Skip to main content

Full text of "Miscellanies: prose and verse"

See other formats 


/  V  / 


m 


'O.  ^<7' 


it-i 


^«S^^.'« 


~"^  h^low 


"f^^^- 


0.^ 


MISCELLANIES. 
Iprose  anD  Derse, 


VOLUME  I. 


BALLANTYNE,    HANSON    AND  CU 
tDINbUKGH   AND   LONDON 


MISCELLANIES: 


prose  anb  IDcrse. 


BY 


WILLIAM    MAGINN. 


EDITED    BY 


R.   W.    MONTAGU. 


TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


LONDON: 

SAMPSON  LOW,  MARSTON,  SEARLE,  &  RIVINGTON. 

CROWN  BUILDINGS,  i88  FLEET  STREET,  E.G. 

i88s 

[All  righls  reserved.  ] 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  I. 


H 


ri 


(^ 


i 


SOME   ACCOUNT   OF   THE   LIFE  AND   WRITINGS  OF   ENSIGN  AND 

ADJUTANT   ODOHERTY,    LATE   OF   THE  99TH   REGIMENT 
CHRISTABEL 
BILLY   ROUTING  . 
JOHN    GILPIN   AND   MAZEPPA 


SONG 


HIS   RETURN 


ODE   TO   MRS.    FLANAGAN     . 

ODE  TO   MARSHAL   GROUCHY   ON 

EXTRACTS   FROM   A   LOST   (AND   FOUND)   MEMORANDUM-BOOK 

FAMILIAR   LETTER   FROM    THE   ADJUTANT 

THE  MAN    IN   THE  BELL 

THE   EMBALMER  

SONG    IN    PRAISE   OF   WASTLE   AND   NORTH 

SONG . 

SPECIMENS   OF  A   FREE   AND    EASY   TRANSLATION 

INISHOWEN 

A   TWIST-IMONY   IN    FAVOUR   OF   GIN-TWIST 

ODOHERTY   ON    WERNER       

POCOCURANTE       

THE   LAST   WORDS   OF   CHARLES   EDWARDS,    K^<J. 

CHEVY   CHASE        

THE   PEWTER   QUART  

THE   NIGHT-WALKER  

"BACK    AND    SIDE  GO    BARE,    GO    BARE"      . 
VOL.    I. 


PAGE 

I 

80 

8g 

92 

103 

105 
108 
III 
128 
144 

'51 
163 
166 
167 

175 
176 
184 
203 

215 
260 

275 
291 

300 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


THERE  S   NOT   A  JOY   THAT   LIFE   CAN    GIVE 
FAREWELL,    FAREWELL,    BEGGARLY   SCOTLAND 

ON    IRISH   SONGS 

ON    ENGLISH   SONGS 

TWENTY-ONE   MAXIMS   TO   MARRY   BV 

A   DOZEN   YEARS   HENCE       .... 

BERANGER'S   "MONSIEUR  JUDAS  "  VERSIFIED 

AN    HUNDRED   YEARS   HENCE 

VIDOCQ'S    SLANG   SONG   VERSIFIED 

A    STORY   WITHOUT   A   TAIL 


PAGE 

306 
330 

343 
347 
349 
352 
357 


M  E  M  O  I  R. 


William  Maginn,  the  subject  of  the  present  memoir,  was 
born  in  Marlborough  Street,  in  the  city  of  Cork,  on  the  loth 
of  July  1793.  His  father,  who  for  many  years  conducted 
the  most  respectable  academy  in  the  city,  gave  him  the 
benefit  of  careful  training ;  and  so  rapid  was  the  boy's 
progress  in  study  that  he  was  suiificiently  advanced  in  learn- 
ing at  the  singularly  early  age  of  ten  years  to  enter  Trinity 
College,  Dublin,  where  he  fortunately  came  under  the  per- 
sonal care  of  the  Right  Rev.  Dr.  Kyle,  who,  not  slow  to 
recognise  premonitions  of  genius,  soon  conceived  a  warm 
regard  for  his  young  pupil.  Maginn  secured  the  enviable 
position  of  favourite  of  the  class  ;  and  it  is  gratifying  to 
record  that  the  relations  of  esteem  thus  established  were 
not  dissolved  by  time ;  Doctor  Kyle,  who  was  subsequently 
raised  to  the  See  of  Cork,  continuing  to  be  to  his  old  pupil 
"  a  wise,  firm,  and  judicious  friend." 

Upon  completing  his  College  course  Maginn  returned 
to  Cork,  and  assumed  the  post  of  classical  teacher  in  the 
paternal  school,  which  he  conducted  himself  after  his  father's 
death  in  18 13.  This  assumption  of  scholastic  responsibility 
was  regarded  by  his  associates  as  radically  inconsistent  with 
his  rollicking  and  wit-squandering  character.  The  future 
had  evidently  been  adumbrated  in  youth.  However,  the 
course  of  events  was  even ;  and  in  18 16,  when  he  was  only 
twenty  three  years  old,  he  took  the  degree  of  LL.D.     The 


viii  MEMOIR. 

repute  of  his  scholarship  had  spread  far  and  wide,  and  pupils 
were  attracted  to  him  thereby,  in  spite  of  the  absence  of 
what  one  of  his  generous  biographers  periphrastically  refers 
to  as  "  those  qualities  which  are  usually  supposed  to  be  the 
distinguishing  attributes  of  a  schoolmaster."  It  is  only  too 
evident  that  the  claims  of  pedagogy  did  not  consist  well 
with  the  temperament  of  one  like  Maginn  ;  and  although, 
his  assumption  of  the  ferule  was  attended  by  success,  it  is 
not  surprising  to  learn  that  he  looked  around  him  for  more 
congenial  employment.  Yet  to  his  credit  be  it  recorded 
that  he  stuck  to  the  school  for  ten  years,  the  responsibility 
of  maintaining  the  family  circle  having  devolved  upon  him 
since  the  death  of  his  father. 

His  pen,  it  may  well  be  assumed,  was  not  without  em- 
ployment on  local  topics  so  provoking  to  the  satiric  mind  ; 
but  the  Literary  Gazette  was  the  first  periodical  out  of 
Ireland  to  which  Maginn  contributed.  A  few  of  these 
early  efforts  are  included  in  this  collection.  Blackwood's 
Magazine,  however,  provided  him  with  the  medium  exactly 
suited  for  the  display  of  the  various  powers  of  "The  Doctor  " 
in  (as  Lockhart  noted)  essay,  disquisition,  review,  romance, 
ballad,  squib,  pasquinade,  and  epigram ;  in  Greek,  Hebrew, 
Latin,  Irish,  Italian,  English,  and  Slang. 

The  story  of  his  connection  with  Maga  is  strongly 
marked  with  the  impress  of  his  peculiar  mind,  always  and 
everywhere  resolved  to  war  with  the  conventional.  This 
was  the  way  in  which  Maginn  first  introduced  himself  per- 
sonally to  William  Blackwood  in  May  1820  : 

"  I  called  at  the  shop  in  Princes  Street,  and  just  as  I  was 
going  in,  I  recollected  that  poor  Dovvden  and  Jennings,  and  one 
or  two  more  in  whose  names  I  had  written  squibs  for  the 
magazine,  were  after  writing  very  wicked  notes  to  Blackwood 
demanding  the  author's  address  ;  so  I  had  a  clear  stage  for 
some  sport.  I  asked  if  Mr.  Blackwood  could  be  seen,  and  was 
introduced  to  his  private  office.     I  made  a  rather  formal  bow, 


MEMOIR.  ix 

and,  giving  him  a'touch  of  the  Cork  brogue,  said,  '  Ye'r  Misther 
Blackwood,  I  presume,  sir?'  'Yes,  sir,'  was  the  answer,  'at 
your  service.'  'Be  Gor,  sir,'  said  I,  'if  you  were  only  at  my 
service  a  week  ago,  you'd  have  saved  me  a  journey  ;  but,  be 
my  conscience,  as  I'm  here  I'm  very  glad  entirely  that  you  are 
at  my  service  at  last.'  '  Pray,  sir,  may  I  ask,'  he  said,  '  what 
I  can  do  to  oblige  you,  or  how  have  I  displeased  you  ?  Our 
establishment  is  very  punctual  in  replying  to  all  letters.'  'Sir, 
sir,  listen  to  me  now,'  I  said  ;  '  there's  some  rascal  in  Cork — 
you  know  Cork,  don't  you  ? — Well,  there's  some  blackguard 
there  after  making  use  of  my  name  in  your  old  thrump  of  a 
magazine ;  and  I  must  know  who  he  is.'  '  Oh,  sir  !  '  said 
Blackwood,  '  I  deny  your  right  to  ask  any  such  questions,  and 
those  requests  cannot  be  granted  without  delay  and  conside- 
ration.' 'Consideration  indeed!'  I  cried.  'Aren't  you  after 
writen  to  one  Scott  there  ! '  'I  really  cannot  answer  you,  sir.' 
'May  be  it's  going  to  deny  what  you  wrote  you  are.  May  be 
you'll  deny  this,  and  this,  and  this,'  said  I,  throwing  a  bundle  of 
his  letters  on  the  table  before  him.  '  May  be  you'll  say  they're 
not  to  the  man  that  writes  for  you  ;  and  may  be  you'll  say  that 
I'm  not  the  man  himself.' " 

This  interview,  though  conducted  by  Maginn  on  the 
basis  of  what  he  called  fair  quizzification,  was  not  distaste- 
ful to  the  sagacious  Blackwood,  whose  guest  he  became  for 
six  weeks,  during  which  he  luxuriated  in  the  society  of 
Wilson,  Lockhart,  Gillies,  Hamilton,  and  others  of  literary 
note  in  Edinburgh.  Indeed,  it  is  recorded  that  the  publisher 
was  "  delighted  with  his  wild  Irish  assistant ;  "  or,  as  another 
hand  figuratively  deposes,  they  were  at  once  "up  to  the 
elbows  in  friendship."  Maginn's  social  qualities — his  con- 
stitutional gaiety,  his  convivial  pleasantry,  and  the  ceaseless 
flow  of  his  conversation,  at  once  learned,  witty,  and  wise — 
were  such  as  could  not  fail  to  render  him  a  favourite  in 
circles  of  culture.  Let  us  look  at  the  picture  drawn  of  him 
about  this  period  : 

"All  were  standing,  all  were  listening  to  some  one  who  sat 
in  the  middle  of  a  group.     A  low-seated  man,  short  in  stature. 


X  MEMOIR. 

was  uttering  pleasantries  and  scattering  witticisms  about  him 
with  the  careless  glee  of  his  country.  His  articulation  was 
impeded  by  a  stutter,  yet  the  sentences  he  stammered  forth 
were  brilliant  repartees  uttered  without  sharpness,  and  edged 
rather  with  humour  than  with  satire.  His  countenance  was 
rather  agreeable  than  striking  ;  its  expression  sweet  rather  than 
bright.  The  grey  hair,  coming  straight  over  his  forehead,  gave 
a  singular  appearance  to  a  face  still  bearing  the  attributes  of 
vouth.  He  was  thirty  or  thereabouts  ;  but  his  thoughtful  brow, 
his  hair,  and  the  paleness  of  his  complexion  gave  him  many  of 
the  attributes  of  age.  His  conversation  was  careless  and  off- 
hand, and,  but  for  the  impediment  of  speech,  would  have  had 
the  charm  of  a  rich  comedy.  His  choice  of  words  was  such  as 
I  have  rarely  met  with  m  any  of  my  contemporaries." 

In  1S23  he  married  a  lady  of  the  name  of  CuUen ;  and 
soon  after,  whether  because  the  revenue  derived  from  the 
school  was  not  adequate  for  the  support  of  a  wife  and  a 
prospective  family,  or  whether  his  appetite  for  social  life  on 
a  somewhat  wider  scale  than  that  provided  by  his  native 
city  had  been  inflamed  by  his  recent  visit  to  Edinburgh,  he 
resolved  to  give  up  the  school  and  to  devote  himself  to 
literature,  and  solicited  the  favour  of  his  friends  both  in 
Edinburgh  and  in  London  to  procure  for  him  some  per- 
manent employment.  John  Bull  had  been  started  at 
the  close  of  1820.  As  this  was  only  a  weekly  (Saturday) 
paper,  Theodore  Hook,  proficient  in  the  arts  of  political 
warfare,  was  anxious  to  have  a  journal  published  on 
Wednesday,  for  the  due  reinforcement  of  the  arguments  of 
Saturday.  Accordingly  some  half-dozen  newspapers  then 
in  the  market  were  purchased  for  the  sum  of  three  hundred 
guineas,  and  upon  their  ruins  was  erected  the  new  property, 
which  was  intrusted  to  the  direction  of  Maginn.  To  John 
Bull  it  has  been  positively  asserted  that  Maginn  contri- 
buted only  one  article,  in  spite  of  the  current  tradition  that 
he  was  Hook's  vigorous  coadjutor.  Anyhow,  the  new  ven- 
ture was  abandoned  after  a  few  months  at  a  heavy  loss. 
Such  also  was  the  fate  of  the  London  Literary  Journal,  a 


MEMOIR.  xi 

review  upon  the  plan  of  Jerdan's  Literary  Gazette^  set  up 
also  at  the  instigation  of  Hook,  with  which  Maginn  was 
associated.  The  highest  tribute  to  his  powers,  however, 
was  the  fact  that,  immediately  upon  receipt  of  intelligence 
of  the  noble  poet's  death,  John  Murray  selected  Maginn  for 
the  task  of  bringing  out  the  memoirs,  journals,  and  letters 
of  Lord  Byron.  Here  was  an  enterprise  worthy  of  Maginn  ; 
all  the  materials  were  put  into  his  hands  ;  but  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  autobiography  occasioned  such  a  gap  that  it  was 
not  then  deemed  advisable  to  proceed  with  the  work  ;  and, 
as  we  know,  it  was  finally  intrusted  to  Moore.  About  this 
time  Maginn's  pen  found  exercise  in  the  pages  of  the 
Quarterly  Review. 

