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diff --git a/old/69177-0.txt b/old/69177-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 91ac18a..0000000 --- a/old/69177-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4172 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mirth and metre, by Frank E. Smedley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Mirth and metre - -Authors: Frank E. Smedley - Edmund H. Yates - -Illustrator: M'Connell - -Release Date: October 18, 2022 [eBook #69177] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Mark C. Orton and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRTH AND METRE *** - - - - - - -MIRTH AND METRE. - -[Illustration: MAUDE ALLINGHAME.—p. 19. - -_Front._] - -[Illustration: MIRTH AND METRE—p. 80.] - - LONDON AND NEW YORK: - GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO. - 1855. - - - - - MIRTH AND METRE. - - BY - TWO MERRY MEN. - - Frank E. Smedley, - AND - Edmund H. Yates. - - “I’D RATHER HAVE A FOOL TO MAKE ME MERRY, THAN EXPERIENCE - TO MAKE ME SAD.”—SHAKSPEARE. - - With Illustrations by M’Connell. - - LONDON: - GEO. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET. - NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. - 1855. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -If any one of those mysterious autocrats who “do” the reviews “on” some -newspaper or serial shall, in his condescension, deign to inform public -opinion what he may think about MIRTH AND METRE, that autocrat, unless -he be in an unhoped-for state of benignity, will, doubtless, commence -with the agreeable remark that “the work before us consists of certain -Lays and Legends, written in paltry imitation of the productions of the -_in_imitable Thomas Ingoldsby.” - -Admitting the imputation without cavil, (except at the word “paltry,” -which _really_ is too bad, don’t you think so, dear reader?) the authors -would inquire whether such an admission legitimately exposes them to -hostile criticism? When the late Mr. Barham produced the “Ingoldsby -Legends,” he, as it were, founded a new school of comic versification. -That this is not a mere _ipse dixit_ of our own is evinced by the fact -that, in common parlance, a man who adopts this style of composition is -said to have written an “Ingoldsby,” as he might be said to have written -an Epic, had he chosen that form instead. - -To assert that only a very small shred of Mr. Barham’s mantle has fallen -upon any of his imitators (a fact to which none will more readily assent -than the present writers), is simply to state that the standard we have -proposed to ourselves is a high one, and proportionately difficult to -attain. - - “_Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona_” - -is a fact which does not appear to have checked the energies or paralysed -the ambition of the “king of men;” nor was Waterloo the less a great -victory because Julius Cæsar had a few centuries before successfully -invaded Gaul. - -To our thinking, however, the common sense of the matter lies (after the -usual fashion of that inestimable quality) in a nutshell. A servile copy -of any particular style—a hash of old ideas, or want of ideas, served up -after the manner of some popular writer—is a bad thing, against which -all true lovers of literature are bound to raise their voices whenever -they meet with it; but if a young author, imbued with admiration of, -and respect for, some man of genius who has lived before him, sees fit -to embody his own thoughts and feelings in a form which experience has -approved, rather than confuse himself and his readers, in his frantic -strivings after originality, by torturing words out of their natural -meaning, and marshalling them in a metre against which the ear rebels, we -conceive no just canon of criticism can forbid his doing so. To which of -these categories the Lays and Legends in this Volume are to be assigned, -we leave it to our readers to determine. - - Frank E. Smedley. - Edmund H. Yates. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - MAUDE ALLINGHAME; A LEGEND OF HERTFORDSHIRE. BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY 1 - - “YE RIGHT ANCIENT BALLAD OF YE COMBAT OF KING TIDRICH WITH YE - DRAGON.” BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY 23 - - ST. MICHAEL’S EVE. BY EDMUND H. YATES 31 - - THE KING OF THE CATS; A RHINE LEGEND. BY EDMUND H. YATES 38 - - THE LAPWING. BY EDMUND H. YATES 43 - - THE ENCHANTED NET. BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY 45 - - A FYTTE OF THE BLUES. BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY 53 - - THE FORFEIT HAND; A LEGEND OF BRABANT. BY FRANK E. SMEDLEY 55 - - SIR RUPERT THE RED. BY EDMUND H. YATES 71 - - COUNT LOUIS OF TOULOUSE. BY EDMUND H. YATES 82 - - ANNIE LYLE. BY EDMUND H. YATES 84 - - JACK RASPER’S WAGER; OR, “NE SUTOR ULTRA CREPIDAM.” BY EDMUND - H. YATES 86 - - THE OVERFLOWINGS OF THE LATE PELLUCID RIVERS, ESQ. BY EDMUND - H. YATES 94 - - - - -MIRTH AND METRE. - - - - -MAUDE ALLINGHAME; A LEGEND OF HERTFORDSHIRE.[1] - - -Part the First. - - There is weeping and wailing in Allinghame Hall, - From many an eye does the tear-drop fall, - Swollen with sorrow is many a lip, - Many a nose is red at the tip; - All the shutters are shut very tight, - To keep out the wind and to keep out the light; - While a couple of mutes, - With very black suits, - And extremely long faces, - Have taken their places - With an air of professional _esprit de corps_, - One on each side of the great hall door. - On the gravel beyond, in a wonderful state - Of black velvet and feathers, a grand hearse, and eight - Magnificent horses, the orders await - Of a spruce undertaker, - Who’s come from Long Acre, - To furnish a coffin, and do the polite - To the corpse of Sir Reginald Allinghame, Knight. - - The lamented deceased whose funeral arrangement - I’ve just been describing, resembled that strange gent - Who ventured to falsely imprison a great man, - Viz. the Ottoman captor of noble Lord Bateman; - For we’re told in that ballad, which makes our eyes water, - That this terrible Turk had got one only daughter; - And although our good knight had twice seen twins arrive, a - Young lady named Maude was the only survivor. - So there being no entail - On some horrid heir-male, - And no far-away cousin or distant relation - To lay claim to the lands and commence litigation, - ’Tis well known through the county, by each one and all, - That fair Maude is the heiress of Allinghame Hall. - - Yes! she was very fair to view; - Mark well that forehead’s ivory hue, - That speaking eye, whose glance of pride - The silken lashes scarce can hide, - E’en when, as now, its wonted fire - Is paled with weeping o’er her sire; - Those scornful lips that part to show - The pearl-like teeth in even row, - That dimpled chin, so round and fair, - The clusters of her raven hair, - Whose glossy curls their shadow throw - O’er her smooth brow and neck of snow; - The faultless hand, the ankle small, - The figure more than woman tall, - And yet so graceful, sculptor’s art - Such symmetry could ne’er impart. - Observe her well, and then confess - The power of female loveliness, - And say, “Except a touch of vice - One may descry - About the eye, - Rousing a Caudle-ish recollection, - Which might perchance upon reflection - Turn out a serious objection, - That gal would make “a heavenly splice.” - - From far and wide - On every side - The county did many a suitor ride, - Who, wishing to marry, determined to call - And propose for the heiress of Allinghame Hall. - Knights who’d gathered great fame in - Stabbing, cutting, and maiming - The French and their families - At Blenheim and Ramilies, - In promiscuous manslaughter - T’other side of the water, - Very eagerly sought her; - Yet, though presents they brought her, - And fain would have taught her - To fancy they loved her, not one of them caught her. - Maude received them all civilly, asked them to dine, - Gave them capital venison, and excellent wine, - But declared, when they popp’d, that she’d really no notion - They’d had serious intentions—she owned their devotion - Was excessively flattering—quite touching—in fact - She was grieved at the part duty forced her to act; - Still her recent bereavement—her excellent father— - (Here she took out her handkerchief) yes, she had rather— - Rather not (here she sobbed) say a thing so unpleasant, - But she’d made up her mind not to marry at present. - Might she venture to hope that she still should retain - Their friendship?—to lose that would cause her _such_ pain. - Would they like to take supper?—she feared etiquette, - A thing not to be set - At defiance by one in her sad situation, - Having no “Maiden Aunt,” or old moral relation - Of orthodox station, - Whose high reputation, - And prim notoriety, - Should inspire society - With a very deep sense of the strictest propriety; - Such a relative wanting, she feared, so she said, - Etiquette must prevent her from offering a bed; - But the night was so fine—just the thing for a ride— - Must they go? Well, good-bye,—and here once more she sighed; - Then a last parting smile on the suitor she threw, - And thus, having “let him down easy,” withdrew, - While the lover rode home with an indistinct notion - That somehow he’d not taken much by his motion. - - Young Lord Dandelion, - An illustrious scion, - A green sprig of nobility, - Whose excessive gentility - I fain would describe if I had but ability,— - This amiable lordling, being much in the state - I’ve described, _i. e._ going home at night rather late, - Having got his _congé_ - (As a Frenchman would say) - From the heiress, with whom he’d been anxious to mate, - Is jogging along, in a low state of mind, - When a horseman comes rapidly up from behind, - And a voice in his ear - Shouts in tones round and clear, - “Ho, there! stand and deliver! your money or life!” - While some murderous weapon, a pistol or knife, - Held close to his head, - As these words are being said, - Glitters cold in the moonlight, and fills him with dread. - - Now I think you will own, - That when riding alone - On the back of a horse, be it black, white, or roan, - Or chestnut, or bay, - Or piebald, or grey, - Or dun-brown (though a notion my memory crosses - That ’tis asses are usually done brown, not horses), - When on horseback, I say, in the dead of the night, - Nearly dark, if not quite, - In despite of the light - Of the moon shining bright- - ish—yes, not more than -ish, for the planet’s cold rays I - ’ve been told on this night were unusually hazy— - With no one in sight, - To the left or the right, - Save a well-mounted highwayman fully intent - On obtaining your money, as Dan did his rent, - By bullying, an odd sort of annual pleasantry - That “Repaler” played off on the finest of peasantry; - In so awkward a fix I should certainly say, - By far the best way - Is to take matters easy, and quietly pay; - The alternative being that the robber may treat us - To a couple of bullets by way of _quietus_; - Thus applying our brains, if perchance we have got any, - In this summary mode to the study of botany, - By besprinkling the leaves, and the grass, and the flowers, - With the source of our best intellectual powers, - And, regardless of _habeas corpus_, creating - A feast for the worms, which are greedily waiting - Till such time as any gent - Quits this frail tenement, - And adopting a shroud as his sole outer garment, - Becomes food for worms, slugs, and all such-like varmint. - - My Lord Dandelion, - That illustrious scion, - Not possessing the pluck of the bold hero Brian, - (Of whom Irishmen rave till one murmurs “how true - Is the brute’s patronymic of Brian _Bore you_”), - Neither feeling inclined, - Nor having a mind - To be shot by a highwayman, merely said “Eh? - Aw—extwemely unpleasant—aw—take it, sir, pway;” - And without further parley his money resigned. - - Away! away! - With a joyous neigh, - Bounds the highwayman’s steed, like a colt at play; - And a merry laugh rings loud and clear, - On the terrified drum of his trembling ear, - While the following words doth his lordship hear:— - “Unlucky, my lord; unlucky, I know, - For the money to go - And the heiress say ‘No,’ - On the self-same day, is a terrible blow. - When next you visit her, good my lord, - Give THE HIGHWAYMAN’S love to fair Mistress Maude!” - Away! away! - On his gallant grey - My Lord Dandelion, - That unfortunate scion, - Gallops as best he may; - And as he rides he mutters low, - “Insolent fellar, how did _he_ know?” - - In the stable department of Allinghame Hall - There’s the devil to pay, - As a body may say, - And no assets forthcoming to answer the call; - For the head groom, Roger, - A knowing old codger, - In a thundering rage, - Which nought can assuage, - Most excessively cross is - With the whole stud of horses, - While he viciously swears - At the fillies and mares; - He bullies the helpers, he kicks all the boys, - Upsets innocent pails with superfluous noise; - Very loudly doth fret and incessantly fume, - And behaves, in a word, - In a way most absurd, - More befitting a madman, by far, than a groom, - Till at length he finds vent - For his deep discontent - In the following soliloquy:—“I’m blest if this is - To be stood any longer; I’ll go and tell Missis; - If she don’t know some dodge as’ll stop this here rig, - Vy then, dash my vig, - This here werry morning - I jest gives her warning, - If I don’t I’m a Dutchman, or summut as worse is.” - Then, after a short obligato of curses, - Just to let off the steam, Roger dons his best clothes, - And seeks his young mistress his griefs to disclose. - - “Please your Ladyship’s Honour, - I’ve come here upon a - Purtiklar rum business going on in the stable, - Vich, avake as I am, I ain’t no how been able - To get at the truth on:—the last thing each night - I goes round all the ’orses to see as they’re right,— - And they alvays _is_ right too, as far as I see, - Cool, k’viet, and clean, just as ’orses should be,— - Then, furst thing ev’ry morning agen I goes round, - To see as the cattle is all safe and sound. - ’Twas nigh three veeks ago, or perhaps rather more, - Ven vun morning, as usual, I unlocks the door,— - (Tho’ I ought to ha’ mentioned I alvays does lock it, - And buttons the key in my right breeches pocket)— - I opens the door, Marm, and there vas Brown Bess, - Your ladyship’s mare, in a horribul mess; - Reg’lar kivered all over vith sveat, foam, and lather, - Laying down in her stall—sich a sight for a father! - Vhile a saddle and bridle, as hung there kvite clean - Over night, was all mud and not fit to be seen; - And, to dock a long tale, since that day thrice a-week, - Or four times, perhaps, more or less, so to speak, - I’ve diskivered that thare, - Identical mare, - Or else the black Barb, vich, perhaps you’ll remember - Vas brought here from over the seas last September, - In the state I describes, as if fairies or vitches - Had rode ’em all night over hedges and ditches; - If this here’s to go on (and I’m sure I don’t know - How to stop it), I tells you at vunce, I must go; - Yes, although I’ve lived here - A good twenty-five year, - I am sorry to say (for I knows what your loss is) - You must get some vun else to look arter your ’orses.” - - Roger’s wonderful tale - Seemed of little avail, - For Maude neither fainted, nor screamed, nor turned pale, - But she signed with her finger to bid him draw near; - And cried, “Roger, come here, - I’ve a word for your ear;” - Then she whispered so low - That I really don’t know - What it was that she said, but it seemed _apropos_ - And germane to the matter; - For though Roger stared at her, - With mouth wide asunder, - Extended by wonder, - Ere she ended, his rage appeared wholly brought under, - Insomuch that the groom, - When he quitted the room, - Louted low, and exclaimed, with a grin of delight, - “Your Ladyship’s Honour’s a gentleman quite!” - ’Tis reported, that night, at the sign of “The Goat,” - Roger the groom changed a £20 note. - - -Part the Second. - - There’s a stir and confusion in Redburn town, - And all the way up and all the way down - The principal street, - When the neighbours meet, - They do nothing but chafe, and grumble, and frown, - And sputter and mutter, - And sentences utter, - Such as these—“Have you heard, - The thing that’s occurred? - His worship the Mayor? - Shocking affair! - Much too bad, I declare! - Fifty pounds, I’ve been told! - And as much more in gold. - Well, the villain is bold! - Two horse pistols!—No more? - I thought they said four. - And so close to the town! - I say, Gaffer Brown, - Do tell us about it.” - “Thus the matter fell out—it - Was only last night that his worship the Mayor, - Master Zachary Blair, - Having been at St. Alban’s and sold in the fair - Some fifteen head of cattle, a horse and a mare, - Jogging home on his nag - With the cash in a bag, - Was met by a highwayman armed to the teeth, - With a belt full of pistols and sword in its sheath, - A murderous villain, six feet high, - With spur on heel and boot on thigh, - And a great black beard and a wicked eye; - And he said to his Worship, ‘My fat little friend, - I will thank you to lend - Me that nice bag of gold, which no doubt you intend - Before long to expend - In some awfully slow way, - Or possibly low way, - Which I should not approve. Come, old fellow, be quick!’ - And then Master Blair heard an ominous click, - Betokening the cocking - Of a pistol, a shocking - Sound, which caused him to quake, - And shiver and shake, - From the crown of his head to the sole of his stocking. - So yielding himself with a touching submission - To what he considered a vile imposition, - He handed the bag with the tin to the highwayman, - who took it, and saying, in rather a dry way, - ‘Many thanks, gallant sir,’ galloped off down a bye way.” - - The town council has met, and his worship the Mayor, - Master Zachary Blair, - Having taken the chair, - And sat in it too, which was nothing but fair, - Did at once, then and there, - Relate and declare, - With a dignified air, - And a presence most rare, - The tale we’ve just heard, which made all men to stare, - And indignantly swear, - It was too bad to bear. - Then after they’d fully discussed the affair, - To find out the best method of setting things square, - They agreed one and all the next night to repair, - Upon horseback, or mare, - To the highwayman’s lair, - And, if he appeared, hunt him down like a hare. - - Over No-Man’s-Land[2] the moon shines bright, - And the furze and the fern in its liquid light - Glitter and gleam of a silvery white; - The lengthened track which the cart-wheels make, - Winds o’er the heath like a mighty snake, - And silence o’er that lonely wold - Doth undisputed empire hold, - Save where the night-breeze fitfully - Mourns like some troubled spirit’s cry; - At the cross roads the old sign-post - Shows dimly forth, like sheeted ghost, - As with weird arm, extended still, - It points the road to Leamsford Mill; - In fact it is not - At all a sweet spot, - A nice situation, - Or charming location; - The late Robins himself, in despite his vocation, - Would have deemed this a station - Unworthy laudation, - And have probably termed it “a blot on the nation.” - - In a lane hard by, - Where the hedge-rows high, - Veil with their leafy boughs the sky, - Biding their time, sits his worship the Mayor, - Master Zachary Blair, - And my Lord Dandelion, - That illustrious scion, - And Oxley the butcher, and Doughy the baker, - And Chisel the joiner and cabinet-maker, - And good farmer Dacre, - Who holds many an acre, - And, _insuper omnes_, bold Jonathan Blaker, - The famous thief-taker, - Who’s been sent for from town as being more wide awaker, - (Excuse that comparative, sure ’tis no crime - To sacrifice grammar to such a nice rhyme,) - And up to the dodges of fellows who take a - Delight in being born in “stone jugs,” and then fake a- - way all their lives long in a manner would make a - Live Archbishop to swear, let alone any Quaker, - Wet or dry, you can name, or a Jumper or Shaker; - And, to add to this list, Hobbs was there, so was Dobbs, - With several others, all more or less snobs, - Low partys, quite willing to peril their nobs - In highwayman catching, and such-like odd jobs, - To obtain a few shillings, which they would term bobs. - - ’Tisn’t pleasant to wait - In a fidgety state - Of mind, at an hour we deem very late, - When our fancies have fled - Home to supper and bed, - And we feel we are catching a cold in the head; - (By the way, if this ailment should ever make you ill, - Drop some neat sal-volatile into your gruel, - You’ll be all right next day, - And will probably say, - This, by way of receipt, is a regular jewel;) - To wait, I repeat, - For a robber or cheat, - On a spot he’s supposed to select for his beat, - When said robber wont come’s the reverse of a treat. - - So thought the butcher, and so thought the baker, - And so thought the joiner and cabinet-maker, - And so thought all the rest except Jonathan Blaker; - To him catching a thief in the dead of the night - Presented a source of unfailing delight; - And now as he sat - Peering under his hat, - He looked much like a terrier watching a rat. - - Hark! he hears a muffled sound; - He slips from the saddle, his ear’s to the ground. - Louder and clearer, - Nearer and nearer, - ’Tis a horse’s tramp on the soft green sward! - He is mounted again: “Now, good my Lord, - Now, master Mayor, mark well, if you can, - A rider approaches, is this your man?” - - Ay, mark that coal-black barb that skims, - With flowing mane and graceful limbs, - As lightly onward o’er the lea - As greyhound from the leash set free; - Observe the rider’s flashing eye, - His gallant front and bearing high; - His slender form, which scarce appears - Fitted to manhood’s riper years; - The easy grace with which at need - He checks or urges on his steed; - Can this be one whose fame is spread - For deeds of rapine and of dread? - - My Lord Dandelion - Placed his spy-glass his eye on, - Stared hard at the rider, and then exclaimed, “Well—ar— - ’Tis weally _so_ dark! but I think ’tis the fellar.” - While his worship the Mayor - Whispered, “O, look ye there! - That purse in his girdle, d’ye see it?—I twigged it; - ’Tis my purse as was prigged, and the willin what prigged it!” - - Hurrah! hurrah! - He’s off and away, - Follow who can, follow who may. - There’s hunting and chasing - And going the pace in - Despite of the light, which is not good for racing. - “Hold hard! hold hard! there’s somebody spilt, - And entirely kilt!” - “Well, never mind, - Leave him behind,”— - The pace is a great deal too good to be kind. - Follow, follow, - O’er hill and hollow,— - Faster, faster, - Another disaster! - His worship the Mayor has got stuck in a bog. - And there let us leave him to spur and to flog, - He’ll know better the next time,—a stupid old dog! - “Where’s Hobbs?” - “I don’t know.” - “And Dobbs and the snobs?” - “All used-up long ago.” - “My nag’s almost blown!” - “And mine’s got a stone - In his shoe—I’m afraid it’s no go. Why, I say! - That rascally highwayman’s getting away!” - - ’Tis true. Swift as the trackless wind, - The gallant barb leaves all behind; - Hackney and hunter still in vain - Exert each nerve, each sinew strain; - And all in vain that motley-crew - Of horsemen still the chase pursue. - Two by two, and one by one, - They lag behind—’tis nearly done, - That desperate game, that eager strife, - That fearful race for death or life. - Those dark trees gained that skirt the moor, - All danger of pursuit is o’er; - Screened by their shade from every eye, - Escape becomes a certainty. - Haste! for with stern, relentless will - ONE RIDER’S ON THY TRACES STILL! - - ’Tis bold Jonathan Blaker who sticks to his prey - In this somewhat unfeeling, though business-like way. - But even he, too, is beginning to find - That the pace is so good he’ll be soon left behind. - He presses his horse on with hand and with heel, - He rams in the persuaders too hard a great deal; - ’Tis but labour in vain, - Though he starts from the pain, - Nought can give that stout roadster his wind back again. - Now Jonathan Blaker had formerly been - A soldier, and fought for his country and queen, - Over seas, the Low Countries to wit, and while there, in - Despite of good teaching, - And praying and preaching, - Had acquired a shocking bad habit of swearing; - Thus, whenever, as now, - The red spot on his brow - Proved him “wrathy and riled,” - He would not draw it mild, - But would, sans apology, let out on such - Occasions a torrent of very low Dutch. - One can scarce feel surprise, then, considering the urgency - Of the case, that he cried in the present emergency, - “_Ach donner und blitzen_” (a taste of his lingo), - “He’ll escape, by—” (I don’t know the German for “jingo”). - “_Tausend teufel! sturmwetter!_ - To think I should let a - Scamp like that get away; don’t I wish now that I’d ha’ - Drove a brace of lead pills through the horse or the rider; - Pr’aps there’s time for it still—_Mein auge_ (my eye), - ’Tis the only chance left, so here goes for a try.” - - Oh, faster spur thy flagging steed, - Still faster,—fearful is thy need. - Oh, heed not now his failing breath, - Life lies before, behind thee death! - Warning all vainly given! too late - To shield thee from the stroke of fate. - One glance the fierce pursuer threw, - A pistol from his holster drew, - Levelled and fired, the echoes still - Prolong the sound from wood to hill; - But ere the last vibrations die, - A WOMAN’S shriek of agony - Rings out beneath that midnight sky! - - The household sleep soundly in Allinghame Hall, - Groom, butler, and coachman, cook, footboy, and all; - The fat old housekeeper - (Never was such a sleeper), - After giving a snore, - Which was almost a roar, - Has just turned in her bed and begun a fresh score; - The butler (a shocking old wine-bibbing sinner), - Having made some mistake after yesterday’s dinner, - As to where he should put a decanter of sherry, - Went to bed rather merry, - But perplexed in his mind, - Not being able to find - A legitimate reason - Why at that time and season - His _eight_-post bed chooses, whichever way he stirs, - To present to his vision a _couple_ of testers! - Since which, still more completely his spirits to damp, - He’s been roused twice by nightmare and three times by cramp! - And now he dreams some old church-bell - Is mournfully tolling a dead man’s knell, - And he starts in his sleep, and mutters, “Alas! - Man’s life’s brittle as glass! - There’s another cork flown, and the spirit escaped; - Heigh ho!” (here he gaped), - Then, scratching his head, - He sat up in bed, - For that bell goes on ringing more loud than before, - And he knows ’tis the bell of the great hall door. - Footman tall, - Footboy small, - Housekeeper, butler, coachman, and all, - In a singular state of extreme dishabille, - Which they each of them feel - Disinclined to reveal, - And yet know not very well how to conceal, - With one accord rush to the old oak hall; - To unfasten the door - Takes a minute or more; - It opens at length and discloses a sight - Which fills them with wonder, and sorrow, and fright. - - The ruddy light of early dawn - Gilds with its rays that velvet lawn; - From every shrub and painted flower - Dew-drops distill in silvery shower; - Sweet perfumes load the air; the song - Of waking birds is borne along - Upon the bosom of the breeze - That murmurs through the waving trees; - The crystal brook that dances by - Gleams in the sunlight merrily; - All tells of joy, and love, and life— - _All?_—Said I everything was rife - With happiness?—Behold that form, - Like lily broken by the storm, - Fall’n prostrate on the steps before - The marble threshold of the door! - The well-turned limbs, the noble mien, - The riding-coat of Lincoln green; - The hat, whose plume of sable hue - Its shadow o’er his features threw; - Yon coal-black barb, too, panting near, - All show some youthful cavalier; - While, fatal evidence of strife, - From a deep hurt the flood of life - Proves, as its current stains the sod, - How man defiles the work of God. - With eager haste the servants raise - The head, and on the features gaze, - Then backward start in sad surprise - As that pale face they recognise. - Good reason theirs, although, in sooth, - They knew but half the fatal truth; - For, strange as doth the tale appear, - One startling fact is all too clear, - The robber, who on No-Man’s-Land - Was shot by Blaker’s ruthless hand,— - That highwayman of evil fame - Is beauteous Maude of Allinghame! - - -L’ENVOI. - - “Well, but that’s not the end?” - “Yes it is, my good friend.” - “Oh, I say! - That wont pay; - ’Tis a shocking bad way - To leave off so abruptly. I wanted to hear - A great many particulars: first, I’m not clear, - Is the young woman killed?” “Be at rest on that head, - She’s completely defunct, most excessively dead. - Blaker’s shot did the business; she’d just strength to fly, - Reached her home, rang the bell, and then sank down to die.” - “Poor girl! really it’s horrid! However I knew it - Could come to no good—I felt certain she’d rue it— - But pray, why in the world did the jade go to do it?” - “’Tis not easy to say; but at first, I suppose, - Just by way of a freak she rode out in man’s clothes.” - “Then her taking the money?” “A mere idiosyncrasy, - As when, some years since, a young gent, being with drink crazy, - Set off straight on end to the British Museum, - And, having arrived there, transgressed all the laws - Of good breeding, by smashing the famed Portland Vase; - Or the shop-lifting ladies, by dozens you see ’em, - For despising the diff’rence ’twixt tuum and meum, - Brought before the Lord Mayor every week, in the papers. - Why, the chief linen-drapers - Have a man in their shops solely paid for revealing - When they can’t keep their fair hands from picking and stealing. - ’Twas a mere woman’s fancy, a female caprice, - And you know at that time they’d no rural police.” - “Hum! it _may_ have been so. Well, is that all about it?” - “No; there’s more to be told, though I dare say you’ll doubt it- - s being true; but the story goes on to relate, - That, after Maude’s death, the old Hall and estate - Were put up to auction, and Master Blair thought it - Seemed a famous investment, bid for it and bought it, - And fitted it up in extremely bad taste; - But scarce had he placed - His foot o’er the threshold,—the very first night, - He woke up in a fright, - Being roused from his sleep by a terrible cry - Of ‘Fire!’—had only a minute to fly - In his shirt, Mrs. Blair in her⸺Well, never mind, - In the dress she had on at the time; while behind - Followed ten little blessings, who looked very winning - In ten little nightgowns of Irish linen; - They’d just time to escape, when the flames, with a roar - Like thunder, burst forth from each window and door; - And there, with affright, - They perceive by the light - Maude Allinghame’s sprite— - Her real positive ghost—no fantastic illusion - Conceived by their brains from the smoke and confusion— - With a hot flaming brand - In each shadowy hand, - Flaring up, like a fiend, in the midst of the fire, - And exciting the flames to burn fiercer and higher. - From what follows we learn that ghosts, spirits, and elves, - Are the creatures of habit as well as ourselves; - For Maude (that is, ghost Maude), when once she had done - The trick, seemed to think it was capital fun; - And whenever the house is rebuilt, and prepared - For a tenant, the rooms being all well scrubbed and aired, - The very first night the new owner arrives - Maude’s implacable spirit still ever contrives - Many various ways in - To set it a blazing; - In this way she’s done - Both the Phœnix and Sun - So especially brown by the fires she’s lighted, - That now, being invited - To grant an insurance, they always say when a nice - Offer is made them, - ’Tis no use to persuade them, - If a ghost’s in the case, they wont do it at any price.” - - -MORAL. - - And now for the moral! _Imprimis_, young heiresses, - Don’t go riding o’ nights, and don’t rob mayors or mayoresses; - As to robbing your suitors, allow me to say, - On the face of the thing ’tis a scheme that won’t pay; - Though they sigh and protest, and are dabs at love-making, - You’ll not find one in ten - Of these charming young men - Can produce on occasion a purse worth your taking. - Don’t refuse a good offer, but think ere you let a - Chance like that slip away, _that you mayn’t get a better_. - One more hint and I’ve done— - If by pistol or gun - It should e’er be your lot - (Which I hope it may not), - In a row to get shot, - And the doctor’s assistance should all prove in vain, - “When you give up the ghost, don’t resume it again.” - If you _do_ choose to “walk” and revisit this earth - To play tricks, let some method be mixed with your mirth. - As to burning down houses and ruining folks, - And flaring about like a Fire-king’s daughter,— - Allow me to say there’s no fun in such jokes, - ’Twould far better have been - To have copied Undine,— - There’s no harm in a mixture of _spirits and water_! - - Frank E. S. - - -FOOTNOTES - -[1] The following legend is founded on a story current in the part of -Herts where the scene is laid; the house was actually burnt down about -ten years ago, having just been rendered habitable. - -[2] The name of a lonely common near Harpenden, formerly a favourite site -for prize-fights. - - - - -“YE RIGHT ANCIENT BALLAD OF YE COMBAT OF KING TIDRICH WITH YE DRAGON.” - - -Ye Peroration. - - Hey for the march of intellect, - The schoolmaster’s abroad, - And still the cry is raised on high, - Obey his mighty word! - Where’er we go, both high and low, - Bow down before his nod; - And the sceptre may hide its jewelled pride, - For our sceptre’s the birchen rod. - - And all “enlightened citizens” and “learned brothers” say, - That the world was never - One half so clever - As it is in the present day. - Now I deny - This general cry; - And will proceed to tell you why - I’ve long since come to the conclusion, - ’Tis all a popular delusion. - - I have seen many a wild-beast show, - From the day when Messrs. Pidcock and Co. - Were what vulgar people call all-the-go, - To the time when society mourned for the loss - (All felt it, but no one like poor Mr. Cross) - Of the elephant “Chuney,” who went mad, ’tis said, - With the pressure and pain - He felt in his brain - From constantly bearing a _trunk_ on his head. - - And I have set eye on - That magnanimous lion, - Brave Wallace—oh, fye on - The brutes who could hie on - Fierce bull-dogs to fly on - His monarchical mane! I declare I could cry on - The bare thought, as one weeps when one goes to see “Ion.” - - And lately I’ve been - Down to Astley’s, and seen - His wonderful elephants act; what they mean - By their actions, I’ve not the most distant idea, - Why they stand on their heads, why they wag their fat tails, - Are to me hidden mysteries, “very like whales,” - As Hamlet remarks of some cloud he is certain - He perceives up aloft, whence they let down the curtain, - And whither they draw up the fairies and goddesses, - With their pretty pink legs and inadequate bodices. - - But of all the beasts I ever did see, - Whether of low or of high degree, - Despite the “schoolmaster,” - And “going a-head faster,” - The arts and the sciences, - And all their appliances, - Never an animal, chained or loose, - As yet have I heard - Utter one single word, - Or so much as attempt to say “Bo!” to a goose. - But you’ll see, if you read the next two or three pages, - That in what people now-a-days term the dark ages, - When the world was some thousand years younger or so, - Beasts could talk very well; and it wasn’t thought low - For a real live monarch his prowess to brag on, - And bandy high words with an insolent dragon. - - -Ye Right Ancient Ballad. - - The good King Tidrich rode from Bern[3] - (And a funny name had he), - His charger was bay, and he took his way - Under the greenwood-tree; - And ever he sang, as he rode along, - “’Tis a very fine thing - To be a crowned king, - And to feel one’s right arm strong.” - - King Tidrich was clad in armour of proof - (Whatever that may be) - And his helmet shone with many a stone, - Inserted cunningly; - While on his shield one might behold - A lion trying - To set off flying, - Emblazoned in burnished gold. - - King Tidrich was counting his money o’er, - As he rode the greenwood through, - When he was aware of a “shocking affair,” - And a terrible “to-do;” - Then loudly he shouted with pure delight, - “A glorious row, - I make mine avow; - I’ll on, and view the fight.” - - And a fearful sight it was, I ween, - As ever a king did see, - For a dragon old, and a lion bold, - Were striving wrathfully; - But the monarch perceived from the very first— - And it made him sad, - For “a reason he had,”— - That the lion would get the worst. - - When the lion saw the royal Knight, - These were the words he said: - “O mighty King, assistance bring, - Or I am fairly sped; - For the battle has been both fierce and long; - Two days and a night - Have I urged the fight, - But the dragon’s unpleasantly strong.” - - In a kind of Low Dutch did the lion speak, - Nor his stops did he neglect, - But e’en in his hurry, for Lindley Murray - Preserved a marked respect; - And he managed his H’s according to rule: - Full well I ween - Must the beast have been - Taught at some Public School. - - Long paused the royal hero then, - Grave thoughts passed through his brain; - Of his queen thought he, and his fair countrie[4] - He never might see again; - He thought of his warriors, that princely band, - Of Eckhart true, - And Helmschrot too, - And Wolfort’s red right hand.