. 
 
 74 The Clockmaker. SAM SLICK. 
 
 75 Barnaby Rudge. CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 76 Old Curiosity Shop. Ditto. 
 
 77 Ten Thousand a Year. 
 
 Part I. S. WARREN. 
 
 78 Ditto. Part II. Ditto. 
 
 79 Percival Keene. Captain MARRYAT. 
 
 80 Diary of a Late Physician. 
 
 Part I. S. WARREN 
 
 81 Ditto. Part II. Ditto. 
 
 82 Handy Andy. SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 83 Forest Days. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 84 Last of the Barons. 
 
 LYTTON BULWER. 
 
 85 Hector O'Halloran. W.H.MAXWELL 
 
 86 Masterman Ready. Capt. MARRYAT. 
 
 87 Tough Yarns. "The Old Sailor." 
 
 88 The Scarlet Letter. HAWTHORNE. 
 
 89 Jack Hinton. CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 90 Morley Ernsteln. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 91 The Privateersman.Capt. MARRYAT. 
 
 92 Treasure Trove. SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 93 Two Old Men's Tales. Mrs. MARSH. 
 
 94 Margaret Catchpole. R. COBBOLD. 
 
 95 Tom Burke of Ours. C. LEVER 
 
 96 Martin Chuzzlewit. C. DICKENS. 
 
 97 Mount Sorel. Mrs. MARSH. 
 
 98 The Brigand. G. P. R. JAM^S. 
 
 99 Valentine Vox. H. COCKTON. 
 
 100 The Smuggler. G. P. R. JAMES. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 NOTABLE BOOKS, 
 
 Crown 8vo, price SIXPENCE each, picture wrappers. 
 
 i A Bad Boy's Diary. 
 
 3 Helen's Babies. 
 
 4 Miss slimmens In Search of a Hus- 
 
 band. 
 
 5 The Widow Bedott Papers. 
 
 7 Tag, Rag, and Co. 
 
 8 Odd People In Odd Places. 
 
 9 Dining with Duke Humphrey. 
 
 WAENE'S ILLUSTEATED BIJOU BOOKS. 
 
 In 48mo, price Sixpence each, cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 VENTRILOQUISM MADE EASY. 
 FUN & FLIRTATION, FORFEITS. 
 fETIQUETTE FOR LADIES. 
 fETIQUETTE FOR GENTLEMEN. 
 JTHE BALL-ROOM GUIDE. 
 ETIQUETTE OF THE TOILET. 
 LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 BILLIARDS (THE ABC OF). 
 SWIMMING (THE ABC OF). 
 PARLOUR MAGIC. 
 
 * Or in roan, gilt edges, is. ; or calf, gilt edges, is. 6d. 
 f These Four Volumes can be had in a cloth cabinet, price zs. 
 
 WARNE'S BIJOU BOOKS are handy for the waistcoat pocket, neat in 
 style, well Illustrated, and compiled by Competent Authors. 
 
 LA CROSSE. 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 GYMNASTICS. 
 
 CROQUET. 
 
 fCOURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 BIJOU LETTER WRITER. 
 
 BESIQUE (A Complete Guide). 
 
 LONDON IN MINIATURE. 
 
 CARD TRICKS MADE EASY. 
 
 In oblong post, stiff wrapper, price 6d. 
 OUTLINE COPY SLIPS. Twelve Scripture Texts for Illuminating. 
 
 In a neat wrapper, price 6d. 
 
 SCRAPS (AUNT LOUISA'S PACKETS OF COLOURED). Twenty- 
 five Coloured Pictures, printed by KRONHEIM'S Oil-colour Process. 
 
 SUNDAY SCHOOL REWARD TICKETS. Printed on stiff cartridge. 
 Twelve Cards, each containing 144 Motto Texts, all New Designs, 
 black, per 12 cards, 35. 
 
 Ditto, Red (two printings), 45. 
 
 PENNY POETEY BOOKS FOE OBJLDEEN. 
 