The  establishment  of  the  Representative.!  that  effort  in 
the  shape  of  a  daily  newspaper  which  involved  the  spirited 
magnate  of  Albemarle  Street  in  the  loss  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds  in  the  short  space  of  six  months,  enlisted  Maginn  as 
Paris  correspondent ;  and  in  this  connection  it  may  be  noted 
that  his  faihngs  had  evidently  begun  to  manifest  themselves  ; 
for  in  a  letter  of  Lockhart's  addressed  to  Wilson  on  23d 
December  1825  occurs  this  ominous  passage:  "Maginn 
IS  off  for  Paris,  where  I  hope  he  will  behave  himself.  He 
has  an  opportunity  of  retrieving  much  if  he  will  use  it." 
That  with  his  facility  of  composition  he  availed  himself  of 
the  columns  of  the  Age  and  of  the  True  Sun,  by  way  of 
eking  out  his  income,  is  only  too  probable.  His  pen  could, 
if  only  he  would  apply  himself,  produce  excellent  work  off- 
hand. The  letterpress  to  the  "  Gallery  of  Illustrious  Char- 
acters," with  which  was  connected  the  pictorial  skill  of  his 
fellow-townsman,  Daniel  Maclise,  was  hit  off,  we  know,  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes.  But 
steady  devotion  to  business  evidently  was  not  to  be  expected 
of  Maginn.  The  square  peg  cannot  be  adjusted  to  the 
round  hole,  lament  the  matter  as  we  may. 

Ultra-Tory  as   he  was,  upon  the  foundation  in   1828  of 


xii  MEMOIR. 

the  Standard  newspaper,  under  the  able  editorship  of  Dr. 
Stanley  Lees  Gift'ard,  father  of  Lord  Chancellor  Halsbury 
of  our  own  day,  Maginn  obtained  the  post  of  junior  editor. 
"  Whitehall,  or  the  Days  of  George  IV.,"  was  the  title  of  a 
novel  published  by  him  anonymously  about  this  time,  in 
which  all  the  leading  personages  of  the  period,  ranging  from 
the  King  down  to  Jack  Ketch,  were  sketched  with  an  un- 
restrained freedom  of  wit  and  humour ;  its  special  purpose 
being  the  satire  of  Horace  Smith  and  his  novel  of  "  Bram- 
bletye  House."  The  annuals  of  those  days  were  costly 
publications,  enriched  with  beautiful  steel  plates,  to  which 
men  of  the  first  literary  eminence  were  in  the  habit  of  con- 
tributing. As  representative  of  Maginn's  style  in  this  sphere, 
in  which  he  had  to  accommodate  himself  to  delicacy  of 
taste,  we  give  "  A  Vision  of  Purgatory  "  from  "  The  Literary 
Souvenir."  This,  we  may  add,  was  designed  as  a  specimen 
of  "  Tales  of  the  Talmud,"  which,  though  repeatedly  an- 
nounced as  nearly  ready,  never  emerged  from  the  realm  of 
projects  into  the  light  of  day. 

Hitherto  Maginn  had  not  foltered  in  his  allegiance  to 
Blackwood.  The  "  Noctes,"  we  may  remark  in  passing,  were 
his  suggestion ;  and  his  contributions  thereto,  including 
the  famous  Greek  motto  with  its  intensely  free  translation, 
were  numerous.  Several  of  the  brightest  of  the  songs 
embedded  in  the  rich  prose  were  his  ;  and  it  has  been  re- 
corded on  weighty  authority  that  the  whole  of  No.  4  of  the 
series,  in  which  Byron  and  Odoherty  at  Pisa  are  the  only 
speakers,  was  written  by  Maginn. 

A  difference  seems  to  have  arisen  about  this  time  between 
Blackwood  and  the  Doctor;  and  this  estrangement,  syn- 
chronising with  the  introduction  of  the  latter  to  the  familiar 
friendship  of  Hugh  Fraser,*  a   typical   Bohemian   of  the 

*  An  incident  at  the  funeral  of  his  friend  (in  1841)  is  recorded  as  an 
instance  of  exception  to  Maginn's  generally  unromantic  character.  The 
obsequies  took  place  at  Bunhill  Fields,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the 


MEMOIR.  xiiL 

period,  led  to  the  founding  of  Frasers  Magazine.  The 
prehminary  steps  were  characteristic  of  the  two  associates. 
Having  looked  up  their  papers,  and  put  some  of  them  into 
their  pockets,  they  strolled  through  Regent  Street  in  search 
of  a  publisher.  Arriving  at  number  215,  Maginn  exclaimed  : 
"Here's  a  namesake  of  yours,  Fraser  ;  let's  try  him."  They 
entered  the  shop  and  submitted  the  proposal,  which  was  at 
once  adopted;  and  in  February  1830,  in  pursuance  of  the 
agreement  thus  made,  appeared  the  first  number  of  Fraser" s 
Magazine  for  Town  and  Country :  the  title  "  Fraser  "  being 
derived,  not  from  the  publisher,  but  from  the  projector  ; 
the  former  of  whom,  by  way  of  resenting  this  baptismal 
distinction,  would  allow  no  one  in  his  employment  to  refer 
to  it  otherwise  than  as  "The  Town  and  Country,"  under 
which  appellation  he  further  took  care  that  it  should  be 
referred  to  in  all  his  business  communications  and  books. 
Maclise's  cartoon  of  the  Fraserians  is  a  pictorial  record  of 
the  proud  position  soon  attained  by  "  Regina  ;  "  and  the 
early  volumes  attest  the  inexhaustible  variety  of  its  literary 
excellence  ;  not  the  least  attractive  feature  being  the 
"  Gallery  of  Illustrious  Literary  Characters,"  pages  of  spicy 
text  from  the  ever-ready  pen  of  Maginn,  illuminated  by 
admirable  portraits  from  the  cunning  hand  of  Maclise.  As 
exemplifying  the  range  and  the  depth  of  the  learning  which 
his  native  vigour  of  mind  never  suftered  to  become  oppres- 
sive to  its  owner,  the  articles  upon  Farmer's  essay  "  On  the 

ceremony  the  Doctor  bade  the  gravedijrger  show  him  the  tomb  of 
Bunyan.  The  gravedigger  led  the  way,  and  was  followed  by  Maginn, 
who  appeared  particularly  thoughtful.  As  they  approached  the  spot, 
he  turned  to  the  person  who  accompanied  him,  and,  tapping  him  on 
the  shoulder,  said  "  Tread  lightly."  Bending  over  the  grave  for  some 
lime  in  melancholy  mood,  while  the  bright  sunshine  poured  around  him, 
he  seemed  unconscious  of  any  one's  presence.  At  length  he  recovered 
from  the  fit  of  pensive  absorption,  and,  turning  away  from  the  scene, 
exclaimed  in  deep  and  solemn  tones :  "  Sleep  on,  thou  Prince  of 
Dreamers." 


xiv  MEMOIR. 

Learning  of  Shakespeare,"  together  with  the  study  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  are  included  in  this  collection.  They  show  what 
he  might  easily  have  achieved  in  the  shape  of  serious  work, 
could  he  only  have  schooled  himself  to  the  requisite  appli- 
cation. But  sustained  effort  was  against  the  grain.  Only 
by  fits  and  starts  it  was  that  he  could  work,  the  ardour  of 
composition  under  difficulties  having  an  irresistible  fascina- 
tion for  his  radically  discursive  intellect. 

No  better  illustration  could  be  given  of  this  defect  or 
peculiarity  than  that  supplied  by  the  review  of  "  Berkeley 
Castle."  It  happened  that  the  book  was  sent  in  towards 
the  end  of  the  month  ;  matter  was  wanted  to  fill  up  some 
pages  of  the  next  number  of  the  magazine  ;  the  author,  if 
not  a  Radical,  certainly  was  a  Whig.  What  an  auspicious 
conjunction  of  circumstances  !  Maginn  was  in  his  element. 
He  set  to  work  at  once,  under  the  inspiration  of  adverse 
surroundings,  with  the  double  purpose  of  vexing  the  pub- 
lisher and  of  smashing  the  author  of  the  novel ;  the  result 
being  the  famous  review  which  brought  down  upon  the 
luckless  Fraser  the  terrible  ire  of  Grantley  Berkeley.  Pro- 
ceeding to  Eraser's  shop  in  Regent  Street  in  the  company 
of  his  brother,  whom  he  left  to  guard  the  door  by  way  of 
providing  against  interruption,  Grantley  Berkeley  belaboured 
the  publisher  most  unmercifully  about  the  head  and  neck 
with  a  heavy  riding-whip,  while  Craven  Berkeley  urged  him 
on  to  prolongation  of  the  murderous  assault  with  encouraging 
cries  of  "  Give  it  him,  Grantley  ;  give  it  him  well."  The 
details  of  this  outrage,  perpetrated  by  a  powerful  man  upon 
one  who,  besides  being  physically  inferior  to  his  assailant, 
was  at  the  time  in  a  delicate  condition  of  health,  are  shocking 
to  read ;  yet  the  action  brought  in  the  Court  of  Excliequer 
to  recover  damages  resulted  in  the  award  of  only  one 
hundred  pounds,  the  jury  being  apparently  influenced  by 
the  very  remarkable  defence  set  up  by  Mr.  Thesiger  (after- 
wards Lord  Chelmsford)  "  that  his  client  could  not  be  called 


MEMOIR.  XV 


upon  to  measure  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  blows  he 


gave. 


Maginn's  part  in  the  matter  has  now  to  be  narrated. 
Upon  hearing  of  the  assault  on  his  publisher,  he  lost  no 
time  in  avowing  the  authorship  of  the  offensive  review,  and 
in  intimating,  in  accordance  with  the  usage  of  the  period, 
that  his  friend  Mr.  Hugh  Fraser  was  prepared  to  receive  a 
message.  A  hostile  meeting  was  arranged ;  the  combatants 
met  in  a  field  in  the  Barnet  Road  ■  and  three  shots  were 
exchanged,  at  the  last  fire  Maginn's  bullet  grazing  the 
collar  of  his  adversary's  coat,  and  the  bullet  of  the  latter 
striking  the  ground  beside  Maginn's  boot.  Upon  this 
third  ineffectual  exchange  of  shots,  the  account  runs,  the 
seconds  interfered,  and  the  parties,  bowing  to  each  other, 
left  the  ground  without  explanation. 

With  the  reputation  thus  earned,  it  is  not  surprising  to 
find  that  all  the  slashing  papers  in  Fraser  were  attributed 
to  him.  In  the  number  for  April  1837  appeared  a  severe 
criticism  upon  a  drama  entitled  "  The  Student  of  Padua,'' 
which  provoked  in  the  columns  of  the  Metropolitan  Con- 
servative Journal  the  grossest  abuse  of  Maginn,  who,  besides 
being  branded  as  a  coward  (which  he  assuredly  had  proved 
himself  not  to  be),  was  denounced  as  "a  slanderer, 
a  backbiter,  and  a  dastardly  calumniator  by  profession." 
Maginn,  however,  was  not  the  author  of  the  critique;  and 
an  action  for  libel  against  the  printer  of  the  journal  (in 
which  Sergeant  Talfourd  was  for  the  plaintiff,  and  Mr. 
Thesiger — who  was  gracious  enough  to  admit  that,  however 
degraded  a  man  might  be,  he  had  a  right  to  seek  compen- 
sation for  any  libel  upon  him — for  the  defendant)  secured 
damages  to  the  extent  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  with 
costs.  The  Exafniner's  brief  report  of  the  case  exhausts 
comment  in  the  heading  "Pot  v.  Kettle." 