[5] - - But he thought of the lion he bore on his shield, - And he manned his noble breast,— - “’Twixt the lion and me there is sympathy, - And a dragon I detest; - I must not see the lion slain; - Both kings are we, - In our degree, - I of the city and he of the plain.” - - The first stroke that the monarch made, - His weapon tasted blood; - From many a scale of the dragon’s mail - Poured forth the crimson flood. - But when the hero struck again, - The treacherous sword - Forsook its lord, - And brake in pieces twain. - - The dragon laid him on her back - With a triumphant air, - And flung the horse her jaws across, - As a greyhound would seize a hare. - At a fearful pace to her rocky den, - To serve as food - For her young brood - Away she bore them then. - - They were a charming family, - Eleven little frights, - With deep surprise in their light-green eyes, - And fearful appetites; - And they wagged their tails with extreme delight, - For to dine on King - Is a dainty thing - When one usually dines on Knight. - - Before them then the steed she threw, - Saddle, and bridle, and crupper, - And bade them crunch its bones for lunch, - While they saved the king for supper; - Saying, she must sleep ere she could sup, - For after the fight - With the lion and knight, - She was thoroughly used up. - - A lucky chance for Tidrich: - He sought the dark cave over, - And soon the King did Adelring,[6] - That famous sword, discover: - “And was it here that Siegfried died?[7] - That champion brave, - Was this his grave?” - In grief the monarch cried. - - “I have ridden with him in princely hosts, - I have feasted with him in hall; - Sword, you and I will do or die, - But we’ll avenge his fall.” - Against the cavern’s rocky side - The king essayed - The trusty blade, - Till the flames gleamed far and wide. - - Up rose a youthful dragon then, - Right pallid was his hue; - For with fear and ire he viewed the fire - From out the rock that flew. - These words he to the king did say: - “If the noise thou dost make - Should our mother awake, - It is thou wilt rue the day.” - - “Be silent, thou young viper,” - ’Twas thus the king replied, - “Thy mother slew Siegfried the true, - A hero brave and tried; - And vengeance have I vowed to take - Upon ye all, - Both great and small, - For that dear warrior’s sake.” - - Then he aroused the dragon old, - Attacked her with his sword, - And a fearful fight, with strength and might - Fought he, that noble lord. - The dragon’s fiery breath, I ween, - Made his cuirass stout - Red hot throughout: - Such a sight was never seen. - - Despair lent strength to the monarch then; - A mighty stroke he made, - Through the dragon’s neck, without a check, - He passed his trenchant blade. - At their mother’s fall, each little fright - Began to yell - Like an imp of hell, - And nearly stunned the knight. - - He struck right and left with Adelring, - That trusty sword and good, - And in pieces small chopped each and all - Of the dragon’s hateful brood. - King Tidrich thus at honour’s call, - On German land, - With his strong right hand, - Avenged bold Siegfried’s fall. - - Now ye whose spirits thrill to hear - The trumpet-voice of fame, - Or love to read of warrior deed, - Remember Tidrich’s name; - And mourn that the days of chivalry - Are past and o’er, - And live no more, - Save in their glorious memory. - - Yet when Prince Albert rides abroad, - Our gracious Queen may feel - As well content, as if he went, - Encased in plates of steel; - Relying on the new Police, - Those bulwarks of the State, - That on their beat, no dragons eat - The Prince off his own plate! - - Frank E. S. - -[Should any reader wish to learn more of the various personages here -mentioned, we refer him to the “Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, -from the earlier Teutonic and Scandinavian Romances,” to which we are -indebted for our information on the subject.] - - -FOOTNOTES - -[3] King Tidrich, Dietrich, or Theoderic, the son of Thietmar, king of -Bern, and the fair Odilia, daughter of Essung Jarl, was, as it were, -the central hero of that well-known, popular, and interesting work the -“Book of Heroes,” which relates the deeds of the champions who attached -themselves to him, and the manner in which they joined his fellowship. - -[4] Tidrich of Bern was also king of Aumlungaland (Italy); he espoused -Herraud, daughter of King Drusiad, a relation of Attila. - -[5] These three champions were among the eleven heroes who accompanied -Tidrich in his memorable expedition to contend against the twelve -guardians of the Garden of Roses at Worms. - -[6] They had a weakness for naming swords in those days, just as in the -nineteenth century we delight in bestowing euphonious titles on “villa -residences,” puppy dogs, and men-of-war! - -[7] Sigurd, or Siegfried, son of Sigmond, king of Netherland, is the -chief hero of the Nibelungen Lay. There are various accounts of his -death, one of the least improbable supposes him to have been destroyed by -a dragon. - - - - -ST. MICHAEL’S EVE. - - - I will tell to you a story, for in winter time we bore ye - With many an ancient legend and tale of by-gone time; - And methinks that there is in it enough to pass a minute, - So, to add to my vain-glory, I have put it into rhyme. - - As I heard it you shall hear it,—by one whom I revere, it - Was told me, as in childhood upon his knee I sat. - It treats of days long vanished,—of the times of James the Banished, - Of periwig and rapier, and quaint three-cornered hat. - - Sir Walter Ralph de Guyon, of a noble house the scion, - Though his monarch was defeated, still held bravely to his cause, - And foremost in the slaughter by the Boyne’s ill-fated water - Was seen his knightly cognizance,—a bear with bloody paws. - - But when the fight was over, escaping under cover - Of the darkness and confusion, to England he returned, - As well might be expected, dispirited, dejected, - But his rage within him smouldered, nor ever brightly burned. - - Save when his daughter Alice would say in playful malice, - That she loved the gallant Orange much better than the Green; - And that as a maid she’d tarry, till she found a chance to marry - With one true to William, her bold king, and Mary, her good queen. - - Then Sir Walter’s brow would darken, and he’d mutter, “Alice, hearken! - By _my_ child no such treason shall be spoken e’en in jest; - And bethink you, oh, my daughter! there is one across the water - Who shall one day have his own again, though now he’s sore distressed.” - - Little knew he that each even, ’twixt the hours of six and seven, - Just below his daughter’s casement a whistle low was blown; - And that soon as e’er it sounded through the wicket-gate she bounded, - And was clasped in the embrace of one of bold “King William’s Own.” - - Ay! De Ruyter was a gentleman, and high-bred were his people; - No chapel-going folks were they, but loved a church and steeple! - His blood, of every good Dutch race contained a little sprinkle— - A Knickerbocker was his sire, his aunt a Rip van Winkle; - And so well he danced and sang, and kissed and talked so wondrous clever, - He gave this maiden’s heart a twist, and conquered it for ever! - And being thus a captain gay, “condemned to country quarters,” - A favourite of his royal lord, adorned with stars and garters, - He saw this young maid, - As one day on parade - He was gaily attired, all jackboots and braid. - He stared, she but glanced, - Her charms it enhanced; - She passed by him quickly, he rested entranced! - No orders he utters, - But vacantly mutters - (Though clamouring round him his underlings gabble hard), - “She’s to me Eloisa; to her I’ll be Abelard!” - - And ever since that hour, whene’er he had the power, - Across to bold Sir Walter’s the captain bent his path; - At the garden-gate he met her—upon his knee he set her— - And, vanquished by the daughter’s love, forgot the father’s wrath: - - Till when on the day in question, with a view to aid digestion, - Some retainers of Sir Walter, who with their lord had dined, - Bethought of promenading, what by Gamp is called the “garding,” - And, during their researches, what think ye they should find? - - But a gallant captain kneeling, and apparently appealing, - To a dame who to all seeming, was encouraging his suit; - All dishevelled were her tresses by the warmth of his caresses, - And her eye with love was _liquid_, although her voice was _mute_! - - “A prize! a prize!” quoth these Papist spies,— - “A prize for our gallant lord!” - And before poor De Ruyter awoke from surprise - They had pinioned his arms, they had bandaged his eyes; - And when he recovered, his first surmise - Was “At length I am thoroughly floored!” - For assistance he calls, but they gag him, - And off to Sir Walter they drag him; - While Abraham Cooper, - A stalwart old trooper, - Expresses a hope that they’ll “scrag” him. - He conceives it “a pretty idea, as - To think that these Dutch furrineerers - Should come here a-courtin’, - On our manors sportin’; - A set of young winkers and leerers!” - - Sir Walter’s brow grew black as night, - He doubted if he heard aright; - “What, to _my_ daughter kneeling _here_! - Methinks thou’rt daring, cavalier, - To venture ’neath the gripe of one - Whose ancient race, from sire to son, - Has ever, e’en in face of death, - Upheld that pure and holy faith - By thee and thine denied! - Or think’st thou that, to bow the knee - And whisper words of gallantry - To one of English blood and birth - Were pastime meet for hour of mirth? - God’s life! before to-morrow’s sun - Gilds yonder wood, thy race is run; - Nought care I for thy foreign king, - From yon tall oak thy corpse shall swing, - Let good or ill betide!” - - Away he is hurried, - All worried and flurried, - And locked in a chamber, dark, dirty, and small,— - Huge barriers of iron - The windows environ, - And the door leads but into the banqueting-hall. - The banqueting-hall is soon gaily lit up, - For Sir Walter loved dearly a well-filled cup, - And sent to invite - Each guest that night, - With “where you have dined, boys, why there you shall sup.” - - In the banqueting-hall, - Both great and small, - The cavalier knights, the retainers tall, - Together are gathered—one and all. - The red wine has flowed and taken effect - On all, save poor Alice, who, _distraite_, deject, - Has refused to take part in this riotous revel, - And wished those who did with the—Father of Evil. - - The mirth was at its loudest, the humblest and the proudest - Were hobnobbing together, as though the dearest friends; - While some for wine were bawling, there were others loudly calling - For a song,—that ancient fiction which e’er to misery tends; - - When Sir Walter grasped the table—rose, as well as he was able— - And entreated for a moment that his guests would give him heed: - “’Tis St. Michael’s Eve,—a time accursèd by a crime - Committed by my ancestor—a ruthless, bloody deed! - - “For during times of danger, a sable-armoured stranger - One night had roused the castle, and shelter had implored; - Much gold, he said, he carried, and now too late had tarried, - To risk the chance of robbers, or to cross the neighbouring ford. - - “He was shown into a bedroom, since that period called the Red Room, - (You can see it,” said Sir Walter, “for yonder is the door; - And there, in our safe keeping, the Dutchman now is sleeping); - And from that room the stranger never, never issued more. - - “But throughout this ancient castle, each terror-stricken vassal - Heard shriek on shriek resounding in the middle of the night; - And with the dawn of morning would each have ‘given warning,’ - But for one little obstacle yclept the ‘feudal right.’ - - “So no murm’ring e’er was uttered, and old Sir Brandreth muttered - That his visitor had left him as soon as break of day; - But one thing worth attention Sir Brandreth _didn’t_ mention,— - He didn’t take his armour; there in the room it lay, - - “And there it lies at present; but each credulous old peasant - Will tell you that upon this night the spectre walks abroad; - ’Tis just about his hour, if he really have the power, - We now shall see him. Heavens! he enters, by the Lord!” - - Bang! clash! - With a terrible crash, - Flies open the bedroom door, - And out stalks a figure, - To their eyes much bigger - Than great Gog or Magog, more black than a nigger, - In armour accoutred from head to heel,— - Black rusty old armour, not polished steel. - His vizor is down, but he takes a sight, - Though he moves not his eyes to the left or right; - He says not a word, but he walks straight on, - The hall door opes at his step! he’s gone! - He clanks ’cross the court-yard, and enters the stable; - His footsteps are heard by the guests ’neath the table, - For there they have hidden them every one. - - There, shivering and shaking, they waited till the breaking - Of the daylight showed the power of all ghosts was at an end; - Then one by one uprising, declared it was surprising - That, overcome by liquor, each had dropped down by his friend; - - Till the heart of each was lightened by finding that as frightened - As he himself were all by the spiritual sight; - But their courage and their strength coming back to them at length, - They hasten to the prisoner’s room, and find it—vacant quite! - - Yes! De Ruyter had departed! for while lying all downhearted, - And thinking of poor Alice, he remembered just in time - The spectre-walking legend—he had heard it from a “peagant” - (Excuse the Gampism, reader, but I use it for the rhyme); - - And on the instant bright’ning, he proceeded, quick as lightning, - To dress him in the armour which the sable knight had left; - And he listened to the host, till, at mention of the ghost, - He burst upon the drinkers, of their senses nigh bereft. - - He called Alice to the stable; then, as fast as he was able, - Galloped off towards his quarters; thence to London hastened on; - There was married to his charmer, thence sent back the sable armour, - And asked Sir Walter’s sanction to the good deed he had done. - - My tale is nearly ended. Sir Walter, much offended - At the hoax played off upon him, would not listen for awhile; - But regretting much his daughter, came at length to town and sought her, - For he missed her childish prattle and her fond endearing smile. - - And then on this occasion a grand reconciliation - He had with young De Ruyter—ever after they were friends. - So having now related the tale to me as stated, - I take my humble leave of you, and here my story ends. - - E. H. Y. - -[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL’S EVE.—p. 36.] - - - - -THE KING OF THE CATS. A RHINE LEGEND. - - - Time, midnight; scene, Rheinland; a castle of course, - A castle of bloodshed and slaughter, - Such a castle as barons oppressed with remorse - Inhabit, and nightly are seen in such force - With boots so brickdusted and voices so hoarse - On the Surrey side o’ the water. - - Adolf von Lebenwurst sits in his chair, - The firelight flickers o’er him, - It lights up the curls of his chesnut hair, - It plays o’er his beard and mustachios rare, - For the sake of which latter the sex called “fair” - Is reported to adore him. - - And close by his side sits his great Tom cat, - So indolent, lazy, so sleek and fat, - That marauding mouse and rebellious rat - In safety keep up their revels, - ’Neath tapestry, arras, and wainscot board, - Till the servants declare their departed lord - From his warm berth below must have wandered abroad - To play hide-and-seek with the devils. - - And bitter blows the wind without, and fiercely drifts the rain, - And beats, as though it entrance sought, against the window pane; - ’Twas such a night as witches love, when on the blasted heath, - Beneath the tree where swings the corpse, they lead the dance of death; - ’Twas such a night as women dread, and kneeling ere they sleep, - Implore God’s grace for husbands, sons, and brothers on the deep; - ’Twas such a night as trav’llers hate, and seek the nearest roof, - Distrusting Cording’s overcoats and capes of waterproof. - And one of this last-mentioned class now gains the castle door, - And rings the bell more loudly than it e’er was rung before, - And passing by the warder grim, the wond’ring vassals all, - Pursues his course with staggering step across the noble hall; - He climbs the winding turret-stair, he reaches Adolf’s room, - And pale as any ghost or ghoule that ever left the tomb, - He sinks into a chair, - With a vacant stare, - Examines by turns all the furniture there; - He gasps and he groans, - And he bellows and moans, - And he mutters of devils, Old Nick, Davey Jones, - Till his host, who of flying begins to think, - Is relieved by his asking for “something to drink.” - - “The glasses sparkle on the board, - The wine is ruby bright,” - The guest to sense at length restored, - Declares himself “all right.” - The red blood paints his cheek again, his breast no longer heaves, - And he and Adolf o’er their wine are soon as thick as thieves. - Together they’re laughing, - And talking, and chaffing, - And after each shout comes a fresh bout of quaffing, - Till Adolf asks Kraus, so the stranger is hight, - To give an account of the terrible fright - From which he with him had sought refuge that night. - - Oh, Mr. Tennyson! - Grant me your benison, - You, who are fed on sack, turtle, and venison! - Pity a rhymer, - Child of a mimer, - Who, of Parnassus, can scarce be called any son! - Help me! inspire me! - With fine thoughts fire me! - Let me please those who so graciously hire me! - As I try to describe the funeral rite - Which was witnessed by Kraus on that stormy night, - And mainly occasioned his terrible fright! - Thus spake he, in metre sometimes used by you, - Which is always successful, let me try it, too! - - “Many a morning have I wandered, strolling o’er the barren plain - Which surrounds this noble castle, and is part of your domain; - Many an evening have I staggered homeward o’er the blasted heath, - Singing, ‘wont go home till morning,’ with a spirit-tainted breath; - Many a time I’ve passed the ruined abbey hidden in the trees, - Covered with a mouldy mantle like an ancient Schweitzer cheese, - Joyous thoughts I always nourished! now what misery lurks beneath! - Oh, the horrid, horrid abbey, oh, the blasted, blasted heath! - Listen, comrade, and believe me, as I passed the spot this night, - Suddenly the ruined abbey shone revealed one blaze of light; - And before each sep’rate entrance stood, in either hand a torch, - Two huge cats in mourning garments, placed as sentries in the porch! - As I halted, half entrancéd, senses going, eye-balls dim, - Sudden o’er my ear came wafted echoes of a mournful hymn! - Nearer pressed I, to a window, climbed, and looking down below, - Saw a funeral procession, marching solemnly and slow. - Eight great cats a bier supported, on the which a dead cat lay, - Scores of others followed after, tabbies, brindles, black, and grey; - On the breast of the departed was there placed a regal crown, - And his features were all placid, undisturbed by smile or frown. - Thrice around the aisle they bore him, thrice arose a caterwaul, - Then they covered o’er the body with a gilt-edged ratskin pall; - Thrice arose the mournful requiem, by the echoes borne afar, - _Ci-git notre roi Grimalkin, brave et noble roi des châts_. - From the abbey then I hastened, flying off in dread and fear, - Not an instant stopped or stayed I, till I found a refuge here, - Ne’er again to cross that heather after nightfall have I vowed— - Heavens! look! with superhuman sense another cat endowed!” - - ’Twas so, for scarcely had he spoke - Than a cry of grief from the Tom cat broke, - He wept and shrieked aloud— - “Oh, Grimalkin, my father! my own loved sire! - To think I should leave thee alone to expire, - Surrounded by a hireling crowd, - While I was slumb’ring here! - From strangers I learn thy lamented death, - To strangers thou yieldedst thy latest breath, - And strangers watched thy bier! - If repentance yet serves, behold me now - In grief and affliction—mol row! mol row!” - - Thus mourned Tom his sire, when nearer and nigher - A tramp on the stairs resounded, - And into the room through the deep’ning gloom - A mourning-clad tabby bounded. - And after him there comes a train of pussies black and grey, - From Lady Tab who acts the prude to Misses Kit at play, - And down before great Tom they kneel, - With many a caterwaul and squeal - They greet him Lord and King, - They hail him King of Tabby Land, - They deck him with a ratskin grand, - And a golden crown they bring— - At once a procession is started, - Through the great castle gate it departed, - Not so much as a tail - Was e’er seen, I’ll go bail, - By Adolf, who after it darted— - - Such was the tale that last winter I heard - From a beery old German, who stoutly averred - Each word of it was veracious; - For myself, I believe it strictly true, - The blame of discredit I leave to you, - If your faith be less capacious. - - E. H. D. - - - - -THE LAPWING. - - “Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.”