 In royal samo, id. sewed covers ; or cloth, id. 
 CLARKE'S (J. ERSKINE) POSY OF POETRY FOR CHILDREN. 
 CLARKE'S (J. E.) HAPPY HOME SONGSTER. 8oth Thousand. 
 CLARKE'S (J. E.) WORKAWAY SONGSTER. Both Thousand. 
 The three volumes in one, price 6d. cloth. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 POPULAB COOKEKY BOOKS. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 25. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 WARNE'S EVERY DAY COOKERY BOOK. With nearly 2,000 
 
 Receipts, and Coloured Illustrations by KRONHEIM. 
 
 Also a 35. 6d. Edition, with Additional Coloured Illustrations, 
 half-bound, gilt lettering. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price is., cloth boards ; or half-bound, 15. 6d. 
 WARNE'S MODEL COOKERY AND HOUSEKEEPING BOOK. 
 
 800 Receipts, and Coloured Illustrations of Fifty Dishes. 
 
 In square i6mo, price -zd., cloth cover, 64 pp. ; sewed, id. 
 WARNE'S COOKERY BOOK FOR THE MILLION. With upwards 
 of 200 Useful and Practical Receipts. 
 
 In royal 48010, price is, , cloth, gilt edges. 
 MY MARKET TABLE. Showing the Value of any Article at per 
 
 Pound and Ounce, from Sixpence to Eighteenpence. 
 Invaluable to all Housekeepers who appreciate economical expenditure. 
 
 LARGER AND SUPERIOR EDITION. 
 
 In fcap. 4to, price 75. 6d., half-bound, marbled edges, 750 pages. 
 
 WARNE'S MODEL COOKERY. 
 
 Containing complete Instructions in Household Management, 
 and Receipts for 
 
 BREAKFAST DISHES. 
 
 BREAD, BISCUITS, &c. 
 
 FISH AND SOUP. 
 
 SAUCES AND GRAVIES. 
 
 BEEF, MUTTON. 
 
 LAMB, VENISON. 
 
 VEAL, PORK. 
 
 POULTRY AND GAME. 
 
 MADE DISHES, AND ENTREES. 
 
 MEAT AND FISH PIES, &c. 
 
 VEGETABLES. 
 
 POTTING AND COLLARING. 
 
 PASTRY AND PUDDINGS. 
 
 CREAMS AND JELLIES. 
 
 CUSTARDS, ICES, AND CAKES. 
 
 PRESERVES AND PICKLES. 
 
 SOUFFLES AND OMELETS. 
 
 WINES, DRINKS, AND ALE. 
 
 DESSERTS. 
 
 BUTTER AND CHEESE. 
 
 RELISHES. 
 
 COOKERY FOR THE SICK. 
 
 BILLS OF FARE. 
 
 DUTIES OF SERVANTS. 
 
 Compiled and Edited by MARY JEWRY. 
 
 With 3,000 Receipts, numerous Woodcuts, and 24 pages of Original 
 Illustrations, printed in Colours by KRONHEIM, embodying nearly Two 
 Hundred distinct Subjects. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 THE POPULAR COOKERY BOOK. goTH EDITION. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 55. , half-bound 750 pages. 
 
 WARNE'S MODEL COOKERY, 
 
 Containing Complete Instructions in Household Management, 
 and Receipts for 
 
 BREAKFAST DISHES. 
 
 BREAD, BISCUITS, &c. 
 
 FISH AND SOUP. 
 
 SAUCES AND GRAVIES. 
 
 BEEF, MUTTON. 
 
 LAMB, VENISON. 
 
 VEAL, PORK. 
 
 POULTRY AND GAME. 
 
 MADE DISHES, AND ENTREES. 
 
 MEAT AND FISH PIES, &c. 
 
 VEGETABLES. 
 
 POTTING AND COLLARING. 
 
 PASTRY AND PUDDINGS. 
 
 CREAMS AND JELLIES. 
 
 CUSTARDS, ICES, AND CAKES. 
 
 PRESERVES AND PICKLES. 
 
 SOUFFLES AND OMELETS. 
 