Of  the  "  Homeric  Ballads,"  in  which  the  solidity  of 
Maginn's  scholarship  (especially  in  the  notes)  is  to  be  found 


xvi  MEMOIR. 

in  close  union  with  the  vigorous  vivacity  of  his  common 
sense,  the  late  Professor  Conington  observed  that  the  author 
"  may  be  esteemed  the  first  who  consciously  realised  to 
himself  the  truth  that  Greek  ballads  can  be  really  repre- 
sented in  English  only  by  a  similar  measure.  This  is  his 
great  praise,  and  will  continue  after  the  success  of  his  execu- 
tion shall  have  been  ratified  by  other  workmen  in  the  same 
field."  Mr.  Gladstone  bears  testimony  to  "  their  admirably 
turned  Homeric  tone ;  "  and  that  most  exacting  of  critics, 
Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  is  pleased  to  speak  of  them  as  "genuine 
poems  in  their  own  way."  A  complete  version  of  the  "  Iliad  " 
and  the  "Odyssey"  was  said  to  have  been  contemplated. 
Indeed,  he  has  himself  recorded  that  he  had  made  con- 
siderable progress  with  such  a  translation ;  but,  as  usual, 
we  learn  no  more  about  it.  The  man  who  seldom  wrote 
except  in  company  and  generally  in  the  midst  of  tumult, 
who  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  would  relieve  the  strain  of 
thought  by  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  telling  a 
humorous  story,  and  who  then  would  suddenly  break  off 
in  his  talk  and  resume  his  pen,  could  not  possibly  con- 
centrate his  powers  for  the  production  of  steadily  continuous 
work. 

As  might  have  been  anticipated,  Maginn's  intemperate 
habits  had  by  this  time  dissolved  several  literary  engage- 
ments ;  and  his  life  may  be  said  to  have  been  weighed 
down  with  grief  and  care,  no  small  portion  of  it,  in  fact,  being 
passed  either  in  imprisonment  for  debt,  or  in  concealment 
in  obscure  retreats  from  the  sheriff's  officer.  Captain 
Shandon  in  "  Pendennis "  is  a  memorable  sketch  of  the 
Doctor ;  and  let  us  not  omit  to  record  the  fact  that 
Thackeray,  with  characteristic  generosity,  came  to  the  relief 
of  the  distressed  scholar.  "  He  lent,"  says  James  Hannay, 
"or  in  plainer  English  gave,  five  hundred  pounds  to  poor 
old  Maginn  when  he  was  beaten  in  the  battle  of  life,  and, 
like  other  beaten  soldiers,  made  a  prisoner  in  the  Fleet." 


MEMOIR.  xvii 

Of  the  systematic  imprudence  which  had  served,  in  con- 
junction with  his  devotion  to  the  bottle,  to  conduct  him  to 
so  pitiable  an  end,  we  have  a  singular  illustration  in  the  follow- 
ing anecdote.     A  friend  at  his  table  was  complimenting  him 
on  the  fine  flavour  of  the  wine,  and  begged  to  be  informed  of 
the  merchant's  name.     "  Oh,  I  get  it  from  a  house  close  by, 
just  as  I  happen  to  want  it,"  replied  the  host;  "the  London 
Tavern."      "Indeed!"   exclaimed   the  other;    "a  capital 
cellar   unquestionably.      But    have  you  not  to  pay  rather 
an  extravagant  price  for   it?"      "I  don't  know — I  don't 
know,"  returned  the  Doctor.     "  I  believe  they  put  down 
something  in  a  book."     Beyond  that  little  affair  of  book- 
keeping Maginn's  interest  in  his  connection  with  the  London 
Tavern  did  not  extend.     His  witty  sallies,  too,  it  must  be 
remembered,  could  not  fail  to  alienate  the  regard  of  powerful 
patrons.     His  humiliation  of  Croker  is  an  intensely  neat 
example  of  the  way  in  which  he  could,  when  so  minded, 
abate  and  dissolve  pomposity.     At  a  dinner-party  graced 
by  the  presence   of  a  great  Tory   lord,  the   conversation 
turned  on  the  proper  mode  of  calling  a  peer,  whether  he 
should  take  his  title  from  a  castle  or  locality,  or  whether  he 
should  be  created  by  his  family  name.     Opinions  differed, 
and  Croker  \\ith  habitual  assurance  propounded  his  view, 
"  For  my  part,"  he  said,  "  Lyneham  is  the  place  where  the 
Crokers  were  first  settled ;  and,  if  I  am  made   a  peer,  I 
shall  have  myself  gazetted,  not  as  Lord  Croker  but  as  Lord 
Lyneham."     No   sooner  had  Croker  delivered  himself  of 
this  oracular  statement  than  up  jumped  Maginn  in  ecstasy 
roaring   out,   "Stop  —  stop — stop,    Mr.    Croker!"      The 
company,  hitherto  observant  of  the  stiffest  propriety,  were 
amazed    at    the    outbreak ;    nor   was   their   astonishment 
lessened   when  Maginn,  fixing  his  eyes  on  his   host,    ex- 
claimed :    "Don't  do   that — don't   do   that,    Mr.    Croker; 
for  you'd  then  have  to  be  re-gazetted  as  Lord  Penny-a- 
line-e7n  !  " 


xviii  MEMOIR. 

Broken  in  health  and  saddened  in  spirit,  Maginn,  after 
recovering  his  hberty  through  the  medium  of  the  Insolvent 
Court,  retired  in  1842  to  Walton-on-Thames,  where  he  ex- 
pired of  consumption,  in  the  arms  of  his  attached  friend 
Edward  Vaughan  Kenealy,  on  21st  August.  It  was  a 
lamentable  close  of  his  career  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  his 
age.  As  the  fearless  and  persistent  champion  of  Toryism 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  he  had  reckoned  upon  reward 
when  his  party  came  into  power.  A  minor  diplomatic  post 
at  Vienna  was  talked  of  being  assigned  to  him.  But  what 
his  party  did  not  do  for  him  was  done  with  all  delicacy  and 
promptitude  by  the  man  whose  pro-Catholic  policy  of  1829 
Maginn,  animated  by  the  strong  feelings  of  an  Irish  Orange- 
man, had  denounced  with  unsparing  severity,  and  whose 
personal  motives  he  had  assailed,  as  Lockhart  notes,  "  with 
unwearied  pertinacity,  especially  in  rhymes  only  less  galling 
than  the  fiercest  of  Swift's."  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  his  bene- 
factor. When,  a  few  years  before  Maginn's  death,  a  private 
subscription  was  set  on  foot  for  his  relief,  Sir  Robert,  casually 
hearing  of  it,  sent  ;^ioo  as  a  contribution  to  the  fund,  with 
a  stipulation  for  secrecy ;  and  again,  on  learning  of  the 
deathbed  wants  of  the  wild  son  of  genius,  the  noble-hearted 
statesman  forwarded  a  similar  amount. 

This  memoir  may  fitly  close  with  the  epitaph,  full  at  once 
of  pathos  and  of  wit,  written  by  Lockhart : 

"  Here,  early  to  be<i,  lies  kind  William  Maginn, 
Who  with  genius,  wit,  learning,  life's  trophies  to  win, 
Had  neither  great  lord,  nor  rich  cit  of  his  kin, 
Nor  discretion  to  set  himself  up  as  to  tin  : 
So,  his  portion  soon  spent,  like  the  poor  heir  of  Lynn, 
He  turn'd  author  while  yet  was  no  beard  on  his  chin  ; 
And  whoever  was  out,  or  whoever  was  in, 
For  your  Tories  his  fine  Irish  brains  he  would  spin, 
Who  received  prose  and  rhyme  with  a  promising  grin — 
'  Go  ahead,  you  queer  fish,  and  more  power  to  your  fin  ! ' 
But  to  save  from  starvation  stirr'd  never  a  pin. 
Light  for  long  was  his  heart,  though  his  breeches  were  thin, 


MEMOIR,  xix 

Else  his  acting  for  certain  was  equal  to  Quin  : 
But  at  last  iie  was  beat,  and  sought  help  from  the  bin 
(All  the  same  to  the  Doctor,  from  claret  to  gin), 
Which  led  swiftly  to  gaol,  with  consumption  therein  ; 
It  was  much,  when  the  bones  rattled  loose  in  his  skin, 
He  got  leave  to  die  here,  out  of  Babylon's  din. 
Barring  drink  and  the  girls,  I  ne'er  heard  of  a  sin  : 
Many  worse,  better  few,  than  bright,  broken  Maginn." 

No  Stone,  it  may  be  finally  added,  marks  the  place  of  his 
repose  in  the  churchyard  of  Walton-on-Thames.  Let  this 
collection  of  his  writings,  exhibiting  every  variety  of  literary 
excellence,  serve  to  perpetuate  his  memory. 


MISCELLANIES. 

SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  LIFE   AND  WRITINGS 
OF  ENSIGN  AND  ADJUTANT  ODOHERTY 

(late  of  the  99TH  regiment). 


TF  there  is  something  painful  to  the  feelings  in  the  awful 
ceremonial  of  consigning  a  deceased  friend  to  the  grave, 
there  is  something  equally  consolatory  to  our  affection  in 
perpetuating  the  remembrance  of  his  talents  and  virtues, 
and  gathering  for  his  grave  a  garland  which  shall  long  flourish 
green  among  the  children  of  men.  This  may  indeed  be 
termed  the  last  and  highest  proof  of  our  regard,  and  it  is 
this  task  which  I  am  now  about  to  discharge  (I  fear  too 
inadequately)  to  my  deceased  friend,  Ensign  and  Adjutant 
Odoherty,  late  of  the  99th  or  King's  Own  Tipperary  regiment. 
In  offering  to  the  public  some  account  of  the  life  and 
writings  of  this  gentleman,  I  have  pleasure  in  believing  that 
I  am  not  intruding  on  their  notice  a  person  utterly  unknown 
to  them.  His  poems,  which  have  appeared  in  various 
periodical  publications,  have  excited  a  very  large  portion  of 
the  public  curiosity  and  admiration  ;  and,  when  transplanted 
into  the  different  volumes  of  the  Annual  Anthology,  they 
have  shone  with  undiminished  lustre  amid  the  blaze  of  the 
great  poetical  luminaries  by  which  they  were  surrounded. 
Never  was  there  a  man  more  imbued  with  the  very  soul  and 

VOL.  I.  A 


2  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

spirit  of  poetry  than  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Odoherty.  Cut 
ofif  in  the  bloom  of  his  years,  ere  the  fair  and  lovely  blossoms 
of  his  youth  had  time  to  ripen  into  the  golden  fruit  by  which 
the  autumn  of  his  days  would  have  been  beautified  and 
adorned,  he  has  deprived  the  literature  of  his  country  of  one 
of  its  brightest  ornaments,  and  left  us  to  lament  that  youth, 
virtue,  and  talents  should  afford  no  protection  from  the 
cruel  hand  of  Death. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  biographical  account  of  this 
extraordinary  person,  which  it  is  my  intention  to  give,  I 
think  it  proper  previously  to  state  the  very  singular  manner 
in  which  our  friendship  had  its  commencement.  One  even- 
ing, in  the  month  of  October  1812,  I  had  the  misfortune, 
from  some  circumstances  here  unnecessary  to  mention,  to 
be  conveyed  for  a  night's  lodging  to  the  watch-house  in 
Dublin.  I  had  there  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Mr.  Odoherty, 
who  was  likewise  a  prisoner.  He  was  seated  on  a  wooden- 
stool,  before  a  table  garnished  with  a  great  number  of  empty 
pots  of  porter.*  He  had  a  tobacco-pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
was  talking  with  great  gallantry  to  two  young  ladies  of  a  very 
interesting  appearance,  who  had  been  brought  there  under 
similar  circumstances  to  himself.  There  was  a  touching 
melancholy  in  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  and  a 
melting  softness  in  his  voice,  which  interested  me  extremely 
in  his  favour.  With  all  that  urbanity  of  manner  by  which 
he  was  distinguished,  he  asked  me  "  to  take  a  sneaker  of  his 
swipes."  I  accepted  the  invitation,  and  thus  commenced  a 
friendship  which  ended  only  with  his  life,  and  the  fond 
remembrance  of  which  shall  cease  only  with  mine. 