—SHAKESPEARE. - - - “Come, write me some lines,” said my own darling Annie, - “You say that you love me, my beauty you praise; - And you make them by dozens for Laura or Fanny, - While I’m deemed unworthy to shine in your lays. - - “From the land of the grape, to the hill of the heather, - Each troubadour poured forth his verses of yore, - While you, with the power to string rhyme together, - Have ne’er penned a stanza to her you adore.” - - So spoke mine own Annie, and hurriedly hiding - Her head in my bosom, the tears ’gan to flow: - So I hastened to soothe her, her anger deriding, - And pressed with my lips her fair forehead of snow. - - But no peace could be made, e’en by dint of embraces, - Till I owned my sad error again and again; - And when I’d dispelled sorrow’s lingering traces, - I made my defence in the following strain:— - - “The lapwing, my love, is a sweet little bird, - Well known for the care that it takes of its young; - And if where the voice of this lapwing is heard - You seek for its nest, you are sure to be wrong. - - “For by twitt’ring and screaming it seeks to beguile - The pursuer from where its heart’s treasure is laid; - And, were you a sage, you would see with a smile - How the smallest of creatures call guile to their aid! - - “So I, full courageously, pour forth the praises - Of Laura or Fanny, those moths of an hour, - But you, my heart’s darling, I hide amidst mazes - More subtle than those of Fair Rosamond’s bower. - - “For I own that I fear lest, by praising your charms, - I should e’er to the smallest suspicion give rise, - And some daring pursuer should tear from my arms - My own darling Annie, the light of my eyes!” - - E. H. D. - - - - -THE ENCHANTED NET. - - - Could we only give credit to half we are told, - There were sundry strange monsters existing of old; - As evinced (on the _ex pede_ Herculean plan, - Which from merely a footstep presumes the whole man) - By our _Savans_ disturbing those very large bones, - Which have turned (for the rhyme’s sake, perhaps) into stones, - And have chosen to wait a - Long while hid in _strata_, - While old Time has been dining on empires and thrones. - Old bones and dry bones, - Leg-bones and thigh-bones, - Bones of the vertebræ, bones of the tail,— - Very like, only more so, the bones of a whale; - Bones that were very long, bones that were very short - (They have never as yet found a real fossil merry-thought; - Perchance because mastodons, burly and big, - Considered all funny-bones quite _infra dig_.) - Skulls have they found in strange places imbedded, - Which, at least, prove their owners were very long-headed; - And other queer things,—which ’tis not my intention, - Lest I weary your patience, at present to mention,— - As I think I can prove, without further apology, - What I said to be true, sans appeal to geology, - That there lived in the good old days gone by - Things unknown to our modern philosophy, - And a giant was then no more out of the way - Than a dwarf is now in the present day. - Sir Eppo of Epstein was young, brave, and fair; - Dark were the curls of his clustering hair, - Dark the moustache that o’ershadowed his lip, - And his glance was as keen as the sword at his hip; - Though the enemy’s charge was like lightning’s fierce shock, - His seat was as firm as the wave-beaten rock; - And woe to the foeman, whom pride or mischance - Opposed to the stroke of his conquering lance. - He carved at the board, and he danced in the hall, - And the ladies admired him, each one and all. - In a word, I should say, he appears to have been - As nice a young “ritter” as ever was seen. - - He could not read nor write, - He could not spell his name, - Towards being a clerk, Sir Eppo, his (†) mark, - Was as near as he ever came. - He had felt no vexation - From multiplication; - Never puzzled was he - By the rule of three; - The practice he’d had - Did not drive him mad, - Because it all lay - Quite a different way. - The Asses’ Bridge, that Bridge of Sighs, - Had (lucky dog!) ne’er met his eyes. - In a very few words he expressed his intention - Once for all to decline every Latin declension, - When persuaded to add, by the good Father Herman, - That most classical tongue to his own native German. - And no doubt he was right in - Point of fact, for a knight in - Those days was supposed to like nothing but fighting; - And one who had learned any language that is hard - Would have stood a good chance of being burned for a wizard. - Education being then never pushed to the verge ye - Now see it, was chiefly confined to the clergy. - - ’Twas a southerly wind and a cloudy sky, - For aught that I know to the contrary; - If it wasn’t, it ought to have been proper_ly_, - As it’s certain Sir Eppo, his feather bed scorning, - Thought that _something_ proclaimed it a fine hunting morning; - So, pronouncing his benison - O’er a cold haunch of venison, - He floored the best half, drank a gallon of beer, - And set out on the Taurus to chase the wild deer. - - Sir Eppo he rode through the good greenwood, - And his bolts flew fast and free; - He knocked over a hare, and he passed the lair - (The tenant was out) of a grisly bear; - He started a wolf, and he got a snap shot - At a bounding roe, but he touched it not, - Which caused him to mutter a naughty word - In German, which luckily nobody heard, - For he said it right viciously; - And he struck his steed with his armèd heel, - As though horse-flesh were tougher than iron or steel, - Or anything else that’s unable to feel. - - What is the sound that meets his ear? - Is it the plaint of some wounded deer? - Is it the wild-fowl’s mournful cry, - Or the scream of yon eagle soaring high? - Or is it only the southern breeze - As it sighs through the boughs of the dark pine trees? - No Sir Eppo, be sure ’tis not any of these: - And hark, again! - It comes more plain— - ’Tis a woman’s voice in grief or pain. - - Like an arrow from the string, - Like a stone that leaves the sling, - Like a railroad-train with a queen inside, - With directors to poke and directors to guide, - Like the rush upon deck when a vessel is sinking, - Like (I vow I’m hard up for a simile) winking! - In less time than by name you Jack Robinson can call, - Sir Eppo dashed forward o’er hedge, ditch, and hollow, - In a steeple-chase style I’d be sorry to follow, - And found a young lady chained up by the ankle— - Yes, chained up in a cool and business-like way, - As if she’d been only the little dog Tray; - While, the more to secure any knight-errant’s pity, - She was really and truly excessively pretty. - - Here was a terrible state of things! - Down from his saddle Sir Eppo springs, - As lightly as if he were furnished with wings, - While every plate in his armour rings. - The words that he uttered were short and few, - But pretty much to the purpose too, - As sternly he asked, with lowering brow, - “Who’s been and done it, and where is he now?” - - ’Twere long to tell - Each word that fell - From the coral lips of that demoiselle; - However, as far as I’m able to see, - The pith of the matter appeared to be - That a horrible giant, twelve feet high, - Having gazed on her charms with a covetous eye, - Had stormed their castle, murdered papa, - Behaved very rudely to poor dear mamma, - Walked off with the family jewels and plate, - And the tin and herself at a terrible rate; - Then by way of conclusion - To all this confusion, - Tied her up like a dog - To a nasty great log, - To induce her (the brute) to become Mrs. Gog; - That ’twas not the least use for Sir Eppo to try - To chop off his head, or to poke out his eye, - As he’d early in life done a bit of Achilles - (Which, far better than taking an “Old Parr’s life-pill” is,) - Had been dipped in the Styx, or some equally old stream, - And might now face unharmed a battalion of Coldstream. - - But she’d thought of a scheme - Which did certainly seem - Very likely to pay—no mere vision or dream:— - It appears that the giant each day took a nap - For an hour (the wretch!) with his head in her lap: - Oh, she hated it so! but then what could she do? - Here she paused, and Sir Eppo remarked, “Very true;” - And that during this time one might pinch, punch, or shake him, - Or do just what one pleased, but that nothing could wake him, - While each horse and each man in the emperor’s pay - Would not be sufficient to move him away, - Without magical aid, from the spot where he lay. - In an old oak chest, in an up-stairs room - Of poor papa’s castle, was kept an heir-loom, - An enchanted net, made of iron links, - Which was brought from Palestine, she thinks, - By her great grandpapa, who had been a Crusader; - If she had but got that, she was sure it would aid her. - Sir Eppo, kind man, - Approves of the plan; - Says he’ll do all she wishes as quick as he can; - Begs she wont fret if the time should seem long; - Snatches a kiss, which was “pleasant but wrong;” - Mounts, and taking a fence in good fox-hunting style, - Sets off for her family-seat on the Weil. - The sun went down, - The bright stars burned, - The morning came, - And the knight returned; - The net he spread - O’er the giant’s bed, - While Eglantine, and Hare-bell blue, - And some nice green moss on the spot he threw; - Lest perchance the monster alarm should take, - And not choose to sleep from being too _wide awake_. - Hark to that sound! - The rocks around - Tremble—it shakes the very ground; - While Irmengard cries, - As tears stream from her eyes,— - A lady-like weakness we must not despise - (And here, let me add, I have been much to blame, - As I long ago ought to have mentioned her name): - “Here he comes! now do hide yourself, dear Eppo, pray; - For _my_ sake, I entreat you, keep out of his way.” - Scarce had the knight - Time to get out of sight - Among some thick bushes, which covered him quite, - Ere the giant appeared. Oh! he was such a fright! - He was very square built, a good twelve feet in height, - And his waistcoat (three yards round the waist) seemed too tight; - While, to add even yet to all this singularity, - He had but one eye, and his whiskers were carroty. - - What an anxious moment! Will he lie down? - Ah, how their hearts beat! he seems to frown,— - No, ’tis only an impudent fly that’s been teasing - His _snub_lime proboscis, and set him a sneezing. - Attish hu! attish hu! - You brute, how I wish you - Were but as genteel as the Irish lady, - Dear Mrs. O’Grady, - Who, chancing to sneeze in a noble duke’s face, - Hoped she hadn’t been guilty of splashing his Grace. - Now, look out. Yes, he will! No, he wont! By the powers! - I thought he was taking alarm at the flowers; - But it luckily seems, his gigantic invention - Has at once set them down as a little attention - On Irmengard’s part,—done by way of suggestion - That she means to say “Yes,” when he next pops the question. - - There! he’s down! now he yawns, and in one minute more— - I thought so, he’s safe—he’s beginning to snore; - He is wrapped in that sleep he shall wake from no more. - From his girdle the knight take a ponderous key; - It fits—and once more is fair Irmengard free. - - From heel to head, and from head to heel, - They wrap their prey in that net of steel, - And they _croché_ the edges together with care, - As you finish a purse for a fancy-fair, - Till the last knot is tied by the diligent pair. - At length they have ended their business laborious, - And Eppo shouts “Bagged him, by all that is glorious!” - No billing and cooing, - You must up and be doing. - Depend on’t, Sir Knight, this is no time for wooing; - You’ll discover, unless you progress rather smarter, - That catching a giant’s like catching a Tartar: - He still has some thirty-five minutes to sleep. - Close to this spot hangs a precipice steep, - Like Shakspeare’s tall cliff which they show one at Dover; - Drag him down to the brink, and then let him roll over; - As they scarce make a capital crime of infanticide, - There can’t be any harm in a little giganticide. - - “Pull him, and haul him! take care of his head! - Oh, how my arms ache—he’s as heavy as lead! - That’ll do, love—I’m sure I can move him alone, - Though I’m certain the brute weighs a good forty stone. - Yo! heave ho! roll him along - (It’s exceedingly lucky the net’s pretty strong); - Once more—that’s it—there, now, I think - He’s done to a turn, he rests on the brink; - At it again, and over he goes - To furnish a feast for the hooded crows; - Each vulture that makes the Taurus his home - May dine upon giant for months to come.” - - Lives there a man so thick of head - To whom it must in words be said, - How Eppo did the lady wed, - And built upon the giant’s bed - A castle, walled and turreted? - We will hope not; or, if there be, - Defend us from his company! - - Frank E. S. - -[Illustration: THE ENCHANTED NET.—p. 51.] - - - - -A FYTTE OF THE BLUES. - -(_Air_—“THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.”) - - - Of Woman’s rights and Woman’s wrongs we’ve heard much talk of late, - The first seem most extensive, and the latter very great; - And Mrs. Ellis warns men, not themselves to agitate, - For ’neath petticoats and pinafores is hid the future fate - Of this wondrous nineteenth century, the youngest child of Time! - - The Turks they had a notion, fit alone for Turks and fools, - That womankind has no more mind than horses or than mules; - But this idea’s exploded quite, as to your cost you’ll find - If you intend to change or bend some stalwart female mind, - In this Amazonian century, precocious child of Time. - - If by external signs you seek this strength of mind to trace, - You’ll observe a very “powerful” expression in her face; - The lady’s stockings will be blue, and inky be her hand, - And her head quite full of something hard she doesn’t understand, - Like a puzzle-pated Bluestocking, one of the modern time. - - And her dress will be peculiar, both in fabric and in make, - An artistic classic tragic highly-talented mistake; - Which is what she calls “effective,” though I’d rather not express - The effect produced on thoughtless minds by such a style of dress, - When worn by some awful Bluestocking, one of the modern time. - - She’ll talk about statistics, and ask if you’re inclined - To join the progress movement for development of mind. - If you inquire what that means, she’ll frown and say ’tis best - Such matter should be understood, but never be expressed, - By a stern suggestive Bluestocking, in this mystic modern time. - - She’ll converse upon æsthetics, and then refer to figures, - And turn from Angels bright and fair, to sympathise with Niggers, - Whom she’ll style “our sable brethren,” and pretend are martyrs quite; - And, with Mrs. H—t B—r St—e, she’ll swear that black is white, - Like a trans-Atlantic Bluestocking, one of the modern time. - - She never makes a pudding, and she never makes a shirt, - And if she’s got some little Blues, they’re black and blue with dirt; - When the wretched man her husband comes, though tired he may be, - She’ll regenerate society, instead of making tea, - Like a real strong-minded Bluestocking, the plague of the modern time. - - -MORAL. - - The moral of my song is this, just leave all “ics” and “ologies” - For men to exercise their brains, on platforms and in colleges; - Let woman’s proud and honoured place be still the fireside, - And still man’s household deities, his mother and his bride, - In this our nineteenth century, the favoured child of Time. - - Frank E. S. - - - - -THE FORFEIT HAND; A LEGEND OF BRABANT.