 WINES, DRINKS, AND ALE. 
 
 DESSERTS. 
 
 BUTTER AND CHEESE. 
 
 RELISHES. 
 
 COOKERY FOR THE SICK. 
 
 BILLS OF FARE. 
 
 DUTIES OF SERVANTS. 
 
 Compiled and Edited by MARY JEWRY. 
 
 With 3,000 Receipts, numerous Woodcuts, and 12 pages of 
 Original Illustrations, printed in Colours by KRONHEIM, embodying 
 nearly Two Hundred distinct Subjects. 
 
 COMPANION VOLUME TO WARNE'S MODEL COOKERY BOOK. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 55., half-bound, 570 pages. 
 
 THE MODEL HOUSEKEEPER. 
 
 8 Manual 0f J90mc*ttc Pc0nnmjj 
 
 In all its Branches. 
 Compiled and Edited by ROSS MURRAY. 
 
 Assisted by a Committee of Ladies. 
 
 The Medical Portion by a Member of the Royal College of Surgeons. 
 
 With 16 pages of Original Illustrations, printed in Colours by 
 
 KRONHEIM, and numerous Woodcuts. 
 
 From THE TIMES of Jan. 23 : 
 
 " The ' Model Housekeeper," ranging, as it does, over a wider and more varied 
 field, is the more interesting work of the two, and would form as useful a present for 
 a newly married lady as the ' Model Cookery ' would be to a cook who desired to ' rise 
 in her profession.' " 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 DICTIONARIES. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. Two HUNDREDTH THOUSAND. 
 In large crown 8vo, price 35. 6d., cloth gilt ; or half-bound, 55. 
 
 Ditto, half-bound, with Patent Index, 6s. ; or half-calf, ys. 6d. 
 NUTTALL'S STANDARD DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH 
 LANGUAGE. New Edition, thoroughly Revised and Extended 
 throughout by the Rev. JAMES WOOD. Containing all the Newest 
 Words, 100,000 References, with full Pronunciation, Etymology, 
 Definition, Technical Terms, Illustrations, &c. 
 
 Large demy i8mo, 288 pp., price is. , cloth gilt, Illustrated. 
 
 WALKER'S PEARL DICTIONARY. Edited throughout from the 
 
 most recent approved Authorities, by P. A. NUTTALL, LL.D. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price is., cloth gilt, Illustrated. 
 
 JOHNSON'S SHILLING DICTIONARY MODERNIZED. Edited 
 from the most approved Authorities. 
 
 In crown 48mo, price is., cloth limp, 640 pp. ; roan 2s. 
 WARNE'S BIJOU DICTIONARY. Pearl type, with Portrait of Dr. 
 JOHNSON. Edited from the Authorities of JOHNSON, WALKER, 
 WEBSTER, RICHARDSON, WORCESTER, SHERIDAN, &c. 
 In demy i8mo, cloth boards, price 6d., 290 pp., 
 
 WARNE'S POPULAR EDITION OF 
 
 WALKER'S PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY, with WEBSTER'S Defi- 
 nitions and WORCESTER'S Improvements. 
 
 In 241110, price is., cloth ; or is. 6d., French morocco, gilt edges. 
 WORCESTER'S POCKET DICTIONARY. Illustrated. 
 
 In imperial 4to, price 315. 6d., cloth ; or half russia, cloth sides, 425. 
 WORCESTER'S DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 With New Supplement to 1881. 
 
 In square i6mo, cloth boards, 2S. 6d. each. 
 
 FRENCH. NUGENT'S PRONOUNCING. By BROWN and MARTIN. 
 GERMAN. WILLIAMS' PRONOUNCING. 
 
 BIJOU TREASURIES. 
 