Morgan  Odoherty  was  born  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny, 
in  the  year  1789.  His  father  acted  for  many  years  as  a 
drover  to  the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Ventry,  at  that  period 
an  eminent  grazier ;  and,  on  that  gentleman's  being  raised 
to  the  peerage,  he  succeeded  to  a  very  considerable  portion 
of  his  business.     He  had  certainly  many  opportunities  of 

*  We  beg  leave  to  hint  to  our  Irish  correspondent  that,  if  the  J>ois  were 
empty,  they  could  scarcely  be  termed  pais  of  porter. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  3 

amassing  wealth ;  but  the  truth  is,  he  only  provided  meat  for 
others,  with  the  view  of  getting  drink  for  himself.  By  his 
wife  he  had  acquired  a  small  property  in  the  county  of 
Carlow,  which  it  was  his  intention  to  have  kept  as  a  provision 
for  his  family.  His  business,  however,  gradually  decreased, 
and  on  the  last  settlement  of  his  accounts,  when  he  came 
to  liquidate  the  claims  of  his  creditors  on  his  estate,  he 
found,  to  his  astonishment,  that  he  had  long  since  liquidated 
his  own.  The  discovery  was  fatal.  The  loss  of  his  credit 
with  the  world  he  might  have  survived,  but  the  loss  of  his 
credit  with  the  tvlusky  inoxlia^it  drove  him  to  despair.  He 
died  in  the  year  1798;  a  melancholy  monument  of  an  ill- 
spent  life. 

Of  his  mother  Mr.  Odoherty  was  ever  in  the  habit  of 
talking  with  gratitude  and  respect,  and  the  manner  in  which 
she  discharged  the  duties  of  her  situation  to  himself  and  his 
three  sisters,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  was  highly  ex- 
emplary. And  with. the  exception  of  the  circumstance  of  a 
posthumous  child  making  its  appearance  about  fourteen 
months  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  there  occurred 
nothing  which  could  raise  a  doubt  of  her  being  the  most 
virtuous  of  her  sex.  Being  endowed  with  a  considerable 
taste  for  letters,  Mrs.  Odoherty  determined  that  her  son 
should  receive  a  liberal  education,  and  accordingly  sent  him 
to  a  charity  school  in  the  neighbourhood.  At  this  school  I 
have  reason  to  believe  he  remained  about  four  years,  when, 
by  the  interest  of  his  uncle,  Mr.  Dennis  Odoherty,  butler  to 
the  Right  Honourable  Lord  Muskerry,  he  was  received  into 
his  lordship's  family  as  an  under-domestic.  In  this  noble 
family  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Odoherty  soon  became  a 
universal  favourite.  The  sweetness  of  his  temper,  the  grace 
and  vigour  of  his  form,  which  certainly  belonged  more  to  the 
class  of  Hercules  than  the  Apollo,  rendered  him  the  object 
of  the  fervent  admiration  of  the  whole  female  part  of  the 
family.  Nor  did  he  long  remain  in  a  menial  situation.  By 
the  intercession  of  Lady  Muskerry,  he  was  api)ointed  under- 
steward  on  the  estate,  and  on  his  lordship's  being  appointed 


4  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

colonel  of  the  Limerick  Militia  in  1808,  his  first  care  was 
to  bestow  a  pair  of  colours  on  Mr.  Odoherty.  Never  surely 
did  a  gift  bestow  more  honour  on  the  giver,  and  Lord 
Muskerry  had  the  satisfaction  of  raising,  to  his  proper 
station  in  society,  a  youth  whose  talents  were  destined  to 
do  honour  not  only  to  the  Limerick  Militia,  but  to  his  country 
and  the  world.  In  this  situation,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
state,  he  was  the  very  life  and  soul  of  society  wherever  he 
was  quartered.  Not  a  tea-party  could  be  formed,  not  an 
excursion  could  be  planned  in  the  neighbourhood,  without 
Mr.  Odoherty's  being  included  in  it.  In  short,  he  was  like 
the  verb  in  a  sentence,  quite  impossible  to  be  wanted.  I 
have  been  informed  by  several  ofificers  of  the  regiment  that 
he  was  the  greatest  promoter  of  conviviality  at  the  mess. 
His  wine,  to  use  their  own  expression,  was  never  lost  on 
him,  and;  towards  the  conclusion  of  the  third  bottle,  he 
was  always  excessively  amusing.  When  quartered  with  his 
regiment  at  Ballinasloe,  in  the  year  1809,  he  became  smitten 
with  the  charms  of  a  young  lady  of  that  city,  who,  from 
what  I  have  heard  of  her  person  and  temper,  was  all 

' '  That  youthful  poets  fancy  when  they  love. " 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  considerable  wealth,  and  what  is 
called  middle-man  or  agent  to  several  of  the  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  of  the  country.  Her  name  was  Miss  Augusta 
M'Craw,  and  her  family  were  believed  to  be  descended  from 
the  M 'Craws  of  Inverness-shire,  a  house  which  yields  to 
none  in  the  pride  of  its  descent,  or  the  purity  of  its  blood. 
Mr.  M'Craw,  indeed,  used  to  dwell,  with  great  complacency, 
on  the  exploits  of  an  ancestor  of  the  family.  Sir  John  M'Craw, 
who  flourished  in  the  reign  of  James  III.,  who  not  only 
defeated  a  Sir  James  M'Gregor  in  a  pitched  battle,  but 
actually  kicked  him  round  the  lists,  to  the  great  amusement 
of  the  king  and  all  his  court.  In  this  exercise,  however, 
there  is  a  tradition  of  his  having  dislocated  his  great  toe, 
which  ended  in  a  whitlow,  of  which  he  died  about  three 
years  afterwards,  leaving  his  fate  as  a  lesson  to  his  successors, 


MEMOIR  or  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  5 

of  the  consequences  attending  such  unknightly  behaviour. 
To  this  lady,  as  I  already  mentioned,  Mr.  Odoherty  formed 
a  most  devoted  attachment,  and  he  accordingly  made  her 
an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand.     The  young  lady  returned 
his   attachment  with   sincerity,  but  her  father  and  mother 
were  most  unaccountably  averse  to  the  connection.      On 
stating  to  them  the  affection  he  entertained  for  their  daughter, 
and  soliciting  their  consent  to  its  legal  consummation,  he 
was  treated  with  the  utmost  indignity,  and  desired  to  quit 
the  house  immediately.     On  his  remonstrating  against  this 
improper  treatment,  the  brother  of  the  lady  attempted  to 
pull  him  by  the  nose,  and  Mr.  Odoherty  retreated  with  the 
very  proper  resolution  of  demanding  the  satisfaction  of  a 
gentleman.     He  accordingly  sent  him  a  message  the  next 
day,  and  a  meeting  was  the  consequence.     On  this  occasion 
Ensign  Odoherty  behaved  with  all  the  coolness  of  the  most 
experienced  veteran.     They  fired  nine  shots  each  without 
effect;  but,  in  the  tenth  round,  Mr.  Odoherty  received  a 
wound  in  the  cheek,  which  carried  off  three  of  his  jaw  teeth, 
and  entirely  demolished  one  of  his  whiskers.     On  receiving 
the  wound,  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  face,  and  exclaimed, 
with  the  greatest  coolness,  "  A  douce  in  the  chops,  by  God  !  " 
By  this  wound  he  was  unfortunately  ever  afterwards  much 
disfigured,  and  was  afflicted  with  a  stiffness  in  the  neck,  from 
which   he   never   recovered.     Miss    Augusta   M'Craw   was 
married,  a  short  time  afterwards,  to  a  lieutenant  of  artillery, 
and  Mr.  Odoherty  very  feelingly  expressed  his  regret  and 
sorrow  on  the  occasion,  by  two  odes  on  the  inconstancy  of 
women,  which  appeared  in  the  Irish  newspapers,  and  were 
afterwards  recorded  in  the  Lady's  Magazine  for  October  1 81 1. 
Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that,  in  the  progress  of 
the  events  which  I  have  been  relating,  his  poetical  talents 
had  remained  dormant.     Although  we  do  not  find,  in  his 
pieces  of  this  period,  the  same  lofty  degree  of  excellence 
which  was  afterwards  so  prominent  in  his  more  mature  pro- 
ductions, yet  they  are  all  imbued  with  very  considerable 
spirit  and  imagination.     They  had  hitherto  been  generally 


6  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

rather  of  a  light  and  amatory  nature  ;  but  of  his  talents  for 
satire  I  believe  the  following  epigram,  on  a  certain  amorous 
dowager,  will  afford  not  an  unfavourable  specimen : — 

If  a  lover,  sweet  creature,  should  foolishly  seek 

On  thy  face  for  the  bloom  of  the  rose, 
Oh  tell  him,  although  it  has  died  on  thy  cheek, 

He  will  find  it  at  least  on  thy  riose. 

Sweet  emblem  of  virtue  !  rely  upon  this, 

Should  thy  bosom  be  wantonly  prest. 
That  if  tlie  rude  ravisher  gets  but  a  kiss, 

He'll  be  ready  \.o  fancy  the  rest  I 

I  also  find,  among  his  pa[)ers,  an  unfinished  Tragedy, 
which,  I  conjecture,  must  have  been  composed  about  this 
time.  It  is  entitled  "  Euphemia,"  and,  in  my  opinion,  dis- 
plays an  uncommon  degree  of  genius.  I  shall  only  extract 
part  of  one  scene,  which  strikes  me  as  being  executed  in 
the  most  masterly  manner.  The  Princess  Euphemia  is  re- 
presented as  passing  a  sleepless  night,  in  consequence  of  the 
imprisonment  of  her  lover  Don  Carlos.  Towards  morning, 
she  breaks  out  into  the  following  impassioned  reflections  : — 

Euphemia.  Oh,  'tis  a  weary  night  !  Alas,  will  sleep 
Ne'er  darken  my  poor  day-lights  !  I  have  watched 
The  stars  all  rise  and  disappear  again  ; 
Capricorn,  Orion,  Venus,  and  the  Bear: 
I  saw  them  each  and  all.     And  they  are  gone, 
Yet  not  a  wink  for  me.     The  blessed  Moon 
Has  journeyed  through  the  sky :  I  saw  her  rise 
Above  the  distant  hills,  and  gloriously 
Decline  beneath  the  waters.     iVIy  poor  head  aches 
Beyond  endurance.     I'll  call  on  Beatrice, 
And  bid  her  bring  ine  the  all-potent  draught 
Left  by  Fernando  the  apothecary. 
At  his  last  visit.     Beatrice  !    She  sleeps 
As  sound  as  a  top.     What,  ho,  Beatrice  ! 
Thou  art  indeed  the  laziest  waiting  maid 
That  ever  cursed  a  princess.     Beatrice  ! 

Beatrice.  Coming,  your  highness.     Give  me  time  to  throw 
My  night-gown  o'er  my  shoulders,  and  to  put 
My  flannel  dicky  on  ;  'tis  mighty  cold 
At  these  hours  of  the  morning. 

Euphcm.   Beatrice  ! 

Beat.  I'm  groping  for  my  shppers  ;  would  you  have  me 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.         7 

Walk  barefoot  o'er  the  floors  ?     Lord,  I  should  catch 
My  death  of  cold. 

Euphem.  And  must  thy  mistress,  then,  I  say,  must  she 
Endure  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  whilst  thou 
Art  groping  for  thy  slippers  ?    Selfish  wretch  ! 
Learn,  thou  shalt  come  stark-naked  at  my  bidding. 
Or  else  pack  up  thy  duds,  and  hop  the  twig. 

Beat.  Oh,  my  lady,  forgive  me  that  I  was  so  slow 
In  yielding  due  obedience.     Pray,  believe  me, 
It  ne'er  shall  happen  again.     Oh,  it  would  break 
My  very  heart  to  leave  so  beautiful 
And  kind  a  mistress.     Oh,  forgive  me  !  [weeps.) 

Euplutn.   Well,  well ;  I  fear  I  was  too  hasty  : 
But  want  of  sleep,  and  the  fever  of  my  blood, 
Have  soured  my  natural  temper.     Bring  me  the  phial 
Of  physic  left  by  that  skilful  leech  Fernando, 
With  Laudanum  on  the  label.     It  stands 
Upon  the  dressing-table,  close  by  the  rouge 
And  the  Olympian  dew.     No  words.     Evaporate. 

Beat.    I  fly  !  \Exit. 

Euphem.  (sola. )  Alas,  Don  Carlos,  mine  own 
Dear  wedded  husband !  wedded  !  yes  ;  wedded 
In  th'  eye  of  Heaven,  though  not  in  that  of  man. 
Which  sees  the  forms  of  things,  but  least  knows 
That  which  is  in  the  heart.     Oh,  can  it  be 
That  some  dull  words,  muttered  by  a  parson 
In  a  long  drawling  tone,  can  make  a  wife, 

And  not  the 

Enter  BEATRICE. 

Beat.  Laudanum  on  the  label ;  right : 
Here,  my  lady,  is  the  physic  you  require. 

Euphem.  Then  pour  me  out  one  hundred  drops  and  fifty. 
With  water  in  the  glass,  that  I  may  quaff 
ObUvion  to  my  misery. 

Beat.  'Tis  done. 

Euphem.  [drinks.)  My  head  turns  round  ;  it  mounts  into  my 
I  feel  as  if  in  paradise  !     My  senses  mock  me  :  [brain. 