[8] - - -Fytte ye First. - - Geraldus the Abbot sat bolt upright, - Bolt upright, in his great arm-chair, - He ground his teeth, and his beard beneath - Seemed _crêpé_ with anger every hair; - And every hair, whether grizzled or white, - On his head stood erect (as so often the case is, - Whene’er fury or fear better feeling effaces). - Thus encircling his tonsure, which same a smooth space is, - In the desert of scalp a monastic oasis! - - Geraldus the Abbot his temper had lost, - Insult had fall’n on the Prelate proud— - Heretic hands in a blanket had tost - Lay Brother Ludwig, one of the crowd - Of the Abbot’s dependents, a useful and able man, - Neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, half a friar, half stable-man. - But this shaking his brain so completely had addled, - That the next time Geraldus’s palfrey he saddled, - He forgot both the girths, an important omission, - Which occasioned a sudden and rude imposition - On our general Mamma: (we allude to the Earth, - Who most kindly supports us, who gave our race birth, - And will give, when breath fails, and we cannot replace it, - Furnished lodgings, a stone, and the motto, “_Hic jacet_.”) - “_Hic_” did “_jacet_” Geraldus, when rashly he tried, - Foot in stirrup, to climb to his saddle and ride; - For the saddle turned round, - And he came to the ground, - With a hollow and pectoral “_woughf_” kind of sound. - (Printing cannot express it, - But ’twill help you to guess it, - If you’ve ever remarked the peculiar behaviour, - When he rams a large stone, of an Irish pavier.) - Well, he wasn’t much hurt, - But appeared from the dirt, - Which adhered to his mitre and robes, to be rather - A ghastly and horrible sight for a Father - Confessor, who ere he thus rudely was tost - In the mire, was got up regardless of cost. - For this fall he vowed vengeance, and straightway on that theme a - Writ was prepared which wound up with “Anathema!” - - Yolenta of Corteryke sat in her bower, - Which was not an arbour - Where earwigs might harbour, - And availing themselves of some _al fresco_ tea-table, - Lie and kick on their backs amidst everything eatable, - But the very best room in the very best tower. - Yolenta was young and Yolenta was fair, - She’d extremely pink cheeks and extremely smooth hair, - And a pair of bright eyes with so roguish a glance in ’em, - That the spirit of mischief and fun seemed to dance in ’em; - And a sweet little foot and a dear little hand, - And a thorough-bred air, and a look of command, - As noble a lady as one in the land. - - Yet Yolenta had “suffered;”—her little affairs - Of the heart had gone roughly, a custom of theirs - From time immemorial, since Helen lost Troy, - And pious Æneas made Dido a toy - Of the moment, then left her, a striking variety, - In the uniform course of his orthodox piety. - A young gent was her first love, of birth and condition, - Whose very name, Loridon, seemed an admission - He was formed to adore, but then what’s in a name? - Had they christened him Jack, she’d have “loved him the same,” - Because—mark the reason—her Pa had been rude - To his Guv’nor, which led to a family feud. - So the Lord Lettelhausen called up his son Loridon, - And exclaimed, “Of all girls, to have fixed on that horrid one! - The daughter, you scamp, of the man I detest! - But I’ll never consent! if I do, I’ll be—blest! - Miss Yolenta, indeed! why, my garters and stars! - This is worse than your tricks with latch-keys and cigars! - Now, be off to the wars, nor on any pretences, - Show your face here again till you’ve come to your senses.” - So _Malbrook se va-t-en guerre_, - In a state of deep despair. - - Then Yolenta’s papa thought he’d best take a part in it, - By performing the _rôle_ of the tyrant and Martinet, - And proposed as a suitor, - An old co-adjutor - In many a dark deed, which no one but a brute or - Barbarian would perpetrate, one Baron Corteryke, - Whom he coolly informed her she certainly ought to like, - But, whether or no, in a week’s time must marry— - And his will being the law, - This medieval Bashaw - Pooh-pooh’d Ma’mselle’s suggestion of wishing to tarry, - And so, sending to Gunter, got up, like John Parry, - A first-rate entertainment, and vast charivari; - But yet, after all, was unable to carry - Out his cruel intentions, for ’twixt cup and lip - There occurred in this case a most notable slip; - To describe it, our metre we’ve stol’n, ’twill be seen, - From the song of one “Jock,” who’s sirnamed Hazeldean. - - “The kirk was deckt at even-tide, - The tapers glimmered fair, - The Baron Cort’ryke sought his bride, - And this time she _was_ there! - She said, ‘I will,’ as if a pill - Had stuck within her throat, - But fortune kind was still inclined - To grant an antidote; - - “For scarce beside the altar stone, - The nuptial knot was tied, - When some vile party, name unknown, - Stabbed Cort’ryke in the side! - His anguish sore, not long he bore, - Physicians wor in vain, - Death did consider, him and his widder, - And eased him of his pain.” - - So the lovely Yolenta was “quit for the fright” - Took the name, tin, and castle (a rare widow’s mite) - And wondered how Loridon fared in the fight. - - “It was Geraldus’ serving man, - Ludwigus he was hight, - For fair Bettye, that damsel free, - He sighed both day and night; - Fair Bettye at the tapestry wrought, - In Dame Yolenta’s bower; - To ease the pain of this her swain, - She lacked both will and power. - - “Dan Cupid, that misch_ie_vous boy, - Ludwig to sorrow brought; - For ogling of the fair Bettye, - Him, Dame Yolenta caught; - And as in true love men are still - (As well as oysters) crossed, - Ludwig, to cure his fantasy, - Was in a blanket tossed.” - - “_Hinc illæ lachrymæ_,” thence all these woes! - From this pitching and tossing the shindy arose! - - ’Tis the voice of a Herald! I heard him proclaim, - That he carries a summons for Corteryke’s dame, - Which sets forth how that same - Fair lady’s to blame, - For the high misdemeanour, the sin, and the shame, - Of tossing a lay brother, Ludwig by name, - In a blanket, whereby she did cut, wound, and maim, - And maliciously injure, and wilfully lame, - And despitefully maltreat, deride, and make game, - And confuse, and abuse, and misuse, and defame! - A monk of Saint Benedict, - Which by a then edict - Was a legal offence; so Yolenta was cited - To appear, and show cause - Why she’d broken the laws, - At the next petty sessions, where she was invited - To plead in her own proper person, and wait a - Decree from my Lord Lettelhausen, the pater - Of poor banished Loridon, likewise the frater - Of the plaintiff Geraldus, an excellent hater - Of all who opposed him, a reg’lar first-rater, - Full of envy and malice, a real aggravator, - Who’d have charmed Doctor Johnson, that learn’d commentator, - Had he chanced but to live a few centuries later. - - The Herald he stood in the castle hall, - Seneschal, warder, and page, were there; - And he read his citation fair and free, - In a baritone voice that went up to G, - As loudly as he could bawl. - And he cleared his throat, and he pushed back his hair - With a negligent, nonchalant, jaunty air; - As though he would ask of the bystanding “parties,”— - “Pri’thee what do ye think of _me_, my hearties?” - - Yolenta she smiled, and Yolenta she frowned, - And her delicate foot in a pet tapped the ground; - And when she turned to the herald to greet him, - The flash of her eye seemed to say she could eat him; - Though their points curled up to the knees of his trews, - I’d have been sorry to stand in his shoes. - Then she answered him shortly and sweetly,— - “Ye’re a bold man, Sir Herald, I trow— - A bold and an insolent man, I ween; - A scurrilous knave, I make mine avow; - But perhaps you may find that I’m not quite so green - As your masters imagine. You’ve done it most featly - This time I’ll allow; - But it struck me just now, - When you entered my castle to kick up this row, - You’d have fared quite as well if you’d journey’d on farther; - I’m afraid you’ve, young man, put your foot in it—_rather!_” - Then she signed with her hand, and six mutes in black armour, - As by magic appeared, laid their lances in rest, - And directed their points to the herald’s bare breast,— - A sight which it must be confessed might alarm a - Brave man in those very unscrupulous days, - When a life more or less, was a mere bagatelle; - And when sticking a porker, or stabbing a swell, - Were alike household duties—a singular phase - In those “sweet” Middle Ages, on which such dependence is - Placed by young ladies with “Puseyite” tendencies. - Howe’er this may be, - Our herald felt he - Had no “call” to assist in this _felo de se_; - So straight fell on his knee, - And exclaimed, “Don’t you see, - Noble Countess Yolenta, this good jest at present - Is a great deal too pointed and sharp to be pleasant? - I humbly beg pardon, - So pray don’t be hard on - A penitent cove, whose name’s printed this card on.” - Then he handed his pasteboard, gilt type, and a border, - Stamped, - - +-----------------------------------+ - | DE RODON. | - | Heraldic work furnished to order. | - +-----------------------------------+ - - Yolenta she smiled, and Yolenta she frowned, - Then light rang her laugh with its silvery sound. - “Rise, valiant De Rodon,” she mockingly cried, - “And behold by what foemen your mettle’s been tried.” - Then each sable spearsman his vizor unclasps, - And six laughing girls with bright mischievous eyes, - Poke their fun at De Rodon, who’s mute with surprise - And disgust, while Yolenta her riding wand grasps, - Sharply switches the recreant kneeling before her, - And turns to depart,— - When up with a start - Springs De Rodon, and pallid with anger leans o’er her. - Then hisses these words in her ear,—“Ere you smile - Or rejoice in your stratagem, listen awhile, - And learn that a herald discharging his duty - Is sacred; despite of your wealth, rank, and beauty, - For the stroke you have dealt me YOUR FAIR HAND IS FORFEIT; - By the axe of the headsman, ere many days, off it - Shall be hewn, and when next men to fury you goad on, - Bear in mind the revenge of the herald De Rodon!” - - -Fytte ye Second - - When the weather is hazy, and not the least sign in - The clouds of their showing a silvery lining; - When a bill’s coming due, and you’ve no chance of meeting it; - When old Harry’s to pay, and the pitch has no heat in it; - When you’re thinking of popping, and suddenly find - That your inamorata’s not that way inclined; - When you’ve published a novel, and find it don’t sell; - When you rise from the wine cup, and don’t feel quite well; - When some six-feet-six monster, by jealousy led, - Suggests “satisfaction” or “punching your head;” - When your wife’s taken cross, or the “olive-branch” sick; - When your wardrobe’s worn out, and your tailor wont “tick;” - When your money’s all gone, and your creditors dun for it; - I think you’ll agree, - That the best plan will be - To (I speak in the language of slang) “cut and run for it.” - - Thus, then, reason’d Yolenta of Corteryke, but - With this difference, she “ran” to avoid the “cut” - Of all cuts “most unkindest” (bad grammar, you know, - When it’s written by Shakespeare no longer is so), - Which De Rodon had promised her, _axe_-ing her hand, - In a manner no woman of feeling could stand - With composure; so straightway Yolenta resolved - To make herself scarce, which manœuvre involved - Much domestic confusion; each man and each maid - Requiring their wages, and board-wages, paid - For a month in advance; while the butler grew crusty - As his oldest port wine; and fair Bettye cried “Must I - Be the cause of this woe—from my dear mistress sever— - Lose my place and my perquisites! which my endeavour - Has still been to draw mild. Well, I never did—never!” - (Then addressing the public at large) “Did _you_ ever?” - These arrangements concluded, Yolenta began - Packing up—the last duty of travelling man— - But the business of life - To maid, widow, or wife, - Except Ida Pfeiffer, that wonder, who can - With umbrella and tooth-brush, reach far Yucatan, - And, like Ariel, span - The earth with a girdle, which some commentator - On Shakespeare imagines must mean the Equator. - Well, she packed up her traps in a leathern valise, - Which contained sundry stockings, a nice new ⸺, but he’s - No gentleman, clearly, who’d Hobbs-like, the locks - Endeavour to pick of _so_ private a box. - Then, by way of disguise, Dame Yolenta decided - (Don’t be horrified, dear lady-readers, though I did - Myself think it strange that my heroine chose - To set out on her rambles attired in _such_ clothes), - For convenience of trav’lling, perhaps, to assume a - Man’s dress—not the epicene compromise, Bloomer, - But the regular masculine _propria quæ maribus_, - A male coat, a male waistcoat, _et ceteris paribus_, - A gay cap and feather, - Unfit for bad weather,— - A sword by her side, and a fine prancing horse, - Which she sat, I’m afraid, not “aside” but “across;” - With one groom to attend her— - Nought else to defend her— - Like a “Young Lochinvar” of the feminine gender, - The ill-fated Yolenta rode off at a canter, - And became what the stockbrokers term “a levanter.” - - Now you’ll please to suppose, - That she follow’d her nose, - A fine aquiline organ that proudly arose, - Filling just the right space - On her bright sparkling face, - Excelling, as butterfly’s better than grub, - Those unlucky _“retroussés_” in _plain_ English, “snub,” - Which men always pretend to, and often desire, - But never can really and truly admire; - She followed her nose - To (I blush to disclose - For it does seem so forward; but then no one knows - The whys and the wherefores, the _cons_ and the _pros_, - Which decide other folks; in the fair sex our trust is - Extreme; so we’ll strive not to do her injustice.) - For some reason unknown, then, she followed her nose - To the camp of King Charles, in which Loridon chose - To wear out his exile, and solace his woes, - By assisting that monarch to conquer his foes. - - It were long to relate - All the evils that Fate - Seemed resolved to pour down on our heroine’s pate; - How, on reaching the camp, - She was told that a scamp - Of a _Do_uanier, at the last town she quitted, - Had, as usual, omitted - To see that her passport was legally _visé’d_; - Although, when she handed his fees to him, he said - It was all right and proper, - And no one would stop her; - Which was false, for it quickly appeared by the law - Of the strong, she was somebody’s prisoner of war; - Next, for fear in her wrath she a breach of the peace - Should commit, or attempt to assault the police, - They disarmed her—laid hands on her watch, chain, and seal - (All the very best gold, and the watch not much thicker - Than a mod’rate sized turnip—no end of a ticker,) - And hurried her off to the then Pentonville - Model Prison, to wait, all forlorn and alone, - And to “carve her name on the Newgate stone,” - Till this terrible somebody’s pleasure was known. - - The unpleasant unknown was one Giles de Laval, - A marshal of France, and a very great “pal” - (Or paladin rather), of King Charles _le Beau_, - (Or “_le Gros_,” or “_le Sot_,” - Which, I really don’t know; - But ’twas one of the three, for there’s no nation showers - Such peculiar nicknames on its “governing powers” - As our trusty ally Monsieur Johnny Crapaud,) - This same Giles de Laval, then, who ruled the French host, - And the roast, and the coast, made the most of his post; - Dealt just as he chose - With his friends and his foes, - And was as autocratic, and nearly as fickle as, - That bugbear of Europe, a certain Czar Nicholas— - This identical Giles, for some reason he had, - Seemed resolved that Yolenta should “go to the bad:” - (He possessed such sharp eyes - They pierced through her disguise - At first sight, to her terror, and shame, and surprise), - So he scolded her well, wouldn’t hear her confessions, - But returned her, to answer for all her transgressions, - To Geraldus, in time for the next quarter sessions. - - Unhappy Yolenta! Geraldus confined her - In a dungeon, deep, damp, and unpleasant; behind her - Was a ring in the wall, and some rusty old chains, - And there lay in one corner a skull void of brains, - And a horrid leg-bone stood upright in another, - Which must once have belonged to “a man and a brother;” - Then a sturdy support, now a most “unreal mockery,” - A relic suggestively placed there to shock her eye, - And bid her prepare for the doom that awaited her,— - For her dinner they brought her, - Dry bread and cold water, - Wretched food, and by no means enlivening drink, - (Whatever hydraulic George Cruikshank may think - To the contrary,) then, lest they’d not aggravated her - By this treatment, enough, the brutes next dissipated her - Last agreeable illusion, a letter was given her, - Signed and sealed by some friendly (?) anonymous scrivener, - Short, not sweet, for the missive consisted of one - Line, “_The Lord Lettelhausen’s no longer a son_,”— - From which pleasant allusion, - She reached the conclusion, - That, by some vicious dodge, which she could not discover, - De Laval had “used up” and expended her lover. - - Unhappy Yolenta! forsaken, heart-broken, - She drew from her bosom a cherished love-token; - A dark curling lock of her Loridon’s hair, - Fix’d her eyes on it, shed o’er it tears of despair, - Then devoured it with kisses, and dropp’d on her knees, - To implore with deep fervour that Heaven would please - Pardon Loridon’s sins, forgive hers, and so let her - Rejoin, and remain with, one whom she loved better - Far than life; then o’ercome by conflicting emotions, - A fainting fit ended her tears and devotions. - - Alas! it is a cruel thing to die, - To leave these hopes and fears, these loves and hates, - For other, though it may be happier, fates; - To go we know not where, we know not why! - - To cease to be the thing that we have been, - To be perchance a higher, but a new, - To leave the few we love, the chosen few, - To quit for ever each familiar scene. - - To be perchance a lower, to be curst, - For God, who’s great and merciful, is just, - And we, alas! what are we, that we must - By right partake the best, escape the worst? - - It _is_ a very bitter thing to die! - To some it is a bitter thing to live! - Patience and faith alone can comfort give, - Patience and faith—the rainbows in the sky. - - -Ye Last Scene of All. - - Gaping and yawning, - Their feather-beds scorning, - All the burghers of Ghent rose betimes in the morning, - For a “shocking event” - Was to take place in Ghent, - And the public delighted in hangings and quarterings, - Mutilations and tortures, and such kind of slaughterings, - Just as much as an Anglican crowd in the present day, - Think attending the “Manning” _finale_ a pleasant day; - So extremely they bustled, - Pushed, jostled, and hustled, - Climbed up lamp-posts, (there were none!) on each rising ground - Stood to view the procession, as slowly it wound - Its way to the cathedral, where, at the high altar - The condemned was “_pro se_” - To appear, or else be - Declared recusant, most contumacious, defaulter, - Et cetera, et cetera, in fact, all the “bosh” - That the law could devise, horrid stuff which wont wash, - And yet seems to last pretty well through all ages, - Keeps solicitors going, and provides their clerks wages. - ’Twas a splendid and beautiful pageant, that same; - First a body of archers and shield-bearers came; - Then some dear little choristers, dressed all in white, - Who each carried a _chandelle bénie_, or “child’s light,” - Which, being blessed by the Pope, it appears to my thick head, - Must, in spite of its wick, have no longer been _wick_ed; - Next came Abbot Geraldus, profusely ornate - With mitre, and crosier, and garments of state; - Then the Herald de Rodon, in great exultation, - Highly pleased with himself, and the whole “situation;” - Then a servitor, bearing - A big candle, flaring - Up like mad, and creating a vast cloud of vapour, - Or smoke, (which affair was a “penitent taper,”) - On a silver “_Lavabo_,” a word which they say, - In middle-age Latin, means simply a tray; - And after this penitent candle there came - Our penitent heroine, looking the same, - And feeling—however, I’ll leave you to guess - How the poor thing would feel in so cruel a mess. - Then came something of which the description we’d best give - Is, like Tennyson’s rhymes, it was “sweetly suggestive”— - A large shield, in the centre whereof was depicted - A hand lately severed,—the artist, addicted - (’Twas De Rodon himself) to pre-Raphaelite rules, - Had made the wrist “_sanglant_” with drops from it “_gules_.” - Then directly behind this agreeable affair - Came the city “Jack Ketch” with his horrid axe bare! - Then more spearmen; and then rushed the crowd out of breath, - With their eagerness all to be in at the death. - - Her eyes dim with despair, - All dishevelled her hair, - And the fair “FORFEIT HAND” with its rounded arm bare, - With brow madly throbbing, and footsteps that falter,— - The wretched Yolenta is led to the altar; - While De Rodon proclaims, - By his titles and names, - That the Lord Lettelhausen, Grand Seigneur, and Knight - Of some half-dozen orders, demands as his right - The forfeited hand of the culprit Yolenta. - Then Geraldus replies, “By the general consent, a - Demand thus in accordance with justice and law - Is granted. Let Lord Lettelhausen now draw - Near the altar, and take, by the Church’s command, - As his right and possession, the FORFEITED HAND!” - - A stalwart arm is round her thrown, - Fondly the forfeit hand is pressed; - No more forsaken and alone, - She sinks upon a manly breast. - - At length the evil days are past— - Her griefs, her trials, all are over, - Long wept, long sought, regained at last, - ’Tis Loridon, her own true lover. - Whose Papa having very obligingly done - The genteel thing, in dying exactly when one - Would have wished him, by that means enabled his son - To step into his shoes, just in time to disk_i_ver a - Mode of enacting the gallant deliverer; - As we’ve tried to rehearse - For your pleasure in verse, - If we’ve happened to fail,—and too clearly you know it,— - Bear in mind that we never set up for a Poet. - - Frank E. S. - - -FOOTNOTES - -[8] The facts (?) of this Legend are taken, by poetical licence, from -“Legends of the Rhine,” by the author of “Highways and Byways.” - -[Illustration: THE FORFEIT HAND.