 In 48mo, price is. 6d., cloth gilt ; or roan, pocket-book style, 2s. 6d. 
 THE BIJOU CALCULATOR AND MERCANTILE TREASURY. 
 Containing Ready Reckoner, Interest Tables, Trade and Commer- 
 cial Tables, and all Forms, &c., used in Business, 640 pp. 
 In 48mo, price is. 6d., cloth gilt ; or roan, pocket-book style, 2s. 6d. 
 THE BIJOU GAZETTEER OF THE WORLD. New and Revised 
 Edition. Briefly describing, as regards Position, Area, and Popu- 
 lation, every Country and State ; their Sub-divisions, Provinces, 
 Counties, Principal Towns, Villages, Mountains, Rivers, Lakes, 
 Capes, &c. 30,000 References. By W. R. ROSSER and W. J. GORDON. 
 In 48mo, price is. 6d., cloth gilt ; or roan, pocket-book style, as. 6d. 
 BIJOU BIOGRAPHY OF THE WORLD: A Reference Book of the 
 Names, Dates, and Vocations of the Distinguished Men and Women 
 of Every Age and Nation. By WILLIAM JOHN GORDON. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 GAKDENING, BOTANICAL BOOKS, &c. 
 
 In medium 8vo, price 2 2s. , cloth gilt and gilt top. 
 
 The FLOWERING PLANTS of GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 By ANNE PRATT. Fine Edition. In Three Volumes. Containing 
 upwards of Two Hundred and Forty Coloured Plates. 
 
 In medium 8vo, price las. 6d., cloth gilt and gilt edges. 
 
 THE FERNS OF GREAT BRITAIN, AND THEIR 
 
 ALLIES, THE CLUB-MOSSES, PEPPERWORTS, AND HORSETAILS. 
 By ANNE PRATT. Containing 41 Coloured Plates. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 35. 6d., cloth gilt. 
 
 ENGLISH WILD FLOWERS. By J. T. BURGESS. 
 Fine Edition. With numerous Illustrations and Coloured Plates. 
 
 NEW EDITION OF LOUDON'S TREES AND SHRUBS. 
 In half green Persian, price i 55., gilt top. 
 
 LOUDON'S TREES AND SHRUBS. Containing the 
 Hardy Trees and Shrubs of Great Britain, Native and Foreign, 
 and nearly Three Thousand Illustrations. 
 
 ALSO IN 
 
 WAENE'S USEFUL BOOKS. 
 In boards or cloth, Illustrated, price is. each. 
 A FERN BOOK FOR EVERYBODY. By M. C. CoOKE. 
 ENGLISH WILD FLOWERS. By J. T. BURGESS. 
 FLOWERS AND THE FLOWER GARDEN. By E. WATTS. 
 LOUDON'S AMATEUR GARDENER'S CALENDAR. Revised by 
 
 W. ROBINSON. 
 
 ORCHARD AND FRUIT GARDEN. By E. WATTS. 
 VEGETABLES, AND HOW TO GROW THEM. By E. WATTS. 
 
 HARDY PLANTS FOR LITTLE FRONT GARDENS. By S. 
 
 STACKHOUSE. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 BEADITOS, RECITATIONS, &c. 
 
 A COMPLETE COMPENDIUM OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 35. 6d. each, cloth gilt. 
 
 POPULAR READINGS, in Prose and Verse. Edited 
 by J. E. CARPENTER. FIVE DISTINCT VOLUMES, each Complete, 
 paged throughout, with Index. A General Index to the entire 
 work is given with Vol. 5. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, cloth, price is. each, 256 pp. 
 
 CARPENTER'S READINGS, in Prose and Verse. 
 Twelve Distinct Volumes. Compiled and Edited by J. E. CAR- 
 PENTER, Twelve Years Public Reader, Lecturer, and Entertainer 
 at the Principal Literary Institutions in Great Britain. 
 A full Prospectus of the contents can be had on application. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, price is. cloth. 
 
 MOSELEY'S READINGS, in Prose and Verse. Em- 
 bracing many of the Popular Readings of Mr. J. M. BELLEW, 
 Mrs. DAUNCEY MASKELL, &c. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, Two distinct Volumes, price is. each, cloth. 
 
 TOM HOOD'S COMIC READINGS. Embracing the 
 
 Comic Readings of the last Hundred Years. 
 In fcap. 8vo, price is., cloth. 
 