Methinks  I  rest  within  thine  arms,  Don  Carlos ; 
Can  it  be  real  ?     Pray,  repeat  that  kiss  ! 
I  am  thine  own  Euphemia.     This  is  bliss 
Too  great  for  utterance.     Oh,  ye  gods 
Of  Hellespont  and  Greece!    Alas!  I  faint.  [.faints. 

The  heart  of  Mr.  Odoherty  was  of  the  tenderest  and  most 
inflammable  description,  and  he  now  formed  an  attachment 
to  a  Lady  Gilhooly,  the  rich  widow  of  Sir  Thomas  Gilhooly, 
knight,  who,  on  account  of  some  private  services  to  the  state, 


8  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

was  knighted  during  the  Heutenancy  of  Lord  Hardwicke. 
His  love  to  this  Lady  was  of  the  most  modest  and  retiring 
nature,  and  he  never  ventured  to  make  a  personal  declara- 
tion of  his  passion.  He  has  commemorated  it,  however,  in 
the  following  beautiful  and  pathetic  stanzas  : — 

Oh,  lady,  in  the  laughing  hours. 

When  time  and  joy  go  hand  in  hand  ; 
When  pleasure  strews  thy  path  witli  flowers, 

And  but  to  wish  is  to  command  ; 
When  thousands  swear  that  to  thy  lips 

A  more  than  angel's  voice  is  given, 
And  that  thy  jetty  eyes  eclipse 

The  bright,  the  blessed  stars  of  heaven  ; 
Might  it  not  cast  a  trembling  shade 

Across  the  light  of  mirth  and  song. 
To  think  that  there  is  one,  sweet  maid. 

That  loved  thee  hopelessly  and  long  ; 
That  loved,  yet  never  told  his  flame, 

Although  it  burned  his  soul  to  madness  ; 
That  lov'd,  yet  never  breathed  thy  name, 

Even  in  his  fondest  dreams  of  gladness. 
Though  red  my  coat,  yet  pale  my  face, 

Alas  !  'tis  love  that  made  it  so. 
Thou  only  canst  restore  its  grace, 

And  bid  its  wonted  blush  to  glow. 
Restore  its  blush  !  oh,  I  am  wrong, 

For  here  thine  art  were  all  in  vain  ; 
My  face  has  ceased  to  blush  so  long, 

I  fear  it  ne'er  can  blush  again  ! 

This  moving  expression  of  passion  appears  to  have  pro- 
duced no  effect  on  the  obdurate  fair  one,  who  was  then  fifty- 
four  years  of  age,  with  nine  children,  and  a  large  jointure, 
which  would  certainly  have  made  a  very  convenient  addition 
to  the  income  of  Mr.  Odoherty.  He  now  resolved  on 
volunteering  into  the  Line.  He  was  unwilling  that  his 
services  should  be  confined  to  the  comparatively  inactive 
and  inglorious  duties  of  a  militia  oflScer,  and  he  therefore 
determined  to  wield  his  sword,  or,  as  he  technically  called 
it,  his  spit,  wherever  the  cause  of  his  country  should  demand 
it.  He  was  soon  after  appointed  to  an  ensigncy  in  the  44th 
regiment,  then  in  the  West   Indies;  and,   on  the  14th  of 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.         9 

August  1 8 14,  he  embarked  at  Dover  in  the  schooner  /o /in 
Dory,  Captain  Godolphin,  for  Jamaica.  He  experienced  a 
tedious  passage,  and  they  were  unfortunate  enough  to  fall 
in  with  an  American  privateer,  from  which,  however,  after  a 
smart  action,  they  had  the  good  luck  to  escape.  The 
following  jeu  d' esprit  gives  so  favourable  a  specimen  of  his 
talent  for  humour  that  I  cannot  refuse  the  reader  the  plea- 
sure of  submitting  it  to  his  perusal  : — 

Captain  Godolphin  was  a  very  odd  and  stingy  man, 
Who  skipper  was,  as  I'm  assured,  of  a  schooner-rigged  West  Indiaman  ; 
The  wind  was  fair,  he  went  on  board,  and  when  lie  sailed  from  Dover, 
Says  he,  "  This  trip  is  but  a  joke,  for  now  I'm  half-seas  over  !  " 

The  captain's  wife,  she  sailed  with  him,  this  circumstance  I  heard  of  her, 
Her  brimstone  breath,  'twas  almost  death  to  come  within  a  yard  of  her  ; 
With  fiery  nose,  as  red  as  rose,  to  tell  no  lies  I'll  stoop, 
She  looked  just  like  an  admiral  with  a  lantern  at  his  poop. 

Her  spirits  sunk  from  eating  junk,  and,  as  she  was  an  epicure, 
She  swore  a  dish  of  dolphin  fish  would  of  her  make  a  happy  cure. 
The  captain's  line,  so  strong  and  fine,  had  hooked  a  fish  one  day. 
When  his  anxious  wife  Godolphin  cried,  and  the  dolphin  swam  away. 

The  wind  was  foul,  the  weather  hot,  between  the  tropics  long  she  stewed, 

The  latitude  was  5  or  6,  'bout  50  was  the  longitude. 

When  Jack  the  cook  once  spoilt  the  sauce,  she  thought  it  mighty  odd. 

But  her  husband  bawl'd  on  deck,  "  Why,  here's  the  Saucy  Jack*  by  God." 

The  captain  sought  his  charming  wife,  and  whispered  to  her  private  ear, 
"  My  love,  this  night  we'll  have  to  fight  a  thumping  Yankee  privateer.'' 
On  this  he  took  a  glass  of  rum,  by  which  he  showed  his  sense  ; 
Resolved  that  he  would  make  at  least  a  spirited  defence. 

The  captain  of  the  Saucy  Jack,  he  was  a  dark  and  dingy  man  ; 
Says  he,    "  My  ship  must  take  this  trip,  this  schooner-rigged  West  India- 
man. 
Each  at  his  gun,  we'll  show  them  fun,  the  decks  are  all  in  order  ; 
But  mind  that  every  lodger  here  must  likewise  be  a  boa7-4er." 

No,  never  was  there  warmer  work,  at  least  I  rather  think  not. 
With  cannon,  cutlass,  grappling-iron,  blunderbuss,  and  stink-pot. 
The  Yankee  captain,  boarding  her,  cried,  "Either  strike  or  drown  ;  " 
Godolphin  answered,  "  Then  I  strike,"  and  quickly  knocked  him  down. 

The   remaining   thirty   verses   of  this   poem,    giving  an 
account  of  the  action  and  the  subsequent  voyage  to  Jamaica, 
*  A  celebrated  American  privateer. 


10  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

of  how  Mrs.  Goclolphin  was  killed  by  a  cannon-ball  lodging 
in  her  stomach,  and  how  Captain  Godolphin  afterwards  died 
of  the  yellow  fever,  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  insert. 
It  is  sufficient  to  say,  they  are  fully  equal  to  the  preceding, 
and  are  distinguished  by  the  same  quaintness  of  imagination 
and  power  of  ludicrous  expression. 

On  his  arrival  at  Jamaica,  he  found  it  the  rendezvous  of 
the  force  destined  for  the  attack  of  New  Orleans,  under 
the  command  of  the  brave  though  unfortunate  Sir  Edward 
Packenham.  Of  this  force  the  44th  regiment  formed  a  part, 
and  the  heart  of  Mr.  Odoherty  throbbed  with  delightful 
anticipation  of  the  high  destiny  to  which  he  felt  himself 
called.  A  circumstance  now  occurred,  however,  which  bid 
fair  to  cloud  his  prospects  for  ever.  On  the  evening  before 
the  sailing  of  the  armament  for  its  destination,  Mr.  Odoherty 
had  gone  on  shore.  He  there  chanced  to  meet  with  an  old 
schoolfellow,  who  filled  the  situation  of  slave-driver  or 
whipper-in  to  a  neighbouring  plantation.  This  gentleman 
invited  him  to  his  house,  and  they  spent  the  night  in  pouring 
forth  the  most  liberal  libations  of  new  rum,  which  they 
drank  fresh  from  the  boilers.  The  consequence  was  that 
next  morning,  on  the  saihng  of  the  fleet,  Mr.  Odoherty  was 
absent.  His  friend  the  whipper-in,  however,  who  was  less 
drunk  than  his  guest,  had  the  good  sense  to  foresee  the 
consequences  of  his  being  left  behind  on  so  pressing  an 
occasion.  He  hired  a  couple  of  negroes  to  row  after  the 
fleet,  had  Ensign  Odoherty  carried  insensible  to  the  boat, 
and  he  was  conveyed  to  his  ship,  as  he  himself  humorously 
termed  it,  "as  drunk  as  David's  sow."  The  commanding 
officer  immediately  placed  him  under  an  arrest,  and  it  was 
only  on  his  expressing  the  most  sincere  contrition  for  his 
folly,  joined  with  many  promises  of  amendment,  that  he  was 
again  allowed  to  perform  the  duties  of  his  situation.  After 
this,  few  of  the  officers  of  the  regiment  thought  proper  to 
associate  with  him ;  and  with  the  exception  of  some,  who 
had  formerly  been  his  companions  in  the  mihtia,  he  was 
placed  in  Coventry  by  the  whole  corps. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  ii 


II. 

It  is  not  my  intention,  in  this  paper,  to  recapitulate  the 
various  calamities  of  the  siege  of  New  Orleans.  That  the 
armament  was  utterly  inadequate  to  accomplish  the  ob- 
ject of  the  expedition,  is  now  generally  admitted.  Fitted 
out  for  the  express  purpose  of  besieging  one  of  the  strongest 
and  most  formidable  fortresses  of  America,  it  was  not  only 
unprovided  with  a  battering-train,  but  without  a  single  piece 
of  heavy  ordnance  to  assist  in  its  reduction.  Sir  Edward 
Packenham,  therefore,  on  his  arrival  at  Jamaica  found  him- 
self under  the  necessity  of  awaiting  the  tedious  arrival  of 
reinforcements  from  England,  or  of  undertaking  the  expedi- 
tion with  the  very  inadequate  means  at  his  disposal.  Listen- 
ing rather  to  the  suggestions  of  his  gallantry  than  his  prudence, 
he  decided  on  the  latter.  If  he  erred  in  undertaking  the 
expedition,  it  must  be  owned  that  he  displayed  the  most 
consummate  skill  in  the  conduct  of  it.  On  his  arrival  at 
New  Orleans,  he  established  himself  immediately  on  the 
peninsula  guarded  by  the  fortress,  and  so  vigorously  did  he 
push  his  operations  that  on  the  third  night  he  determined 
on  giving  the  assault.  The  honour  of  heading  the  storming 
party  was  allotted  to  the  44th  regiment,  then  under  the 
command  of  the  Honourable  Lieutenant  Colonel  Mullins, 
son  to  Lord  Ventry,  patron  to  our  hero's  father,  and  who  did 
not  at  all  congratulate  himself,  however,  on  his  good  fortune. 
The  44th  regiment  were  driven  back  at  the  commencement 
of  the  attack  ;  and,  on  Sir  Edward  Packenham's  inquiring  for 
the  commanding  officer,  it  was  discovered  that  both  he  and 
Ensign  Odoherty  had  remained  in  the  rear.  On  search 
being  made  for  them.  Colonel  Mullins  was  discovered  under 
an  ammunition  waggon,  and  Ensign  Odoherty  was  found  in 
his  tent,  apparently  very  busy  searching  for  his  snuff-box, 
the  loss  of  which,  he  solemnly  declared,  was  the  sole  reason 
of  his  absence.  In  consequence  of  these  circumstances. 
Colonel  Mullins  was  brought  to  a  court-martial,  and  dismissed 


12  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

the  service ;  and  such,  most  probably,  would  likewise  have 
been  the  fate  of  Ensign  Odoherty,  had  he  not,  by  the  most 
humble  intercessions,  prevailed  on  the  officers  of  the  regi- 
ment to  suppress  their  charges,  on  condition  that  he  rid  them 
of  his  presence  by  an  immediate  exchange  into  another 
regiment.  I  am  far  from  wishing  to  justify  the  line  of  con- 
duct adopted  in  this  instance  by  Mr.  Odoherty,  in  yielding 
to  the  prejudices  against  his  character  which  the  officers  of 
the  regiment  appear  so  gratuitously  to  have  entertained. 
Knowing  him  as  I  do,  to  have  been  as  brave  a  man  as  ever 
pushed  a  bayonet  to  the  throat  of  an  enemy,  I  cannot  but 
sincerely  regret  that  any  change  of  circumstances  should  have 
occurred  to  give  a  different  complexion  to  his  character  in 
the  opinion  of  the  world.  But  such  regrets  are  useless. 
Who,  when  gazing  on  the  brightness  of  the  sun,  can  suppose 
his  effulgence  to  be  diminished  because,  when  viewed 
through  a  telescope,  a  few  trifling  spots  are  discernible  on 
his  disk  ? 