—p. 60.] - - - - -SIR RUPERT THE RED. - - - Sir Rupert the Red was as gallant a knight - As ever did battle for wrong or for right, - As ever resented the slightest slight, - Or broke an antagonist’s head. - Full tall was his stature, full stalwart his frame, - Full red was his hair, his beard was the same, - Mustachios and whiskers—whence his name, - His name of Sir Rupert the Red. - - Sir Rupert he lived in a castle old, - Residence meet for a baron bold: - Thick were its walls, and dark and cold - The swift Rhine ran below them. - Full handy to Rupert the Red was the Rhine: - Rich travellers passing were asked to dine, - And when he’d sufficiently hocussed their wine, - Why—into its waters he’d throw them! - - But stories will spread, howe’er you may try - To stifle Dame Rumour—and so, by-and-bye, - He found himself shunned by all far and nigh; - And when asked to dinner, each neighbour fought shy. - The bell ne’er was rung, and no stranger implored - The porter to run up, and question his lord - If he kindly would grant a night’s shelter and board? - No priest on Sir Rupert’s head called down a benison, - No acquaintance sent presents of black-cock and venison. - While his former bad temper began to grow worse, - He would mutter and fidget—nay, stamp, foam, and curse; - But his feelings I’ll try to describe in the verse - Most used by our Alfred—not Bunn though, but Tennyson. - - Very early in the morning would he, tumbling out of bed, - Mow his chin with wretched razor, mow and hack it till it bled; - Then he’d curse the harmless cutler, heap upon him curses deep— - Curse him in his hour of waking, doubly curse him in his sleep— - Saying, “Mechi! O my Mechi! O my Mechi, mine no more, - Whither’s fled that brilliant sharpness which thy razors had of yore, - Ere thou quittedst Leadenhall-street, quittedst it with many a qualm— - Ere thou soughtest rustic Tiptree, Tiptree and its model farm? - Many a morning, by the mirror, did I pass thee o’er my beard, - And my chin grew smooth beneath thee, of its hairy harvest cleared; - Many an evening have I drawn thee ’cross the throats of wretched Jews, - When they, trembling, showed their purses, stuffed for safety in their - shoes. - But, like mine, thy day is over—thou art blunt and I’m disgraced! - Curses on thy maker’s projects, curses on his ‘magic paste.’” - - Thus he grumbled all day, from morning till night— - No person could please him, no conduct was right— - Till his very retainers grew furious quite, - And determined to quit his service. - For much afflicted was Seneschal Hans; - While the groom from York told the cook from France - “He warn’t going to be led such a precious dance - In a house turned topsy-turvies.” - - Oh, “the castled crag of Drachenfels,” - With its slippery sides and flowery dells, - Is a very romantic sight for “swells” - Who leave the squares of Belgravia, - And during the autumn visit the Rhine, - With courier hirsute and footman fine, - Who are both eternally drinking wine, - Though the last “don’t like the flaviour.” - - But Drachenfels was a different sight - On a dark, tempestuous winter’s night; - Then below it the river was foaming white, - And above it the storm-fiend strode: - On such a night, from his own red room, - Sir Rupert looked out athwart the gloom - To see what might “in the future loom,” - Or be coming up the road. - - He strained his weary eye-balls, but well was he repaid - To see a troop of travellers advancing up the glade. - Flanked round with equerries and guards, a wealthy host they seemed, - And Sir Rupert’s heart grew lighter, and his eye more brightly beamed; - For many a day had passed away since he a prize had won, - And no hand had touched his bell save that of poursuivant or dun. - - “Now haste ye,” he cried, “throw open the gate, - And let the drawbridge fall;” - Then three little pages, with hair combed straight, - Who ever upon Sir Rupert wait, - Ran off to the warden tall. - - The drawbridge falls, and the company cross, - In number say fifty, _i. e._, man and horse. - First comes a gay herald, all silver and blue, - And then men in armour, who ride two and two; - Not such Guys as are seen on the ninth of November, - But your regular middle-age troopers, remember. - By the way, this last rhyme - Appertains to a time - Much thought of in childhood, by schoolboys called “prime,” - When young Hopeful’s small pockets - Are emptied for rockets, - And eyebrows are burnt, and arms torn out of sockets— - When you’re begged (and the tyrants take care you do not) - Ne’er to cease to remember the Gunpowder-plot. - The herald stept forth, and he made a low bow— - If you’ve seen Mr. Payne - At old Drury Lane, - In the opening part of a grand Christmas pantomime, - Do tricks, to describe which my Muse fails for want o’ rhyme— - Please to fancy my herald does just the same now; - And his trumpet he blows, and his throat well he clears, - And he twists his mustachios right up to his ears, - Looks, as usual with speakers, in dreadful distress, - And thus to Sir Rupert begins his address. - - “Sir Rupert the Red, - To you I have sped - From a dame with whose brother you’ve conquered and bled, - Who, benighted by chance in this dismal locality, - Has ventured to ask for a night’s hospitality. - No refusal I fear - When her name you once hear; - Therefore learn that the dame for whom shelter I crave, - Is Margaret, the sister of Blutwurst the Brave!” - - Thus spake the gay herald. Sir Rupert replied, - “’Tis well known that my castle is never denied - To pilgrims of all countries, nations, and hues, - From swaggering English to gold-lending Jews; - How great, then, my joy ’neath my roof to receive - The sister of one - Whom I loved as a son, - For whose tragical end I have ne’er ceased to grieve.” - - Thus much to the herald. Then, turning, he said, - “Off, Wilhelm, at once, let the banquet be spread; - Bring up some Moselles and some red Assmanshausers. - Fritz, lay out my doublet and new Paris trousers, - Tell Gretchen to hasten and clear out the bedroom - The lady will sleep in—let’s see—_not_ the red room. - To put her in there - Is more than I dare; - So where shall she go, in the purple or blue? - Oh, give her the next room to mine, number two— - Tell Eugéne to serve his best sauces and stews, - And take care that, as soon as the cloth is removed, - Old Max, of whose singing I oft have approved, - Comes up with his harp—he will serve to amuse.” - - The banquet is spread— - At his table’s head, - Decked out in gay garments, sits Rupert the Red; - And close on his right - Is the queen of the night, - Fair Marg’ret, whose beauty’s completely a sight - For a father,—aye, even for “Pater-familias,”— - “Who of all slow papas is the veriest silly ass; - Blue are her eyes as the clear vault of heaven, - Pale her smooth brow, though some rose-bud has given - Its loveliest tint to that soft cheek and lip, - Which ’twere worth a king’s ransom once only to sip; - While the net-work of curls in her bonny brown hair - Has entangled a sun-beam and prisoned it there. - And Sir Rupert admired her, and flattered, and laughed, - And his ardour grew warmer the deeper he quaffed; - He touched her fair fingers whene’er he was able, - And in error pressed warmly the leg of the table; - Till Rudolf von Gansen, a merry young spark - (Who was given to hoaxing and “having a lark,” - Addicted to laughing, - And humour called “chaffing,” - And dining, and wine-ing, and e’en half-and-half-ing, - And gambling, and vices called “having your fling”), - Exclaimed to Hans König (in English, Jack King), - “By Jove, Hans, the gov’nor’s hit under the wing!” - - “Now come hither, old Max,” Sir Rupert cried, - “And sing us a merry song, - Or tell us of Siegfried’s blooming bride, - Or the priest who was plunged in the Rhine’s cold tide - For indulging his wishes wrong.” - - The old man sung a sentimental strain, - A song of love, its wishes, hopes, and fears; - And while he sung his colour came again, - His eye blazed brightly as in former years, - When it was quickly kindled by disdain, - Nor dimmed, as often now, by bitter tears. - These very words, with true poetic fire, - He once for glory sung, but now for hire! - - And, while he sings, they vanish from his sight, - The knights, the ladies gay, the very room! - Once more a youth, with eyes and prospects bright, - He sings to her, now mould’ring in the tomb, - Ere Age and Poverty’s overwhelming blight - From Life’s first blushing flowers had robbed the bloom. - Sweet season, long expected, quickly past, - In youth Love’s fire too fiercely burns to last! - - The minstrel’s song was no sooner done, - Than ’twas plain that his lay had extinguished the fun, - And yawning fearfully, one by one, - They vanished knights and ladies. - The lights were put out, not a single “glim” - Shed its ray o’er the walls of that castle grim; - And the banqueting hall was soon as dim - As ’tis said to be in Hades. - - My story thus forward, I now must relate - Some previous details concerning the fate - Of that famous young hero, Sir Blutwurst the Great, - Of whom I’ve just made mention— - And so, to prevent the smallest mystery, - Or the thread of my story from getting a twist awry, - To his death, which took place ere the date of my history, - I must call my readers’ attention. - - Blutwurst and Rupert were two pretty men - As ever were sketched by pencil or pen— - Together they’d hunt, shoot, fish, frolic, and gamble, - In short, to dispense with a longer preamble, - They so loved each other, - That Corsican Brother, - Or Damon, or Pythias, or Siamese twin, - Ne’er cared for his friend, or his kith or his kin, - As did Blutwurst for Rupert: they ne’er knew division, - But were like Box and Cox in a German edition. - Mr. Coleridge says, “Truth, that exists in the young, - Too often is killed by a whispering tongue;” - And this proved the case between Blutwurst and Rupert. - The former, perhaps, in his language was too pert; - For having committed some irregularities, - Which _he_ called “peccadilloes,” but others “barbarities,” - Sir Rupert declined to subscribe to some charities - Which Blutwurst advised as a species of “hedge.” - Then the latter blazed out;—the “thin end of the wedge” - Being thus once inserted, the matter grew serious. - Each spake words of high disdain - And insult to his heart’s best brother— - “Just repeat those words again!” - “You’re a scoundrel!” “You’re another!” - With curses and oaths, to repeat which would weary us, - Till from furious words they proceeded to blows. - Who first drew his rapier nobody knows; - But Hans, the old seneschal, sitting down stairs, - Heard a shriek, then a plunge in the river, he swears; - And going up found Rupert, all haggard and wan, - Who stated that Blutwurst had started for Bonn, - And requested that thither his bag be sent on. - This story gained ground, - Till the body was found - A great distance off—in fact, down at Dusseldorf, - Whence the horrified finder all hurriedly bustled off - To tell Blutwurst’s parents the terrible news. - A coroner’s inquest was held on the body, - Where, after much talking and more Hollands toddy, - Much anger, much squabbling, and dreadful abuse, - They found that, “returning home, muddled with wine, - The deceased had been murdered and flung in the Rhine, - By some persons unknown, with malicious design!” - To Rupert no blame e’er attached in the matter; - Poor Blutwurst was called mad, “as mad as a hatter,” - For drinking so much as to fall from his perch. - And now, if you please, we’ll return to the castle, - Where I think we shall find that, fatigued by the wassail, - With two small exceptions, each master and vassal - May safely be reckoned as “fast as a church.” - Fair Margaret sits at her toilette-glass, - And rests her head on her snow-white hand; - Through her throbbing brain what visions pass, - As over her shoulders there falls a mass - Of curls, ne’er touched by the crimping brand; - She thinks of Sir Rupert’s attentions that night, - And of them, too, she thinks less with pleasure than fright; - For his great leering eyes - Seem before her to rise, - And she looks o’er her shoulder, and shivers and sighs, - For the room is so large, and the pictures so grim, - And the wind howls so loud, and her light burns so dim, - And she sees in the mirror, not herself, but _him_. - Yes! he kneels at her side; - Says he wont be denied; - And calls her “his dear little duck of a bride!” - His utt’rance is thick, his cravat is untied, - And his face is as red as a new Murray’s Guide; - His gait is unsteady, his manner so rude, - It’s plain to perceive that Sir Rupert is “screwed.” - But he touches his heart, and he turns up his eyes, - And by language and gesture most earnestly tries - To convince her that ne’er from his knees will he rise, - Till to wed on the morrow she freely complies. - - If you’ve seen Mrs. Kean - In that excellent scene - Which she with Mr. Wigan so forcibly plays, - In Bourcicault’s comedy, “Love in a Maze,” - When her scorn for her tempter, her love for her spouse, - In language theatrical, “bring down the house,” - You can fancy how Margaret, deeply enraged, - And backed up by the feeling that she was engaged - To Otto Von Rosen, the dearest of men, - Rejected Sir Rupert at once, there and then. - In vain he implored, - Declared himself “floored.” - Wept by turns and entreated, then ranted and roared; - She still was disdainful, - And said “it was painful - To witness the friend of her brother so lowered.” - Till, maddened with fury, he seized her, and said— - “Be mine, or thou’rt numbered this night with the dead. - No maiden has yet refused Rupert the Red!” - - That instant there rang through the castle a shriek— - Compared with which e’en Madame Celeste’s are weak— - The chamber-doors fell with a terrible crash, - And with, under his left arm, a yet gory gash— - Come forth from his grave, - Stood Blutwurst the brave, - Who’d arrived just in time his poor sister to save. - Sir Rupert gazed at him a second or more, - Made one strong exclamation, then sunk on the floor. - - From every side a swarming tide of vassals pour amain, - And, struggling with each other, the fatal room they gain, - And quickly entering, they find fair Margaret in a swoon, - They cut the lace that holds her ⸺, base must be the man who’d own - That such a garment now exists; with water from Cologne - They sprinkle her, and she revives, and sweetly smiles once more, - And points to what appears a heap of ashes on the floor! - - Alas! ’twas so; the gallant knight, the former “man of mark,” - Is fitted now for nought but dust for Stapleton or Darke; - All shrivelled into nothingness, a horrid mass he lay, - His projects vanished into smoke, himself a yard of clay! - - And never from that hour has anything been seen, - Except the ruin pointed out to Robinson or Green, - That e’er pertained to him of all the Rhenish clans the head, - To him, the hero of my song, Sir Rupert called the Red. - - E. H. Y. - -[Illustration: SIR RUPERT THE RED—p. 79.] - - - - -COUNT LOUIS OF TOULOUSE. - - - When Henri Quatre ruled in France there was a gay young knight, - The loudest in the banquet-hall, the foremost in the fight. - No dame, howe’er fatigued, to tread a measure could refuse - When she heard the silver accents of Count Louis of Toulouse. - - But not only to a dance would these gentle tones invite, - But to “measures” of more dangerous kind, confounding wrong with right. - Won over by his sophistry, what conscience could accuse? - But the dread of every husband was Count Louis of Toulouse. - - The man above all others who the direst hate did feel - Was the husband of fair Eleanor, the Marquis de St. Lille; - And he vowed the deepest vengeance when he heard the dreadful news - That his wife had found a lover in Count Louis of Toulouse. - - He called his spies around him, caused her movements to be tracked, - And, listening, heard sufficient to convince him of the fact. - Then he quietly retired, and determined to infuse - Some poison in the claret of Count Louis of Toulouse. - - Next evening, as the