 CHOICE READINGS: Fifty-two Stories of Brave 
 
 Deeds. Selected and Edited by the Rev. G. T. HOARE. 
 In crown 8vo, price is. each, cloth. 
 
 THE ALBION TEMPERANCE RECITER: A Col- 
 lection of Recitations in Prose and Verse. Being no different 
 Readings by well-known and modern Authors. 
 
 MODERN READINGS and RECITATIONS : Selected 
 
 and Edited by LEOPOLD WAGNER. 
 
 NEW READINGS FROM AMERICAN AUTHORS. 
 
 Selected and Edited by LEOPOLD WAGNER. 
 
 THE ALBION SUNDAY SCHOOL RECITER. Se- 
 lected and Edited by W. T. AIDE. 
 
 ENTIRELY NEW EDITION. Revised by LEOPOLD WAGNER. 
 Small crown 8vo, cloth, 580 pages, price 3S. 6d. 
 
 THE POPULAR ELOCUTIONIST AND RECITER. 
 
 A Selection of Prose and Verse from Standard Authors. With full 
 Instructions in the Art of Elocution. Compiled and Edited by 
 J. E. CARPENTER, M.A., Ph.D. 
 " The book will no doubt be accepted as a standard work." Observer. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 EEADY BECKONEKS. 
 
 In demy i8mo, price is., cloth. 
 
 THE MODEL READY RECKONER. With Interest and Commission 
 Tables. Also the Value of Foreign Gold and Silver Coins. 
 
 And, price 6d. each, cloth. 
 WARNE'S BIJOU READY RECKONER. Royal 32010. 
 WARNE'S LARGE-TYPE READY RECKONER. Demy i8mo. 
 
 In royal 64010, price id. , sewed ; or cloth, zd. 
 
 WARNE'S TABLE BOOK. Edited by NUTTALL. With very com- 
 plete Information. 4Ooth Thousand. 
 
 In oblong i8mo, price is., cloth. 
 
 WARNE'S DISCOUNT AND COMMISSION TABLES. Containing 
 Seven Thousand Calculations, at from & to 95 per cent, on 
 amounts from id. to 1,000. By W. J. GORDON, Chartered Ac- 
 countant. 
 
 In 48010, price is., cloth gilt. 
 
 MY MARKET TABLE. Showing the Value of any Article at per 
 Pound and Ounce, from 6d. to is. 6d. 
 
 In 48mo, price is. 6d. , cloth gilt ; or in pocket book style, price 2$. 6d., 
 
 roan, gilt edges; 
 THE BIJOU CALCULATOR AND MERCANTILE TREASURY. With 
 
 Ready Reckoner, Interest, Trade and Commercial Tables, and all 
 
 Forms, &c., used in Business. 640 pp. 
 
 In oblong 8vo, price 2$., patent morocco. 
 
 HOPPUS'S MEASURER. Enlarged and Revised; the Contents being 
 given in Feet, Inches, and Twelfth-parts of an Inch. Edited by 
 WM. RICHARDSON. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 2s. 6d., cloth. 
 
 THE AVOIRDUPOIS WEIGHT CALCULATOR AND READY 
 RECKONER. With Interest and Discount Tables. By ARTHUR 
 E. KING. 
 
 A COUNTING-HOUSE NECESSITY. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 5$., cloth gilt. 
 
 WARNE'S STANDARD COMMERCIAL HANDBOOK. Comprising 
 a Dictionary of the English Language, with 30,000 References ; a 
 Gazetteer of the World, with 30,000 References and a complete 
 Mercantile Calculator of Interest Tables, Trade Tables, and all 
 known Information necessary for Commercial Transactions. 
 " Invaluable as a desk companion." Bankers' Journal. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 SPOKTIN&, FAKMING- AND COUNTRY BOOKS. 
 
 THE DRUID SPOETIM LBEAET, 
 
 New and Cheaper Library Edition. In crown 8vo, Four Vols. 
 
 price 35. 6d. per Vol., red cloth, gilt top. 
 POST AND PADDOCK. i SILK AND SCARLET. 
 