Having  entered  into  this  arrangement,  in  order  to  effect 
his  exchange  Mr.  Odoherty  took  advantage  of  the  sailing  of 
the  first  ship  to  return  to  England,  and  accordingly  embarked 
in  the  Beelzebub  transport  for  that  purpose.  On  their 
voyage  home  they  encountered  a  severe  storm  when  off  the 
river  Chesapeake,  which  broke  the  bobstay  of  the  Beelzebub, 
and  did  considerable  injury  to  her  mainmast.  To  crown 
the  misfortune  of  this  unlucky  voyage,  they  were  captured 
by  the  American  frigate  President,  in  lat.  35"^  40'  long.  27° 
14',  and  carried  into  Boston  as  prisoners  of  war.  Mr.  Odo- 
herty bore  his  misfortunes  with  the  greatest  philosophy  and 
calmness ;  and,  as  a  proof  of  the  happy  equanimity  of  his 
temper,  I  give  the  following  extract  from  an  extempore 
address  to  a  whale,  seen  off  Long  Island  on  the  14th  June 
1814:— 

Great  king  of  the  ocean,  transcendent  and  grand 

Dost  thou  rest  'mid  the  waters  so  blue  ; 
So  vast  is  thy  form,  I  am  sure,  on  dry  land, 

It  would  cover  an  acre  or  two. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  13 

Thou  watery  Colossus,  how  lovely  the  sight 

When  thou  sailest  majestic  and  slow, 
And  the  sky  and  the  ocean  together  unite 

Their  splendour  around  thee  to  throw. 

Or  near  to  the  pole,  'mid  the  elements'  strife, 

Where  the  tempest  the  seaman  appals. 
Unmoved,  like  a  continent  pregnant  with  life, 

Or  rather  a  living  St  Paul's. 

Thee  soon  as  the  Greenlander  fisherman  sees, 

He  plans  thy  destruction,  odd  rot  him  ! 
And  often,  before  thou  hast  time  to  cry  Pease, 

He  has  whipped  his  harpoon  in  thy  bottom. 


Here  unfortunately  a  hiatus  occurs,  which,  I  am  sure,  will 
be  regretted  by  every  lover  of  what  is  sublime  in  conception, 
grand  in  description,  and  beautiful  in  imagination.  Odoherty 
is  not  the  only  author  of  high  genius  whose  vivacity  exceeded 
his  perseverance.  We  may  say  of  him  what  Voltaire  said  of 
Lord  Bacon,  "  Ce  grand  homme  a  coimnence  beaiuoup  de  chases 
que  personne  ne  pent  Jamais  achever." 

On  his  arrival  at  Boston,  he  received  orders  to  proceed  to 
Philadelphia,  the  station  allotted  for  his  residence  by  the 
American  Government.  In  this  great  city  the  manly  graces 
of  his  person,  and  the  seductive  elegance  of  his  manners, 
gained  him  the  notice  and  attention  of  all  ranks.  But, 
notwithstanding  the  kindness  and  hospitality  which  he  experi- 
enced from  his  American  friends,  his  pecuniary  circumstances 
were  by  no  means  in  the  most  flourishing  condition.  He 
found,  to  his  astonishment,  that  American  merchants,  how- 
ever kind  and  liberal  in  other  respects,  had  a  strange 
prejudice  against  discounting  Irish  bills,  nor  could  any  offers, 
however  liberal,  of  an  extraordinary  percentage  reconcile 
their  minds  to  the  imaginary  risk  of  the  transaction.  Under 
these  circumstances,  Mr.  Odoherty  was  obliged  to  confine 
his  expenses  to  his  pay,  a  small  part  of  which  was  advanced 
to  him,  with  much  liberality,  by  the  British  agent  for  prisoners 
of  war  in  that  city,  to  whose  kindness  he  was,  on  several 
occasions,    much   indebted.     It  was   in   Philadelphia   that 


14  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Ensign  Odohcrty  had  the  misfortune  to  form  a  connection 
with  a  lady  of  the  name  of  M'Whirter,  who  kept  a  well-known 
tavern  and  smoking-shop.  Her  husband  had  taken  an  active 
part  in  the  rebellion  of  1798  in  Ireland,  of  which  country  he 
was  a  native,  and  had  found  it  prudent  to  escape  the  con- 
sequences of  his  conduct  by  a  flight  to  America.  He 
accordingly  repaired  to  Philadelphia,  where  he  opened  the 
"  Goat  in  Armour  "  tavern  and  hotel,  and  soon  after  married 
a  female  emigree  from  the  Emerald  Isle ;  an  act  which,  I 
believe,  he  had  only  once  occasion  to  repent.  He  died  in  a 
few  years,  and  the  "  Goat  in  Armour  "  lost  none  of  its  reputa- 
tion under  the  management  of  his  widow.  In  this  house 
did  Mr.  Odoherty  take  up  his  residence  on  his  arrival  at 
Philadelphia ;  and,  it  is  almost  needless  to  add,  he  soon  made 
a  complete  conquest  of  the  too  susceptible  heart  of  Mrs. 
M'Whirter.  In  the  present  difficulty  of  his  pecuniary  affairs, 
this  circumstance  afforded  him  too  many  advantages  to  be 
neglected  or  overlooked.  Disgusting  as  she  was  in  her 
person,  vulgar  in  her  manners,  weak  in  her  understanding, 
and  unsuitable  in  years,  he  determined  on  espousing  her. 
He  accordingly  made  his  proposals  in  form,  and  Mrs. 
M'Whirter  w^as  too  much  flattered  with  the  idea  of  becoming 
an  ensign's  lady,  not  to  swallow  the  bait  with  avidity.  They 
were  privately  married,  and  continued  to  live  together  with 
tolerable  harmony,  until  the  peace  of  1815  restored  Mr. 
Odoherty  once  more  to  liberty.  He  was  now  heartily  sick 
of  the  faded  charms  and  uncultivated  rudeness  of  his  new 
wife,  and  accordingly  determined  once  more  to  pursue  the 
current  of  his  fortune  in  another  hemisphere.  He  accord- 
ingly possessed  himself  of  as  much  ready  money  as  he  could 
conveniently  lay  his  hands  upon,  and  secretly  embarked  on 
board  a  ship  then  on  the  point  of  sailing  for  England.  The 
astonishment,  rage,  and  grief  of  his  wife,  at  the  discovery  of 
his  flight,  may  be  more  easily  conceived  than  described. 
She  has  indeed  embodied  them  all  with  the  greatest  fidelity 
in  an  address  to  her  husband,  which,  I  have  reason  to  believe, 
she  composed  immediately  after  his  elopement.     I  shall  only 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  15 

give  the  first  verse,  which  possesses  certainly  much  energy 
if  not  elegance  : — 

"  Confusion  seize  your  lowsy  soul,  ye  nasty  dirty  varment ! 
Ye  goes  your  ways,  and  leaves  me  here  without  the  least  preferment ; 
When  you've  drunk  my  gin,  and  robbed  my  till,  and  stolen  all  my  pelf,  ye 
Sail  away,  and  think  no  more  on  your  wife  at  Philadelphy." 

I  shall  certainly  not  presume  to  offer  the  delicate  and 
refined  reader  any  further  specimen  of  this  coarse  and  vulgar, 
but  surely  pathetic  and  feeling,  poem.  Gray's  "  Bard"  has 
been  often  and  justly  admired  for  the  beautiful  and  un- 
expected abruptness  of  the  opening  stanza,  the  sudden 
vehemence  of  passion  in  which  strange  curses  are  imprecated 
on  the  head  of  the  devoted  monarch.  It  begins  with  the 
beautiful  line 

"  Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless  king  ;" 

but  how  inferior  is  this  to  the  commencement  of  Mrs. 
Odoherty's  poem,  which  I  have  just  extracted !  How 
emphatically  it  addresses  itself  to  our  feelings !  How 
dreadful  the  curse  which  it  invokes  ! 

"  Confusion  seize  your  lowsy  soul !" 

The  blood  runs  cold  at  the  monstrous  imprecation, — 
we  feel  an  involuntary  shuddering,  such  as  comes  on  us 
when  poring  over  the  infernal  caldron  of  Macbeth,  and 
listening  to  unearthly  and  hellish  conjurations.  Such  are 
the  proudest  triumphs  of  the  poet ! 

Mr.  Odoherty  arrived  in  England  after  a  short  and  pros- 
perous passage.  The  following  piece  was  composed  on 
sailing  past  Cape  Trafalgar  in  the  night.  I  mistake  if  it 
does  not  exhibit  the  strongest  traces  of  powerful  and  wild 
imagination,  and  only  leaves  room  to  regret  that,  like  most 
of  his  poetical  effusions,  it  is  unfinished.  It  reminds  us  of 
some  of  the  best  parts  of  John  Wilson's  "  Isle  of  Palms  :  " — 

Have  you  sailed  on  the  breast  of  the  deep. 
When  the  winds  had  all  silenced  their  breath, 
And  the  waters  were  hushed  in  as  holy  a  sleep, 
And  as  calm,  as  the  slumber  of  death; 


i6        MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

When  the  yellow  moon,  beaming  on  high, 

Shone  tranquilly  bright  on  the  wave, 

And  careered  through  the  vast  and  impalpable  sky, 

Till  she  found  in  the  ocean  a  grave, 

And,  dying  away  by  degrees  on  the  sight, 

The  waters  were  clad  in  the  mantle  of  night  ? 

'Twould  impart  a  delight  to  thy  soul, 

As  I  felt  it  imparted  to  mine. 

And  the  draught  of  affliction  that  blackened  my  bowl 

Grew  bright  as  the  silvery  brine. 

I  carelessly  lay  on  the  deck, 

And  listened  in  silence  to  catch 

The  wonderful  stories  of  battle  or  wreck 

That  were  told  by  the  men  of  the  watch  ; 

Sad  stories  of  demons  most  deadly  that  be. 

And  of  mermaids  that  rose  from  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

Strange  visions  my  fancy  had  filled, 

I  was  wet  with  the  dews  of  the  night  ; 

And  I  thought  that  the  moon  still  continued  to  gild 

The  wave  with  a  silvery  light. 

I  sunk  by  degrees  into  sleep, 

I  thought  of  my  friends  who  were  far. 

When  a  form  seemed  to  glide  o'er  the  face  of  the  deep. 

As  bright  as  the  evening  star. 

Ne'er  rose  there  a  spirit  more  lovely  and  fair, 

Yet  I  trembled  to  think  that  a  spirit  was  there. 

Emerald  green  was  her  hair. 

Braided  with  gems  of  the  sea  ; 

Her  arm,  like  a  meteor,  she  waved  in  the  air. 

And  I  knew  that  she  beckoned  on  me. 

She  glanced  upon  me  with  her  eyes  ; 

How  ineffably  bright  was  their  blaze  ! 

I  shrunk  and  I  trembled  with  fear  and  surprise, 

Yet  still  I  continued  to  gaze  ; 

But  enchantingly  sweet  was  the  smile  of  her  lip, 

And  I  followed  the  vision  and  sprang  from  the  ship. 

'Mid  the  waves  of  the  ocean  I  fell, 

The  dolphins  were  sporting  around, 

And  many  a  triton  was  tuning  the  shell. 

And  ecstatic  and  wild  was  the  sound  ; 

There  were  thousands  of  fathoms  above, 

And  thousands  of  fathoms  below  ; 

And  we  sunk  to  the  caves  where  the  sea  lions  rove, 

And  the  topaz  and  emerald  glow, 

Where  the  diamond  and  sapphire  eternally  shed 

Their  lustre  around  on  the  bones  of  the  dead. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  17 

And  well  might  their  lustre  be  bright, 

For  they  shone  on  the  limbs  of  the  brave. 

Of  those  who  had  fought  in  the  terrible  fight, 

And  were  buried  at  last  in  the  wave. 

In  grottoes  of  coral  they  slept, 

On  white  beds  of  pearl  around. 

And  near  them  for  ever  the  water-snake  crept. 

And  the  sea-lion  guarded  the  ground, 

While  the  dirge  of  the  heroes  by  spirits  was  rung, 

And  solemn  and  wild  were  the  strains  that  they  sung. 

Dirge. 

Sweet  is  the  slumber  the  mariners  sleep  : 

Their  bones  are  laid  in  the  caves  of  the  deep, 

Far  over  their  heads  the  tempests  sweep, 

That  ne'er  shall  wake  them  more. 

They  died  when  raved  the  bloody  fight, 

And  loud  was  the  cannons'  roar  ; 

Their  death  was  dark,  their  glory  bright, 

And  they  sunk  to  rise  no  more, 

They  sunk  to  rise  no  more. 

But  the  loud  wind  past 

When  they  breathed  their  last, 

And  it  carried  their  dying  sigh 

In  a  winding-sheet, 

With  a  shot  at  their  feet ; 

In  coral  caves  they  lie, 

In  coral  caves  they  lie. 