Marchioness was waiting in her bower, - The clocks of all the churches round pealed forth the usual hour. - She began to grow impatient, murmur, and at length abuse - The extreme unpunctuality of Louis of Toulouse. - - But when two servants entered, who between them bore a box, - She was half afraid that something else had struck besides the clocks; - And when the men retired, she still thinking it a _ruse_, - Raised up the lid and found the corpse of Louis of Toulouse. - - Without a word, without a shriek, she fell upon the ground, - The maidens hast’ning to her aid, a lifeless body found. - So, young gentlemen, take warning, and ne’er yourselves amuse - By attempting fascinations like Count Louis of Toulouse. - - E. H. Y. - - - - -ANNIE LYLE. - - - Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle, - No longer you smile - At my jokes, which a month since enjoyed such prosperity; - Howe’er I behave, - Your face is quite grave, - And your darling red lips speak unwonted severity. - - Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle, - It may do for a while, - This on-ing and off-ing, repulsing and wooing: - But beware of the hour - When, escaped from your power, - No longer I seek you, beseeching and suing. - - With your glance _espiègle_, - You quickly inveigle - A freshman from Oxford, a youth in the Guards; - But enough of Love’s strife - I have seen in my life - To furnish good subjects for hundreds of bards. - - You take a great pride - To see at your side - A lord, and upon him how sweetly you smile; - Now I set forth no riddle, - I _will_ play “first fiddle,” - So take warning at once, Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle. - - How stately and grand - You parade by the band - Which each Friday in Kensington Gardens entrances! - Dressed in _mousseline-de-laine_, - What transports you feign, - And how skilfully use you your battery of glances! - - Then how pleased are the “swells,” - How jealous the belles, - At least, so your vanity prompts you to reckon; - And ogling and smiling, - Poor victims beguiling, - You whisper and conquer, flirt, flatter, and beckon. - - Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle, - It rouses my bile - To see one so lovely descend to such tricks: - Such flirting’s below you— - To people who know you - All feeling it beats, or what Yankees call “licks.” - - What! tears in those eyes! - Are those genuine sighs? - Then once more I’m your slave—change that sob to a smile; - My lecture is o’er, - I’m your own, as before, - So come to my arms, Annie Lyle, Annie Lyle. - - E. H. Y. - - - - -JACK RASPER’S WAGER; OR, “NE SUTOR ULTRA CREPIDAM.” - - -Introduction. - - If I have dared again to wake the lyre - Of him whose hand shall sweep no more the strings— - That great enchanter, at whose funeral pyre - Laughter and Grief stood each with drooping wings - And head dejected (him, whose “Bridge of Sighs” - And “Number One” drew teardrops from the eyes - Of Mirth and Sadness), I trust you’ll have mercy, - And that, kind Reader, you will not ejaculate - “Oh, ah!” or “Pooh!” - “This never _will_ do!” - “_Je trouve que ces vers soient bien ennuyeux!_” - “Dull, flat, quite a failure!” “Contemptible stuff!” - “What’s the name of the author? I pity the muff!” - And such-like expressions upon my poor versicles, - which even I don’t consider immaculate! - No! like any poor cousin who lives with a rich one - As companion or governess, awful condition! - I think I may say that, “I know my position.” - And since I can’t hope to be first in the race - I must e’en be content to put up with the place - Which Report to the “little boat” says was assigned, - In some nameless aquatics, _i. e._ “far behind.” - - -Ye Storye. - - Mr. and Mrs. Theophilus Browne - Had a house in a newly-built suburb of town, - “Twelve good rooms and an attic.” - Mr. Browne had a share in a City bank, - But when at home “the shop” he sank, - And assuming the airs of a person of rank, - Was quite aristocratic. - - Invitations to dinner he oft obtained, - Showers of cards upon him rained, - For party and picnic pleasant; - Indeed, ’twas his constant pride and boast - That his name once appeared in the “Morning Post,” - (Which he took each day with his tea and toast,) - As “amongst the company present.” - - But as never was rose without a thorn, - So surely was mortal never born - To a life without vexation; - And some bachelor chums of our friend Mr. B. - Had a habit of “dropping in to tea,” - And merely saying, “We’ve made so free,” - Would create quite a consternation. - - For they reeked of tobacco, that dreadful herb, - Which will ever a lady’s nerves disturb, - E’en the mildest of mild Havannah; - And when with their cabman they came to arrange, - They never appeared to have any change - To settle his fare, but in language strange - They borrowed “two bob and a tanner.” - - We need not say that poor Mrs. Browne - Had a hate of these rollicking men about town, - Of which she made no mystery; - But surely her bitterness and spite - Were never wrought up to such a height - As upon the very eventful night - When we commence our history. - - The servants had all retired to rest, - The worthy couple, in _deshabille_ dressed, - Had just finished their nightly refection, - When a thundering double knock at the door, - Caused Mrs. Browne to exclaim, “Oh Lor!” - While her husband added to “what a bore” - An ungodly interjection. - - Then, seizing a light, he ran down stairs, - Growling like one of the grisly bears - In the Gardens Zoological - (That lately were cured with such skill and tact, - Of an overflowing cataract, - Under chloroform, an astonishing fact, - Which a very artful dodge-I-call). - - He opened the door in a furious rage, - Nor did it his passion at all assuage - To see his old friend, Jack Rasper,— - Jack Rasper, the fastest man in town, - Who never would go when he once sat down, - Who mimicked all actors of renown, - And could row with Coombes or Clasper. - - His intimates called him “an out-and-out brick, - A fellow who at nothing would stick, - And a first-rate judge of malt, sir.” - Nay, the ladies themselves, who are clearly the best - To decide on such matters, had often confessed.— - “Mr. Rasper, besides being very well dressed, - Was an excellent _deux-temps_ waltzer.” - - Darting past the unhappy Browne, - At the foot of the stairs he sat himself down, - And laughed like the clown in a pantomime; - Then jumping up, he made a grimace - Might have rivalled e’en Mr. Grimaldi’s face, - To describe the which with sufficient grace - Quite baffles my Muse for want-o’-rhyme. - - “Browne,” he began, “I’m come to sup. - I suppose I may. Walk up, walk up, - And observe the living lions; - The thickly-coated armadillo, - Brought from furrin’ parts beyond the billow - By Don Alphonso de Padrillo, - That ornament of science! - - “But, joking apart, Browne, how’s your wife? - Not annoyed, I hope; to cause any strife - Would give me infinite sorrow.” - Then springing up stairs with a loud “Ha! ha!” - He thrust his head through the door ajar, - And greeted the lady with “Here we are,” - And “How d’ye do to-morrow.” - - Mrs. Browne received him with looks so black - That he felt himself quite taken aback, - And received what he called “a staggerer.” - Indeed, as he told his friends next night, - “He soon saw that fowl would never fight, - So he instantly came the dodge polite, - And entirely dropped the swaggerer!” - - Then changing his tone, “Mrs. Browne, to you - I am sure,” said he, “I ought to sue - In terms most apologetic.” - But not a whit the angry dame - Was soothed, her expression remained the same, - And Jack thought he’d best go, the way he came, - Like a well-bred dog, prophetic. - - He tried again, “If you remember, - We went together, last September, - To see the Hippopotamus, - And how, in the crowd, when you dropped those loves - Of delicate tinted primrose gloves, - As I hunted about with kicks and shoves, - Do you recollect who brought ’em us? - - “Lord Augustus Aype, that _cheválièr preûx_, - Who was evidently struck with you, - For he said, in a whisper audible, - ‘Rasper, who is that splendid creature?’” - Mrs. Browne relaxed in every feature, - For she thought—alas! poor human nature!— - Each act of a Lord was _laud-able_. - - Jack continued, “’Twas only yesterday, - At dinner, I heard his lordship say - He should ne’er forget the circumstance; - He has met you since, at a public ball, - Or at Albert Smith’s—the Egyptian Hall! - You shake your head! what! not at all? - Yes, yes! ’twas at the Kirkham’s dance!” - - Here Browne come frowningly in, but smiled, - When he found his wife seemed nothing riled, - And begged his guest to be seated: - And looking at Mrs. Browne askance, - Received in return a conjugal glance, - Which showed, “_sans doûte_,” as they say in France, - She wished Jack civilly treated. - - So he bustled about, and soon laid out - A cold chicken, some ham, a bottle of stout, - With ale of Bass’s brewing. - And when these were dispatched by the modest youth, - Placed a flask on the board, which, to tell the truth, - Had on it the name of “Sir Felix Booth,” - But which Jack pronounced “blue ruin.” - - Jack plied at the spirit, and soon began - To play so well the agreeable man, - The retailer of jokes and scandal, - That good Mrs. Browne grew quite elate; - And Browne, though he muttered, “It’s rather late,” - Replenished the fire, and swept up the grate, - And trimmed the Palmer’s candle. - - Thus went the talk,—“Poor Lady Flashe - Has eloped with Captain Sabretasche; - They bolted from Baden-Baden, - While Sir Anthony Flashe their flight ne’er checked, - As it on his rheumatics had no effect; - Like the Jews of old, since he’s grown ‘stiffnecked,’ - His heart has begun to harden. - - “But I heard last night from Lord De Vere, - From Boulogne who has just come over here, - The most wonderful adventure; - For his Lordship last season received a ‘call,’— - Not such as those folks who at Exeter Hall - About Popery wrangle, his was all - About railway scrip and debenture. - - “He said, one night that, homeward walking, - There were two men before him, talking, - Whose words caught his instant attention, - For he heard one say, as he drew more near, - ‘I’ll cut his throat from ear to ear - And send his soul to ⸺’ a place which here - I really don’t like to mention. - - “Shocked at these words, though somewhat alarmed, - His Lordship his noble heart soon calmed, - And set his nerves firm as rockstone, - Then followed the men up a street so lone - And dark that,”—here Mrs. Browne gave a groan, - While Browne looked the picture of fright, as shown - So well by Keeley and Buckstone. - - Narrowly eyeing them, Jack continued,— - “The hands of these men so iron-sinewed, - Were red as the cover of ‘Murray,’ - And in these hands they carried sticks - Of the pattern and size with which Mr. Hicks - All at once, single-handed, so easily licks - Ten land-sharks at the Surrey. - - “These horrible ruffians, as more near - They approached, caught sight of Lord De Vere, - And seized him, pale and shrinking, - And as him on the ground they threw - Yelled out⸺ - By Jove! it’s half-past two, - I’ve kept you up till all is blue, - I’ll run away like winkin’.” - - Then, while with open mouth and eyes - The pair sat speechless with surprise, - Jack vanished quick as thought is, - And as the stairs he darted down, - Called out, “My wager, Browne, I’ve won,— - ’Twas that here I’d sup; and you’re fairly done - Of ham, chicken, and aquafortis! - - “My boasted acquaintance with Lord De Vere, - The tale of the street so dark and drear, - Was all improvisatoré! - You would _pardon_ a lord, though a church he should rob, - Yet _hang_ what T. P. Cooke would call ‘a poor swab,’ - And you’re nothing at best but a tuft-hunting snob, - So I’ll ‘leave you alone in your glory.’” - - -Ye Moralle. - - When once you are wed, bid a friendly adieu - To all bachelor chums, or keep just one or two, - And be sure they’re not fast men, but moral and true; - And in order that Rasper-like insults you may shun, - Don’t talk about lords upon every occasion, - But, like clerks at a terminus, _keep in your station_. - - E. H. Y. - -[Illustration: JACK RASPER’S WAGER.—p. 92.] - - - - -THE OVERFLOWINGS OF THE LATE PELLUCID RIVERS, ESQ. - -Edited by Edmund H. Yates. - - -In submitting to the public some of the productions of my lamented friend -Rivers, I think it right to endeavour to sketch some faint outline of -the career of their illustrious author. “The world knows nothing of its -greatest men,” says Philip Van Artevelde, and its general ignorance of -Rivers clearly proves the truth of the remark. - -Born of poor but respectable parents, in the parish of St. Pancras, at an -early age Rivers evinced symptoms of that poetic talent which, in later -life, made him so renowned—I mean, which would have made him so renowned, -had he not been crushed by the wretched blindness and illiberality of -the publishers of the metropolis. He could not have been more than five -years of age when he first burst forth in metrical numbers; it was at the -family dinner-table, when, pointing first to the smoking joint, then to -the domestic implement by which he was conveying a portion of it to his -mouth, he exclaimed— - - “Pork! - Fork!” - -A moment after, indicating the beer jug, his juvenile “poet’s eye, in a -fine frenzy rolling,” he continued, “chalk!” His meaning on this point -was vague, but it is generally considered he implied that the liquid -was not paid for at the time, but was chalked up behind the door to the -family account—a custom prevalent, I have ascertained, in many parts of -the United Kingdom. From that period until his death he was constantly -engaged in writing;—though his name never appeared to any of his -productions, they were most extensively read; indeed, one of his minor -poems— - - “Dearest maid, I thee do love; - This my tender vows shall prove— - Little Cupid’s thrilling dart - Has found refuge in my heart,” - -has been considered so successful, that the publication of it is annually -revived, and the fourteenth of February, sacred to St. Valentine, is the -day usually chosen for its reappearance. - -For the last twenty years of his life, poor Rivers laboured under -severe fits of melancholy and depression, the cause of which he long -held secret. Shortly before his decease, however, he confided to me the -source of his grief. It was, that manuscripts which he had forwarded on -approval to various publishers, had been returned as worthless, while a -few months afterwards the same publishers would send forth books of poems -in which the most direct plagiarisms from my poor friend’s productions -would appear. He made me solemnly pledge myself to see him righted in the -opinion of the world, and hence the publication of these papers. - -I regret exceedingly to be obliged to hold up to public odium names -which have hitherto stood so highly as those of Mr. A—f—d T—ys—n and -his publisher, Mr. M—x—n, but I defy any candid reader to peruse the -following vigorous and striking stanzas of my poor friend’s, and then -turn to that weak and rambling production, “L—cks—y H—ll,” without -perceiving which is the grand original, which the mean and despicable -parody! - - -VAUXHALL. - - Cabman, stop thy jaded knacker; cabman, draw thy slackened rein; - Take this sixpence—do not grumble, swear not at Sir Richard Mayne! - - ’Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the cadgers bawl— - Sparkling rockets, squibs and crackers, whizzing over gay Vauxhall. - - Gay Vauxhall! that in the summer all the youth of town attracts, - Glittering with its lamps and fireworks, and its flashing cataracts. - - Many a night in yonder gilded temple, ere I went to rest, - Did I look on great Von Joel, mimicking the feathered nest; - - Many a night I saw Hernandez in a tinsel garb arrayed, - With his odorif’rous ringlets tangled in a silver braid; - - Here about the paths I wandered, chaffing, laughing all the time, - Laughing at the piebald clown, or listening to the minstrel’s rhyme; - - When beneath the business-counter linendraper’s men reposed, - When in calm and peaceful slumber, sharp maternal eyes are closed; - - When I dipt into the pewter pot that held the foaming stout, - When I quaffed the burning punch, or wildly sipped the “cold without.” - - In the spring a finer cambric’s wrapped around the lordling’s breast; - In the spring the gent at Redmayne’s gets himself a Moses’ “vest;” - - In the spring we make investment in a white or lilac glove; - In the spring my youthful fancy prompted me to fall in love. - - Then she danced through all the _ballet_, as a fairy blithe and young, - Stood a tiptoe on a flow’ret or from clouds of pasteboard swung— - - And I said, “Miss Julia Belmont, speak, and speak the truth to me, - Wilt thou from this fairy region with a heart congenial flee?” - - On her lovely cheek and forehead came a blushing through her paint, - And she sank upon my bosom in the semblance of a faint; - - Then she turned, her voice was broken (so, if I must tell the truth, - Was her English—all I pardoned in the generous warmth of youth), - - Saying, “Pray excuse my feelings, nothing wrong, indeed, is meant,” - Saying, “Will you be my loveyer?” weeping, “You are quite the gent.” - - Love took up the glass before me, filled it foaming to the brim, - Love changed every comic ballad to a sweet euphonious hymn! - - Many a morning in the railway did we run to Richmond, Kew, - And her hunger cleared my pockets oft of shillings not a few! - - Many an evening down at Greenwich did we eat the pleasant “bait,” - Till I found my earnings going at a rather rapid rate.— - - Oh! Miss Belmont, fickle-hearted! Oh, Miss Belmont, known too late! - Oh, that horrid, horrid Richmond, oh, the cursed, cursed “bait.” - - Falser far than Lola Montes, falser e’en than Alice Gray, - Scorner of a faithful press-man, sharer of a tumbler’s pay!— - - Is it well to wish thee happy? having once loved _me_—to wed - With a fool who gains his living by his heels and not his head! - - As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, - And, pursuing his profession, he will strive to drag thee down. - - He will hold thee, in the winter, when his fooleries begin, - Something better than his wig, a little dearer than his gin. - - What is this? his legs are bending! think’st thou he is weary, faint? - Go to him, it is thy duty; kiss him, how he tastes of paint! - - Am I mad, that I should cherish memories of the by-gone time? - Think of loving one whose husband fools it in a pantomime! - - Never, though my mortal summers should be lengthened to the sum - Granted to the aged Parr, or more illustrious Widdicomb— - - Comfort!—talk to me of comfort!