 SADDLE AND SIRLOIN. SCOTT AND SEBRIGHT. 
 
 A Cheap Edition, picture boards, Four Vols., 85. 
 
 In crown 8vo, price 55. , red cloth, gilt top. 
 SPORTING SKETCHES. By the Old Bushman. 
 
 What Blackstone is to the lawyer, Stonehenge is to the sportsman.' 1 
 
 Manchester Examiner. 
 
 THE VADE MECUM OF BRITISH SPORT. 
 
 In demy 8vo, price 215., half bound, marbled edges, 1,100 pages. 
 
 THE SIXTEENTH EDITION OF 
 
 STONEHENGE'S 
 
 BRITISH RURAL SPORTS, 
 
 COMPLETELY RE-EDITED, RE-ARRANGED, AND RECOMPOSED, 
 By STONEHENGE, Editor of " The Field." 
 
 Comprising Athletics, Shooting, Hunting, Coursing, Yachting, Lawn 
 
 Tennis, Fishing, Hawking, Racing, Boating, Pedestrianism, and the 
 
 various Rural Games of Great Britain, -with complete Index, &*c. 
 
 Illustrated by numerous Engravings. 
 
 SYNOPSIS OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Part I. THE PURSUIT OF WILD ANIMALS FOR SPORT. Part II, HORSE-RACING. 
 Part III. RURAL GAMES AND OUT-DOOR AMUSEMENTS. Part IV. NATURAL HISTORY 
 OF THE PRINCIPAL ANIMALS USED BY MAN IN RURAL SPORTS. Part V. DISEASES 
 OF THE DOG AND HORSE. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "One of the most inclusive, best-written, and best-arranged compendiums ever 
 published. ' ' Times. 
 
 " It is unnecessary to recommend a work that has been so emphatically endorsed 
 by the sporting world." Standard. 
 
 "The most complete and trustworthy authority on British sports in the lan- 
 guage." Sportsman. 
 
 "As an authority on sporting matters, it seems unnecessary here to say that it is 
 a book no country gentleman should be without." Yorkshire Post. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 SPOBTING, FABMING, AND OOUNTEY BOOKS, continued. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. THIRD THOUSAND. THOROUGHLY REVISED. 
 In demy 8vo, price 215., half-bound, 830 pp. 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN HORSE DOCTOR. In 
 
 which is embodied ELAINE'S " Veterinary Art." By GEORGE 
 ARMATAGE, M.R.C.V.S. With 330 Original Illustrations, Coloured 
 Plates, Anatomical Drawings, &c. 
 
 In demy 8vo, price 2 is., half-bound, 816 pp. 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN CATTLE DOCTOR. By 
 
 FRANCIS CLATER. Entirely re-written by GEORGE ARMATAGE, 
 M.R.C.V.S. Fifth Edition, with much New Matter. Forming a 
 suitable Text-Book for the Student and General Practitioner. 
 With copious Notes, Additional Recipes, &c. , and upwards of 350 
 Practical Illustrations, showing Forms of Disease and Treatment, 
 including Coloured Page Plates of the Foot and Mouth Disease. 
 
 A VALUABLE WORK FOR EVERY AGRICULTURIST. 
 In demy 8vo, price 155., half-bound, 700 pp. 
 
 THE FARMER'S CALENDAR. Sixth Edition, entirely 
 
 Revised, with 60 additional pages. By J. CHALMERS MORTON, 
 Author of "The Prince Consort's Farm," " The Cyclopaedia of 
 Agriculture," &c. 
 
 A Systematic Work on Farm Practice, accompanied by Explanations and 
 References to Theory when necessary, but mainly and intentionally descriptive 
 of actual Experience and Work in Field, Fold, and Farmery. Fully illus- 
 trated with Wood Engravings of Buildings, Land Drainage, Machinery, and 
 Plants. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, price 55., cloth gilt. 
 