Or  where  the  syren  of  the  rocks 

Lovely  waves  her  sea-green  locks, 

Where  the  deadly  breakers  foam 

Found  they  an  eternal  home  ! 

Horrid  and  long  were  the  struggles  of  death, 

Black  was  the  night  when  they  yielded  their  breath  : 

But  not  on  the  ocean,  all  buoyant  and  bloated, 

The  sport  of  the  waters,  their  white  bodies  floated. 

For  they  were  borne  to  coral  caves, 

Distant  far  beneath  the  waves  ; 

And  there  on  beds  of  pearl  they  slept. 

And  far  over  their  heads  the  tempests  swept. 

That  ne'er  shall  wake  them  more. 

That  ne'er  shall  wake  them  more. 

On  his  arrival  in  England  he  repaired  immediately  to 
London,  and  effected  an  exchange  into  the  99th  or  King's 
Own  Tij)perary  regiment,  and  set  off  immediately  to  join 
the  depot  then  stationed  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.     In  order  to 

VOL.  I.  ■      B 


1 8  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

cover  the  reason  of  his  leaving  his  former  regiment,  and  to 
prevent  the  true  cause  of  his  exchange  from  becoming 
pubhcly  known,  he  addressed  the  following  stanzas  to  the 
officers  of  the  44th  regiment,  and  took  care  to  have  them 
inserted  in  all  the  newspapers,  with  the  signature  of  Morgan 
Odoherty.     They  are  as  follows  : — 

Come,  push  round  the  bottle  ;  one  glass  ere  we  part 
Must  in  sadness  go  i-ound  to  the  friends  of  my  heart, 
With  whom  many  a  bright  hour  of  joy  has  gone  by, 
Whom  with  pleasure  I  met,  whom  I  leave  with  a  sigh. 

Yes,  the  hours  have  gone  by  :  like  a  bright  sunny  gleam. 
In  the  dark  sky  of  winter  they  fled  like  a  dream  ; 
Yet,  when  years  shall  have  cast  their  dim  shadows  between, 
I  shall  fondly  remember  the  days  that  have  been. 

Come,  push  round  the  bottle  ;  for  ne'er  shall  the  chain 
That  has  bound  us  together  be  broken  in  twain. 
And  I'll  drink,  wheresoever  my  lot  may  be  cast. 
To  the  friends  that  I  love,  and  the  days  that  are  past. 

This  ruse  de  guerre  had  the  desired  effect,  for  nobody 
could  possibly  suspect  that  the  author  of  this  sentimental 
and  very  feeling  address  had  just  been  kicked  out  of  the 
regiment  by  these  very  dear  friends  whom  he  thus  patheti- 
cally lauds.  Soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  depot  of  the  99th 
regiment,  he  was  ordered  to  proceed  on  the  recruiting 
service  to  Scotland,  and  arrived  in  Edinburgh  in  the 
summer  of  181 5.  Here  new  and  unexpected  honours 
awaited  him.  He  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger  to  literary 
distinctions,  and,  notwithstanding  his  writing  in  the  different 
periodical  publications  attracted  much  of  the  public  admira- 
tion, he  had  hitherto  remained,  in  the  more  extended 
signification  of  the  word,  absolutely  unnoticed.  This,  how- 
ever, was  at  length  to  cease ;  and  though  Mr.  Odoherty  was 
by  birth  an  Irishman  (to  the  shame  of  that  country  be  it 
spoken),  it  was  Scotland  which  first  learned  to  appreciate 
and  reward  his  merit.  Soon  after  his  arrival  at  this  metro- 
polis, he  was  voted  a  member  of  the  "Select  Society." 
Here  he  distinguished  himself  by  his  eloquence  in  a  very 
eminent   degree;  and   as   the   gentlemen   of  this    Society 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  19 

seemed  to  pride  themselves  more  on  the  quantity  than  the 
quality  of  their  orations,  and  seemed  to  meet  with  much 
greater  success  in  the  multiplication  of  their  words  than  in 
the  multiplication  of  their  ideas,  to  correspond  with  them, 
Mr.  Odoherty,  from  his  natural  volubility,  soon  succeeded 
in  casting  his  rivals  in  the  shade.  In  particular,  I  am  told 
he  made  a  speech  of  four  hours  and  a  half  on  the  very 
new  and  interesting  question  of  whether  Brutus  was  justi- 
fied in  the  assassination  of  Ctesar ;  which  was  carried  in 
the  affirmative  by  a  majority  of  one,  and  may  therefore  be 
considered  as  being  finally  settled.  He  likewise  made  a 
long  speech  on  the  question  of  the  propriety  of  early 
marriages,  and  clearly  established,  in  a  most  pathetic 
and  luminous  oration,  that  Queen  Elizabeth  was  by  no 
means  justified  in  the  execution  of  Mary.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  these  elaborate  displays  of  the  most  extraordinary 
talent  could  long  remain  unnoticed.  In  consequence  of 
his  giving  a  most  clear  and  scientific  description  of  a 
Roman  frying-pan,  found  in  the  middle  of  a  bog  in  the 
county  of  Kilkenny,  he  was  immediately  elected  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Scottish  Antiquaries,  and  read 
at  their  meetings  several  very  interesting  papers,  which 
were  received  by  his  brother  antiquaries  with  the  most 
grateful  attention.  He  was  likewise  proposed  a  member 
of  the  Royal  Society,  and  unfortunately  black-balled. 
Candour  induces  me  to  state,  for  the  credit  of  that  learned 
body,  that  this  rejection  was  not  understood  to  proceed 
on  the  personal  unfitness  of  Mr.  Odoherty  for  the  proposed 
honour,  but  was  simply  owing  to  the  circumstances  of 
several  Irish  members  who  had  been  recently  chosen 
having  bilked  the  Society  of  their  fees,  which  made  them 
unwilling  to  add  to  their  number.  To  make  amends  for 
this  disappointment,  the  same  week  in  which  it  occurred 
he  was  proposed  in  the  Society  of  Dilletanti,  and  admitted 
by  acclamation  into  that  enlightened  body.  The  evenings 
which  he  sjjent  at  their  meetings  in  Young's  Tavern,  High 
Street,  were  often  mentioned  by  him  as  among  the  most 


20  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

radiant  oases  in  the  desert  of  his  existence.  He  composed 
a  beautiful  ode  to  the  keeper  of  the  tavern  where  they 
assemble,  of  which  we  cannot  at  present  quote  more  than 
the  three  opening  stanzas — 

Let  Dandies  to  M'Culloch  go, 

And  Ministers  to  Fortune's  hall  ; 
For  Indians  Oman's  claret  flow, 
In  John  M'Phail's  let  lawyers  crow, — 
These  places  seem  to  me  so  so  : 

I  love  Bill  Young's  above  them  all. 

One  only  rival,  honest  Bill, 

Hast  thou  in  Morgan's  whim  ; 
I  mean  Ben  Waters,  charming  Ben, 
Simplest  and  stupidest  of  men  ; 
I  take  a  tankard  now  and  then. 

And  smoke  a  pipe  with  him. 

Dear  Ben  !  dear  Bill !  I  love  you  both, 
Between  you  oft  my  fancy  wavers  ; 

Thou,  Bill,  excell'st  in  sheepshead  broth  ; 

Thy  porter-mugs  are  crowned  with  froth  ; 

At  Young's  I  listen,  nothing  loth, 
To  my  dear  Dilletanti  shavers. 
Oh  scene  of  merriment  and  havers. 
Of  good  rum-punch,  and  puns,  and  clavers, 
And  warbling  sweet  Elysian  quavers  ! — 

Who  loves  not  Young's  must  be  a  Goth. 


III. 

The  ode  to  Messrs.  Young  and  Waters,  with  part  of  which 
we  closed  our  last  notice  of  Mr  Odoherty's  life,  has  a 
merit  which  is  far  from  being  common  among  modern  lyrics 
— it  expresses  the  habitual  feelings  of  the  author.  The 
composer  of  an  ode,  in  these  times,  is  usually  obliged  to 
throw  himself  out  of  his  own  person  into  that  of  some 
individual  placed  in  a  situation  more  picturesque  than  has 
fallen  to  his  own  share  ;  he  is  obliged  to  dismiss  all  recollec- 
tion of  his  own  papered  parlour  and  writing-desk,  and  to 
imagine  himself,  pro  tejiipore,  a  burning  Indian,  a  dying 
soldier,  or  a  love-sick  young  lady,  as  it  may  happen.     He 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  21 

thus  loses  that  intense  air  of  personal  emotion,  which  forms 
the  principal  charm  in  the  stern  heroics  of  Pindar,  the  elegant 
drinking-songs  of  Horace,  the  gay  chatisons  of  Deshoulieres, 
and  the  luxurious  erotics  of  Tom  Moore.  Odoherty  wrote 
of  Young  and  Waters  in  his  own  person  ;  the  feelings  which 
he  has  embodied  in  verse  are  the  daily,  or  rather  nightly, 
visitants  of  his  own  bosom.  If  truth  and  nature  form  the 
chief  excellence  of  poetry,  our  hero  may  take  his  place  among 
the  most  favoured  children  of  the  Muse. 

Those  taverns  were,  however,  far  from  being  the  scenes 
of  mere  merriment  and  punch-drinking.  The  bowl  was 
seasoned  with  the  conversation  of  associates,  of  whom  it  is 
sufificient  to  say  that  they  were  indeed  worthy  to  sit  at  the 
board  with  Ensign  and  Adjutant  Odoherty.  The  writer  of 
this  has  no  personal  knowledge  of  these  distinguished  persons; 
but  from  the  letters  and  poems  of  the  Ensign's,  composed 
during  his  stay  in  Edinburgh,  it  is  evident  that  those  upon 
whom  he  set  most  value  were  the  following  gentlemen  : 
James  Hogg,  Esq.,  the  celebrated  author  of  "  The  Queen's 
Wake,"  "  Pilgrims  of  the  Sun,"  "  Mador  of  the  Moor,"  and 
other  well-known  poems.  Of  this  great  man  Odoherty 
always  wrote  with  rapture.     Take  the  following  specimen  : — 

While  worldly  men  through  stupid  years 

Without  emotion  jog, 
Devoid  of  passions,  hopes,  and  fears, 

As  senseless  as  a  log, 
I  much  prefer  my  nights  to  spend, 

A  happy  ranting  dog, 
And  see  dull  care  his  front  unbend 

Before  the  smile  of  Hogg. 

The  life  of  man's  a  season  drear, 

Immersed  in  mist  and  fog, 
Until  the  star  of  wit  appear. 

And  set  its  clouds  agog. 
For  me,  I  wish  no  brighter  sky 

Than  o'er  a  jug  of  grog, 
When  fancy  kindles  in  the  eye, 

The  good  grey  eye  of  Hogg. 

When  Misery's  car  is  at  its  speed, 
The  glowing  wheels  to  cog  ; 


22  MEMOIR  OY  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

To  make  tlie  heart  where  sorrows  bleed 

Leap  lightly  like  a  frog  ; 
Gay  verdure  o'er  the  crag  to  shower, 

And  blossoms  o'er  the  bog, 
Wit's  potent  magic  has  the  jiower 

When  tliou  dost  wield  it,  Hogg  ! 

In  the  escritoir  of  the  Ensign  his  executors  found,  among 
letters  from  the  first  literary  characters  of  the  day,  many 
excellent  ones  from  Mr  Hogg  ;  and  the  following  beautiful 
lines  formed  the  postscript  to  that  one  in  which  he  returned 
thanks  to  our  poet  for  the  above  tribute  to  his  own  kindred 
genius  : — 

O  hone,  Odoherty  ! 
I  canna  weel  telUwhat  is  wrang ; 
But  oh,  man,  since  you  gaed  frae  me. 
The  days  are  unco  dull  and  lang. 
I  try  the  paper  and  the  sclate. 
And  pen,  and  cawk,  and  killivine  ; 
But  nothing  can  I  write  of  late, 
That  even  Girzzy  ca's  divine. 

O  hone,  Odoherty ! 

O  hone,  Odoherty ! 
Oh  weary  fa'  the  fates'  decree, 
That  garred  the  Captain  part  frae  me. 

O  hone,  Odoherty  ! 
Come  back,  come  back  to  Ettrick  lake, 
And  ye  sail  hear,  and  ye  sail  see. 
What  I'se  do  for  the  Captain's  sake. 
I'll  coff  tobacco  o'  the  best. 
And  pipes  baith  lang  and  short  I'se  gie  ; 
And  the  toddy-stoup  sail  ne'er  get  rest, 
Frae  morn  till  night,  'tween  you  and  me. 

O  hone,  Odoherty  ! 

O  hone,  Odoherty  ! 
O  welcome  sail  the  moment  be 
That  brings  the  Captain  back  to  me. 