—what is comfort here below? - Lies it in iced drinks in summer, aquascutum coats in snow? - - Think not thou wilt know its meaning, wait of all his vows the proof, - Till the manager is sulky, and the rain pours through the roof: - - See, his life he acts in dreams, while thou art staring in his face, - Listen to his hollow laughter, mark his effort at grimace! - - Thou shalt hear “Hot Codlins” muttered in his vision-haunted sleep, - Thou shalt hear his feigned ecstatics, thou shalt hear his curses deep: - - Let them fall on gay Vauxhall, that scene to me of deepest woe, - But—the waiters are departing, and perhaps I’d better go! - -Such is the noble ballad of Vauxhall! but Rivers was master of all -styles. The following exquisite picture of the joys and sorrows of -modern domestic life presents an example of that happy blending of the -real and the romantic with which the head of Rivers overflowed. The -ballad of “Boreäna” has been kindly communicated by my literary friend -Frank Fairleigh, who knew, loved, and admired Rivers as much as myself. -After pointing out some of the more subtle and mysterious beauties of -this matchless lyric, Fairleigh adds, “and yet after this, A—f—d T—ny—n -had the face to publish that bombastic, trashy ballad of “Oriana,” and -pretend it was original; where does that misguided man expect to go to?” - - -THE BALLAD OF BOREÄNA. - - My brain is wearied with thy prate, - Boreäna, - I sit and curse my hapless fate, - Boreäna, - What time the rain pours down the gutter, - Still your platitudes you utter, - Boreäna, - I unholy wishes mutter, - Boreäna. - - Ere the night-light’s flame was fading, - Boreäna, - While the cats were serenading, - Boreäna, - Sheep were bleating, oxen lowing, - We heard the beasts to Smithfield going, - Boreäna, - You said the butcher’s bill was owing, - Boreäna. - - At Cremorne, we two alone, - Boreäna, - Ere my wisdom teeth were grown, - Boreäna, - While the dancers gaily hopped, - And the brass band never stopped, - Boreäna, - I to thee the question popped, - Boreäna. - - She stood behind the area gate, - Boreäna, - She did it just to aggravate, - Boreäna, - She saw me wink, she heard me swear, - She recognized the scoundrel there, - Boreäna, - She knows a bailiff I can’t bear, - Boreäna. - - The cursed writ he pushed it through, - Boreäna, - The area rails, and gave it you, - Boreäna, - The infernal summons me un-nerved, - He from his duty never swerved, - Boreäna, - On thee, my bride, the writ he served, - Boreäna. - - Oh! narrow-minded County Court, - Boreäna, - ’Tis death to me, to them ’tis sport, - Boreäna, - Oh! stab in my most tender place, - My pocket! oh! the deep disgrace, - Boreäna, - I fell down flat upon my face, - Boreäna. - - They fined me at the next court day, - Boreäna, - Locked up, how can I get away, - Boreäna? - I don’t perceive of hope a ray, - ’Tis a true bill, but, oh! I say, - Boreäna, - How without tin am I to pay, - Boreäna? - - When turns the never-pausing mill, - Boreäna, - I tread, I do not dare stand still, - Boreäna: - At home, of beer thou drink’st thy fill, - I may not come to thee and swill, - Boreäna, - I hear the rolling of the mill, - Boreäna. - - -Chapter II. - -My poor friend had always within him a certain classical fondness -of the ancient style of poetry; none of your vulgar Alcaics and -Sapphics—“These,” he used to remark, “Horace, Tibullus, or any fellow of -that calibre could manage; but the glorious hexameters and pentameters -of Homer, Virgil, and Ovid,—they’re the things, my boy!” His delight in -this species of composition was so great that at school we used to call -him, as a nickname, “Professor Long-and-short-fellow.” It curdles my -blood to think that some obscure person in America, who has latterly been -indulging in dactyllic and spondaic metre, has dared to name himself -partly in imitation of the _sobriquét_ by which we designated our friend. - -Recollecting poor Pellucid’s warm admiration of the hexameter then, I -have made strict search among his papers, on the chance of finding some -classical Latin or Greek poem of his composition, but without success. -At one time a ray of hope darted through me, as I came upon a paper -carefully folded, and docketted, “Notions for a Fight between Hector and -Achilles;” I unfolded it eagerly, but, alas! it was only a fragment, the -words “Arma virumque cano” were legibly inscribed in my friend’s neat -hand, but it was evident that he had either been called away, or that the -Muse had deserted him at the critical moment, as he had left it without -another word. At length I chanced to find the following poem, descriptive -of a picnic at Cliefden and its consequences, in the true classical -verse, but, before submitting it to the world, I must remark that on -the outside cover of the MS. is written, in pencil, and in a hand very -similar to that of Mr. B⸺, the publisher, of F⸺ Street, “Query? Evang’⸺;” -the rest of the word is illegible, and I could never comprehend the -meaning of the comment. - - -PICNIC-ALINE. - - These are the green woods of Cliefden. The glorious oaks and the - chestnuts - All appertain to the Duke, whose residence stands in the distance— - Stands like a toyhouse of childhood, besprinkled all over with windows— - Stands like a pudding at Christmas, a white surface dotted with black - things. - Loud from the neighbouring river, the deep-voiced clamorous bargée - Roars, and in accents opprobrious hollas to have the lock opened. - - These are the green woods of Cliefden. But where are the people who in - them - Laughed like a man when he lists to the breath-catching accents of - Buckstone? - Where are the wondrous white waistcoats, the flimsy baréges and muslins, - Worn by the swells and the ladies who came here on pleasant excursions? - Gone are those light-hearted people, flirtations, perhaps love, even - marriage, - All have had woeful effect since Mrs. Merillian’s picnic; - And of that great merrymaking, some bottles in tinfoil enveloped, - And a glove dropped by Jane Page, are the vestiges only remaining! - - Ye who take pleasure in picnics and doat on excursions aquatic, - Flying the smoke of the city, vexations and troubles of business, - List to a joyous tradition of one which was held once at Cliefden— - List to a tale of cold chicken, champagne, bitter beer, lobster salad! - - Brilliantly burst forth the sun o’er the pleasant meadows of Cliefden, - Bathed in his beautiful light, the daisies and daffydowndillies - Shone like those fanciful gems made by Beverly, at the Lyceum: - Calmly the whole of the morning untrodden, unseen, and unnoticed, - Lay all the valley around; but when from Maidenhead’s steeple - Clashed the four quarters of noon, then come the first batch of the - rev’llers, - Come in a large open boat, broad-bottomed, and decked with tarpaulin, - Which from the sun’s scorching rays formed a needful and pleasant - protection. - Here were seated the belles of the _fête_, Kate and Ellen Merillian, - Fairest of all _demoiselles_ who dwell in Belgravia’s quarters. - With them came Margaret Stewart, their pretty cousin from Scotland, - Marian Vernon, and eke, to give proper tone to the party, - Old Mrs. Blinder, who’s deaf, and so chaperoned most discreetly. - Nor did they lack cavaliers—Jack Wilson, the fast and the funny, - Pride of the Board of Control, delight of his club and his office, - Sat at the stern of the boat, alternately singing and smoking; - There, too, was Captain De Boots, of Her Majesty’s Household Brigade, he - Sat by the side of Miss Vernon, and talked in so earnest a whisper, - That the rest called it “a case,” and begged to have “cake and gloves” - sent them. - Scarce was the party on shore when several ran up to meet them, - Chattering, laughing young girls, and matrons more serious and sober, - Men from the City, resplendent in whiskers and large-patterned trousers— - Men from the West, who relied on their manners much more than their - costume— - Marvellous were the shirt-collars encircling the necks of the young ones, - Seemed it as though they were made of a cross between buckram and - mill-board; - Marvellous, too, was their conduct, a mixture of insult and folly, - Gods! how absurd were their airs, how silly, insane, and precocious. - - Now began frolic and mirth, pleasant pastimes and games in which all - joined, - And where e’en fathers and mothers partook of the fun with their - children, - “Hunting the Slipper,” (“by Jove! what fun can be had at that same, - sir!”) - “How, when, and where!” “Prisoner’s Base!” but not until dinner was - over - Played they at Blindman’s Buff, the climax of riot and revel. - Gathering their dresses close round them, the ladies sat down on the - herbage, - Laughing at every speech, and screaming at popping champagne corks, - While their attentive gallants were constantly hovering near them, - Handing the wings of cold fowls and trembling blancmanges and jellies. - - More can I not write at present. I’ve striven to laugh on this subject, - But ’neath my placid external beats sadly a heart crushed and blighted! - Shall I confess to ye the reason? Know then, that at this said picnic, - Fired by the fumes of champagne and strong deleterious potions, - Placed I my fortune and hand at the feet of Emily Robins! - Know then, that losing my balance I sprawled on the greensward before - her, - And, ere the evening was o’er, got outrageously thrashed by her brother! - -_Note by the Editor._—In transcribing this poem from my friend’s MS., -I feel it my duty to state that his touching description of his love -was not without foundation. The “knock-down blow” he received did not -entirely floor him; he sought to see the lady again, and, on being -repulsed, commenced a very pretty little poem, beginning— - - “When he who adores thee has left but the name - Of his faults and his follies behind.” - -Here he stopped, which, I think, was a pity, as he evidently possessed -the feeling and talents essential to an amatory poet. - -[Illustration: PELLUCID RIVERS.—p. 105.] - - -Chapter III. - -It is a melancholy pleasure to me to wander among these vestiges of the -departed great man; to trace his various thoughts from his earliest -infancy to the time when death robbed the world of what should have been -its brightest ornament, and left to it merely the paste and tinsel, the -gewgaw and tomfoolery of literature. - -Of his father he has left many records. This person, upon whom the honour -of being Pellucid’s progenitor devolved, appears to have been a worthy -undertaker; an unprofitable one, however, for he never _undertook_ -anything well, nor carried it out successfully. Nevertheless, his -failings or shortcomings in life, served but to increase the love his -son bore him, and which is manifested in many poetical scraps, evidently -written in early life, one of which, commencing— - - “My father, my dear father, if a name - Dearer and holier were, it should be thine,” - -is worthy of comparison with anything of Byron’s; it is, however, too -long for extract. To his schooldays also, I find many pleasing allusions -scattered through his manuscripts. In a letter to his sister (which, from -family reasons, I am precluded from publishing) he draws a wonderful -sketch of his pedagogue, whom he describes as being a man severe and -stern to view, but who often relaxed to a joke with his scholars, and was -the best hand at argument in the village, using words of such learned -length and wondrous sound, that the amazed rustics stood gaping at his -knowledge. His “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Islington Free-school,” is -also full of pleasing reminiscences of his younger days. - -Late in life Rivers began to take a great interest in theatrical matters, -and I find among his MSS. the following poem, evidently written shortly -before his decease. One curious fact connected with these verses is, -that as executor of poor Pellucid, I am at present at loggerheads with -one Mr. McAuley, a Scotch gentleman, who, absurdly enough, claims their -authorship:— - - -GUSTAVUS. - -A LAY OF DRURY LANE. - - Great Smithius of Drury Lane, - By cape and truncheon swore - That Bold Gustavus Brookius - Should _perdu_ lie no more. - By staff and cape he swore it, - And named his opening night, - And sent his messengers abroad, - Each with a pile of orders stored, - To summon all they might. - - East and west, and south and north, - The messengers repair; - Some hie them to the Regal Oak, - Some to the Arms of Eyre. - Shame on the false theatrical - Who would refuse to come, - When bold Gustavus Brookius - Enters the “Drama’s Home!” - - The gallery-boys and pittites - Are pouring in amain, - And struggling in a turbid mass, - The theatre doors they gain. - From many a noisome alley, - From many a crowded court, - Great G. V. B.’s supporters - Have hastened to the sport. - - From Kingsland’s leafy quarters, - From Camden’s noble town, - From where Belgravia’s daughters - On humble men look down; - From Islington the merry, - From Kensington the slow, - To meet the great Gustavus - The many-headed go. - - The patrons of the Surrey, - Who e’er in shirt-sleeves sit, - While the refreshing foaming stout - Is handed round the pit, - Yield up their old allegiance, - And join the swelling train, - Crossing the Bridge of Waterloo, - To meet at Drury Lane. - - Ho! fiddlers, scrape your catgut! - Ho! drummers, use your strength! - _HE_ comes, whose name on every wall - Measures six feet in length! - Who, though perchance he cannot - With Shakespeare move your souls, - Will gain your heartiest plaudits - By gifts of soup and coals! - - Come, Phelps, come crouch unto him; - Come, Kean, and do the same; - You, famous by your own good deeds, - You by your father’s name! - Crouch to the great Gustavus, - Who has become the rage, - And proved himself, by feats of alms, - King of the British stage. - - -Chapter IV. - -“_Poeta nascitur non fit_,” is a trite but wise aphorism. Few men have -selected such varied subjects as my friend Rivers, and few have dealt -with their choice so successfully. Unlike your modern writers, who put on -one suit of similes and wear it threadbare (such as Alessandro Smiffini, -for instance, who is never tired of gazing at the moon or dipping in -the sea), Pellucid’s kindly nature immortalises even the most trivial -occurrences of his life. The following extract from his works will show -what I mean. Unblessed with riches, he had incurred a small bill at a -_restaurant_, in the neighbourhood of his lodgings, and one night the -proprietor of the hostelry effected an entrance into his apartment, and -refused to quit until the claim was settled. This circumstance, which -would have discomposed a less happy mind, gave him the idea for a set of -verses, which he named “The Tankard,” and which he calls, “A Domestic -Scene turned into Poetry.” Again, on this manuscript is a pencilled query -(in the same writing to which I have before alluded), “Does he mean Edgar -Poe—try?” I confess this joke is beyond my poor powers of brain. Perhaps -my readers will be able to interpret it, when they read the verses, which -run thus:— - - -THE TANKARD. - - Sitting in my lonely chamber, in this dreary, dark December, - Gazing on the whitening ashes of my fastly-fading fire, - Pond’ring o’er my misspent chances with that grief which time enhances— - Misdirected application, wanting aims and objects higher,— - Aims to which I should aspire. - - As I sat thus wond’ring, thinking, fancy unto fancy linking, - In the half-expiring embers many a scene and form I traced— - Many a by-gone scene of gladness, yielding now but care and sadness,— - Many a form once fondly cherished, now by misery’s hand effaced,— - Forms which Venus’ self had graced. - - Suddenly, my system shocking, at my door there came a knocking, - Loud and furious,—such a rat-tat never had I heard before; - Through the keyhole I stood peeping, heart into my mouth up-leaping, - Till at length, my teeth unclenching, faintly said I, “What a bore!” - Gently, calmly, teeth unclenching, faintly said I, “What a bore!” - Said the echo, “Pay your score!” - - At this solemn warning trembling, some short time I stood dissembling, - Till again the iron knocker beat its summons ’gainst the door, - Then, the oak wide open throwing, stood I on the threshold bowing— - Bows such as, save motley tumbler, mortal never bowed before,— - Bows which even Mr. Flexmore never yet had tried before: - Said the echo, “Pay your score!” - - Grasping then the light, upstanding, looked I round the dreary landing, - Looked at every wall, the ceiling, looked upon the very floor, - Nought I saw there but a Tankard, from the which that night I’d drank - hard,— - Drank as drank our good forefathers in the merry days of yore,— - In the corner stood the Tankard, where it oft had stood before,— - Stood and muttered, “Pay your score!” - - Much I marvelled at this pewter, surely ne’er in past or future - Has been, will be, such a wonder, such a Tankard learned in lore! - Gazing at it more intensely, stared I more and more immensely - When it added, “Come, old boy, you’ve many a promise made before,— - False they were as John O’Connell’s, who would ‘die upon the floor!’ - Now for once—come, pay your score!” - - From my placid temper starting, and upon the Tankard darting, - With one furious hurl I flung it down before the porter’s door; - But as I my oak was locking, heard I then the self-same knocking, - And on looking out I saw the Tankard sitting as before,— - Sitting, squatting in the self-same corner as it sat before,— - Sitting, crying “Pay your score!” - - And the Tankard, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, - In the very self-same corner where it sat in days of yore: - And its pewter still is shining, and it bears the frothy lining, - Which the night when first I drained its cooling beverage it bore, - But my mouth that frothy lining never, never tasted more, - Since it muttered, “Pay your score!” - -I have concluded my extracts; the remaining poems are principally of a -private and personal nature, which renders them unfitted for publication. - -After a perusal of his verses there will, I trust, be very few persons -who will not at once appreciate the powers of my lamented friend, and -grieve over the illiberal treatment he experienced. Should I find that -tardy justice is done to his productions, and that they meet with that -posthumous popularity which is undoubtedly their due, the effort which I -have made to bring him into notice, and to shake the _dii majores_ of the -literary world on their unstable thrones, will not have been unrewarded. - - Edmund H. Yates. - - LONDON: - SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET - COVENT GARDEN. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRTH AND METRE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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