 THE HORSEOWNER AND STABLEMAN'S COM- 
 
 PAN ION ; or, Hints on the Selection, Purchase, and Management 
 of the Horse. By GEORGE ARMATAGE, M.R.C.V.S. 
 
 "The whole duty of man as regards horses may be found in these pages." 
 Sporting Life. 
 
 In fcap. 8vo, with Illustrations, price is. 6d. each, picture boards. 
 
 SHEEP: Their Varieties and Diseases. By G. ARMATAGE. 
 
 CATTLE: Their Varieties and Diseases. By G. ARMATAGE. 
 
 THE HORSE: Its Varieties and Management in Health and Disease. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 SERIES OF CLASSICS AND POETS. 
 
 THE CHANDOS POETS. 
 
 FINELY PRINTED ON GOOD PAPER IN LARGE TYPE, AND RED-LINE BORDER. 
 With Original Notes, Steel Portraits, and full-page Illustrations. 
 
 In imperial i6mo, price 75. 6d. each, cloth gilt, gilt edges ; 
 or morocco, ids. 
 
 LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 LEGENDARY BALLADS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND. Edited 
 
 and Compiled by J . S. ROBERTS. 
 
 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. With numerous Notes. 
 ELIZA COOK'S POEMS. A Complete Edition, with Portrait and 
 
 Steel Illustrations. 
 
 MOORE'S POETICAL WORKS. With numerous Notes. 
 COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 BYRON'S POETICAL WORKS. With Explanatory Notes. 
 MRS. HEMANS' POETICAL WORKS. With Memoir, &c. 
 BURNS' POETICAL WORKS. With Glossarial Notes. 
 HOOD'S POETICAL WORKS. With Life. 
 CAMPBELL'S POETICAL WORKS. With Notes. 
 COLERIDGE'S POETICAL WORKS. With Memoir, Notes, &c. 
 SHELLEY'S POETICAL WORKS. With Memoir, Notes, &c. 
 POPE'S HOMER'S ILIAD AND ODYSSEY. FLAXMAN'S Illustrations. 
 POPE'S POETICAL WORKS. With Original Notes. 
 MACKAY'S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. 
 HERBERT'S (GEORGE) POEMS AND PROSE. With Notes, &c. 
 HEBER'S (BISHOP) POETICAL WORKS. With Notes, &c. 
 
 Uniform in size, price, and style, but without Red-line. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE : The Plays and Poems. With Portrait. 
 
 CHRISTIAN LYRICS. From Modern Authors. 250 Illustrations. 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S (JAMES) POETICAL WORKS. With Prefatory 
 Memoir and Explanatory Notes. 100 Original Illustrations. 
 
 POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. With 120 Illustra- 
 tions by J. E. MILLAIS, TENNIEL, PICKERSGILL, Sir J. GILBERT, 
 HARRISON WEIR, &c. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 THE LANSDOWNE POETS. 
 
 ENTIRELY NEW EDITION, RED LINE BORDER. 
 With Original Notes, Steel Portraits, and full-page Illustrations. 
 
 In large crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, gilt edges, price 35. 6d. each, 
 or in morocco elegant, 8s. ; or New Style, in limp roan, gilt edges, 55. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE'S POETICAL WORKS, f IT 
 
 LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS, t IT 
 
 BYRON'S POETICAL WORKS.f IT 
 
 ELIZA COOKS POEMS, f T 
 
 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS.f IT 
 
 MOORE'S POETICAL WORKS. t 
 
 COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS.f 
 
 MILTON'S POETICAL WORKS.f 1 
 
 WORDSWORTH'S POETICAL WORKS, f H 
 
 MRS. HEMANS' POETICAL WORKS, f 1[ 
 
 KEBLE'S (JOHN) THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.f U 
 
 GEMS OF NATIONAL POETRY, f IT 
 
 BURNS' POETICAL WORKS, f IT 
 
 HOOD'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 COLERIDGE'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 SHELLEY'S POETICAL WORKS.f IT 
 
 POPE'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 GOLDSMITH'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 MONTGOMERY'S (JAMES) POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 HEBER'S (BISHOP) POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 HERBERT'S (GEORGE) POEMS AND PROSE. 
 
 DODD'S BEAUTIES OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 GRAY, BEATTIE, AND COLLINS. 
 
 PERCY'S RELIQUES. 
 
 DANTE. By GARY. flT 
 
 WILLMOTT'S POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.*! 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUST. By BAYARD TAYLOR. IT 
 
 SCHILLER S POEMS AND BALLADS. LYTTON. 
 Also uniform, without red line Border. 
 
 CAMPBELL'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 KEATS' POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 SPENSER'S POETICAL WORKS. 
 
 SONGS, SACRED AND DEVOTIONAL. 
 
 GOLDEN LEAVES FROM THE AMERICAN POETS. 
 
 LEGENDARY BALLADS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND. 
 
 JOHNSON S LIVES OF THE POETS. 
 
 LAUREL AND LYRE. 
 
 Those marked (t) also in half-morocco, gilt top, price 4$. 6d. each, 
 ^f These volumes are also bound in parchment, with gilt and red ornaments, 
 gilt top, uncut, price 55. in a neat box. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand.
 
 FREDERICK WARNE & CO., Publishers, 
 
 WARNE'S CROWN LIBRARY. 
 
 Price Two SHILLINGS per Volume. 
 
 An entirely New Series, drawn from the works of some of the most 
 Eminent Authors, and embodying many celebrated Novels, as well as 
 other miscellaneous writings which hold a foremost place in English 
 Literature. 
 
 The "CROWN LIBRARY" meets a different demand from our now 
 well-known series, " THE CHANDOS CLASSICS ; " both being drawn from 
 entirely distinct branches of literature. 
 
 The volumes are "Unabridged" and printed from the Best Edi- 
 tions extant. They have all been composed in a uniform style from 
 New Type, are very carefully printed on good paper, and bound in a 
 neat cloth style, bevelled boards. 
 
 LIST OF THE SERIES. 
 
 1 VALENTINE VOX. By HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 2 ERNEST MALTRAVERS. By Lord LYTTON. 
 
 3 ALICE. By Lord LYTTON. 
 
 4 THE CAUDLE LECTURES, & THE STORY OF A FEATHER. 
 
 By DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 5 PETER SIMPLE. By Captain MARRY AT. 
 
 6 JACK HINTON. By CHARLES LEVER. 
 
 7 IVANHOE. By Sir WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 8 THE DEER-SLAYER. By J. FENIMORE COOPER. 
 
 9 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. By Miss PORTER. 
 
 10 THE PRAIRIE BIRD. By Hon. C. A. MURRAY. 
 
 11 RORY O'MORE. By SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 12 BRACEBRIDGE HALL. By WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 13 SYLVESTER SOUND. By HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 14 THE COLLEGIANS; or, The Colleen Bawn. By GERALD GRIFFIN. 
 
 15 MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. By Captain MARRY AT. 
 
 16 THE FAIR GOD : A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico. By LEW 
 
 WALLACE. 
 
 !7 KENILWORTH. By Sir WALTER SCOTT. 
 18 THE PATHFINDER. By J. FENIMORE COOPER. 
 IQ THAT LASS O' LOWRIE'S. By FRANCES H. BURNETT. 
 20 THROUGH ONE ADMINISTRATION. BY FRANCES H. BURNETT. 
 
 The Spectator says : " Clearly printed volumes, well bound in brown cloth, and 
 certainly a marvel of cheapness. This promises to be a library of fiction that anyone 
 might be proud to possess, and is really beyond the reach of but few readers." 
 
 St. James's Gazette says: " The paper is thick and good, the page a handsome 
 one, and printed from clear type ; and the binding is well done in cloth. He must 
 be fastidious who wants anything better." 
 
 Other Volumes in preparation will be announced affixed intervals. 
 Bedford Street, Strand. 
 
 J. OGDEN AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, GREAT SAFFRON HILL, B.C.