Next  to  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  the  member  of  the  Dilletanti 
who  shared  most  of  Ensign  Odoherty's  confidence  and 
affection  was  William  Allan,  Esq.  This  gentleman's  genius 
as  a  painter  does  not  require  any  notice  on  the  present 
occasion.  He  has,  we  understand,  done  justice  to  his  own 
feelings,  and  to  his  friend,  by  introducing  a  striking  likeness 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  23 

of  Odoherty's  features  into  one  of  his  principal  pieces. 
Reader,  the  Cobbler  in  the  Press-gang  is  Odoherty  !  To  Mr 
Allan,  Odoherty  frequently  addressed  humorous  epistles  in 
verse.  We  prefer,  however,  to  quote  the  following  eulogy, 
which  is  written  in  the  Adjutant's  best  serious  manner  : — 

When  wondering  ages  shall  have  rolled  away, 
And  that  be  ancient  which  is  new  to-day  ; 
When  Time  has  pour'd  his  warm  and  softening  glow 
■    O'er  that  pale  virgin's*  throbbing  breast  of  snow, 
And  lent  the  settled  majesty  of  years 
To  those  grim  Spahis,  and  those  proud  viziers  ; 
From  distant  lands  the  ardent  youth  shall  come 
To  gaze  with  admiration — breathless,  dumb, 
To  fix  his  eyes,  like  orbs  of  marble  there  ! 
And  let  his  soul  luxuriate  in  despair. 
Posterity  !  Ah,  what's  a  name  to  thee? 
What  Raphael  is,  my  Allan  then  shall  be. 

As  the  writer  of  the  present  notice  intends  to  publish  in  a 
separate  form  the  poetical  verses  of  Odoherty,  with  authentic 
portraits  of  his  friends,  it  is  not  necessary  to  quote  any  more 
of  these  effusions  now.  The  pleasantry  of  the  Ensign  was 
always  harmless,  and  his  very  satire  was  both  dart  and  balsam. 
He  never  condescended  to  personalities,  except  in  one 
solitary  instance,  in  a  song  entitled  "The  Young  Man  of 
the  West,"  composed  upon  Mr  James  Grahame,  the  famous 
anti-Malthusian  philosopher.  This  song  he  used  to  sing 
with  great  humour,  to  the  tune  of  "  A  Cobbler  there  was,"  &c. ; 
but  though  frequently  urged  to  do  so,  he  never  would  print  it ; 
and  on  his  own  manuscript  copy  there  is  this  note,  "  Let  the 
Young  Man  of  the  West  be  destroyed  ; "  an  injunction  which 
has  since  been  scrupulously  complied  with. 

During  one  of  those  brilliant  evenings  at  the  Dilletanti, 
which,  says  our  bard  in  a  letter  to  the  present  writer,  "  will 
for  ever  live  in  the  memory  of  all  who  enjoyed  them,"  the 
conversation  ran  upon  the  Italian  improvisatori.  Odoherty 
remarked  that  the  power  which  appeared  to  many  so 
wonderful  was  no  way  uncommon,  and  offered  to  recite,  or 

•  Circassian  captive. 


24  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

write  down  currente  calar/io,  a  poem  upon  any  given  subject. 
The  president  proposed  "  An  Elegy,  by  a  Young  Lady  in  a 
Ball-room  disappointed  of  a  Partner,"  and  the  Adjutant 
wrote  down  the  following  twenty  four-line  stanzas  in  fifty- 
three  minutes  nineteen  seconds  by  a  stop-watch.  Such  an 
achievement  throws  the  Aamirable  Crichton  into  the 
shade : — 

ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  BALL-ROOM. 

The  beaux  are  jogging  on  the  pictured  floor, 
The  belles  responsive  trip  with  lightsome  heels  ; 

While  I,  deserted,  the  cold  pangs  deplore, 

Or  breathe  the  wrath  which  slighted  beauty  feels. 

When  first  I  entered  glad,  with  glad  mamma, 

The  girls  were  ranged  and  clustered  round  us  then ; 

Few  beaux  were  there,  those  few  with  scorn  I  saw, 
Unknowing  Dandies  that  could  come  at  ten. 

My  buoyant  heart  beat  high  with  promised  pleasure, 
My  dancing  garland  moved  with  airy  grace  ; 

Quick  beat  my  active  toe  to  Gow's  gay  measure, 
And  undissembled  triumph  wreathed  my  face. 

Fancy  prospective  took  a  proud  survey 

Of  all  the  coming  glories  of  the  night ; 
Even  where  I  stood  my  legs  began  to  play — 

So  racers  paw  the  turf  e'er  jockeys  smite. 

And  "who  shall  be  my  partner  first?"  I  said. 
As  my  thoughts  glided  o'er  the  coming  beaux  ; 

"Not  Tom,  nor  Ned,  nor  Jack. "     I  tossed  my  head, 
Nice  grew  my  taste,  and  high  my  scorn  arose. 

"  If  Dicky  asks  me,  I  shall  spit  and  sprain  ; 

When  Sam  approaches,  headaches  I  will  mention  ; 
I'll  freeze  the  Colonel's  heart  with  cold  disdain  :" 

Thus  cruelly  ran  on  my  glib  invention. 

While  yet  my  fancy  revelled  in  her  dreams, 

The  sets  are  forming,  and  the  fiddles  scraping  ; 

Gow's  wakening  chord  a  stirring  prelude  screams, 
The  beaux  are  quizzing,  and  the  misses  gaping. 

Beau  after  beau  approaches,  bows,  and  smiles, 
Quick  to  the  dangler's  arm  springs  glad  ma'amselle  ; 

Fair  after  pair  augments  the  sparkling  files, 
And  full  upon  my  ear  "the  triumph"  swells. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  25 

I  flirt  my  fan  in  time  with  the  mad  fiddle, 

My  eye  pursues  the  dancers'  motions  flying  ; 
Cross  hands  !  Balaiicez  !  Down  and  up  the  middle  ! 

To  join  the  revel  how  my  heart  is  dying. 

One  miss  sits  down  all  glowing  from  the  dance. 

Another  rises,  and  another  yet  ; 
Beaux  upon  belles,  and  belles  on  beaux  advance, 

The  tune  unending,  ever  full  the  set. 

At  last  a  pause  there  conies.     To  Gow's  keen  hand 
The  hurrying  lackey  hands  the  enlivening  port  ; 

The  misses  sip  the  ices  where  they  stand. 
And  gather  vigour  to  renew  the  sport. 

I  round  the  room  dispense  a  wistful  glance, 

Wish  Ned,  or  Dick,  or  Tom  would  crave  the  honour  ; 

I  hear  Sam  whisper  to  Miss  B.,  "  Do  dance," 
And  launch  a  withering  scowl  of  envy  on  her. 

Sir  Billy  capers  up  to  Lady  Di ; 

In  vain  I  cough  as  gay  Sir  Billy  passes  ; 
The  Major  asks  my  sister;  faint  I  sigh, 

' '  Well,  after  this — the  men  are  grown  such  asses  !  " 

In  vain  !     In  vain  !     Again  the  dancers  mingle, 

With  lazy  eye  I  watch  the  busy  scene, 
Far  on  the  pillowed  sofa  sad  and  single, 

Languid  the  attitude,  but  sharp  the  spleen. 

"  La  !  ma'am,  how  hot  !  "     "You're  quite  fatigued,  I  see  ;  " 
"  What  a  long  dance  !  "     "And  so  you're  come  to  town  !  " 

Such  casual  whispers  are  addressed  to  me. 
But  not  one  hint  to  lead  the  next  set  down. 

The  third,  the  fourth,  the  fifth,  the  sixth,  are  gone, 
And  now  the  seventh,  and  yet  I'm  asked  not  once  ! 

When  supper  comes  must  I  descend  alone  ? 
Does  Fate  deny  me  my  last  prayer — a  dunce? 

Mamma  supports  me  to  the  room  for  munching. 

There  turkey's  breast  she  crams,  and  wing  of  pullet ; 

I  slobbering  jelly  and  hard  nuts  am  crunching. 
And  pouring  tuns  of  trifle  down  my  gullet. 

No  beau  invites  me  to  a  glass  of  sherry  ; 

Above  me  stops  the  salver  of  champagne  ; 
While  all  the  rest  are  tossing  brimmers  merry, 

I  with  cold  water  comfort  my  disdain. 

Ye  bucks  of  Edinburgh  !  ye  tasteless  creatures  ! 
Ye  vapid  Dandies  !  how  I  scorn  you  all ! 


26  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Green  slender  slips,  with  pale  cheese-paring;  features, 
And  awkward,  lumb'ring,  red-faced  boobies  tall. 

Strange  compounds  of  the  beau  and  the  attorney  ! 

Raw  lairds  !  and  schoolboys  for  a  whisker  shaving  ! 
May  injured  beauty's  glance  of  fury  burn  ye  ! 

I  hate  you,  clowns  and  fools  !     But  hah  !  I'm  raving  ! 

We  shall  now  take  leave,  for  the  present,  of  Odoherty  and 
the  Dilletanti  Society,  with  an  extract  from  his  longest  and 
latest  poem,  entitled  "  Young's  Night  Thoughts"  (a  humorous 
allusion  to  the  before-mentioned  celebrated  tavern).  Lively 
as  this  strain  is,  we  can  scarcely  read  it  without  tears  ;  for 
it  was,  we  repeat,  the  very  last  of  his  works  here  below. 
The  following  poem,  copied  by  a  female  hand  on  hot-pressed 
gilt  paper,  is  intended  to  explain  the  great  leading  object  of 
the  poem  : — 

There  was  a  time  when  every  sort  of  people 

Created,  relished,  and  commended  jokes  ; 
But  now  a  joker's  stared  at,  like  a  steeple, 

By  the  majority  of  Christian  folks. 
Dulness  has  tanned  her  hide  to  thickness  triple, 

And  Observation  sets  one  in  the  stocks, 
When  you've  been  known  a  comic  song  to  sing, 
Write  notices,  or  any  harmless  thing. 

This  Edinburgh,  Edina,  or  Dunedin 

('Cleped,  in  the  Bailie's  lingo,  "the  Good  Town  ; " 

But  styled  "  Auld  Reekie  "  by  all  Celts  now  treading 

Her  streets,  bows,  wynds,  lanes,  crescents,  up  and  down, 

Her  labyrinths  of  stairs  and  closes  threading 
On  other  people's  business  or  their  own— 

Those  bandy,  broad-faced,  rough-kneed,  ragged  laddies, 

Those  horny-fisted,  those  gill-swigging  caddies)  — 

This  Edinburgh  some  call  Metropolis, 

And  Capital,  and  Athens  of  the  North — 
I  know  not  what  they  mean.      I'm  sure  of  this, 

Tho'  she  abounds  in  men  of  sense  and  worth, 
Her  staple  and  predominant  qualities 

Are  ignorance  and  nonsense,  and  so  forth  ; 
I  don't  like  making  use  of  a  hard  word,  , 

But  'tis  the  merest  hu7n  I  ever  heard. 

There's  our  Mackenzie  :  all  with  veneration 
See  him  that  Harley  felt  and  Caustic  drew  ; 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  27 

There's  Scott,  the  pride  and  darling  of  his  nation, 

Poet  and  cavalier,  kind,  generous,  true  ; 
There's  Jeffrey,  who  has  been  the  botheration 

Of  the  whole  world  with  his  glib,  sharp  Review, 
And  made  most  young  Scots  lawyers  mad  with  Whiggery  ; 
There's  Leslie,  Stewart,  Alison,  and  Gregory. 

But  these  and  some  few  others  being  named, 

I  don't  remember  one  more  great  gun  in  her  ; 
The  remanent  population  can't  be  blamed 

Because  their  chief  concern  in  life's  their  dinner. 
To  give  examples  I  should  be  ashamed. 

And  people  would  cry,  "Lord  !  that  wicked  sinner  !  " 
(For  all  we  gentry  here  are  quite  egg-shells. 
We  can't  endure  jokes  that  come  near  "  oorseUs.") 

They  say  that  knowledge  is  diffused  and  general. 

And  taste  and  understanding  are  so  common  ; 
I'd  rather  see  a  sweep-boy  suck  a  penny  roll 

Than  listen  to  a  criticising  woman. 
And  as  for  poetry,  the  time  of  dinner  all, 

Thank  God,  I  then  have  better  things  to  do,  man. 
Exceptions  'gainst  the  fair  were  coarse  and  shocking  : 
I've  seen  in  breeches  may  a  true  blue-stocking. 

Blue-stocking  stands,  in  my  vocabulary. 

For  one  that  always  chatters  (sex  is  nothing) 
About  new  books  from  June  to  January, 

And  with  re-echoed  carpings  moves  your  loathing.   . 
I  like  to  see  young  people  smart  and  airy. 

With  well-dressed  hair  and  fashionable  clothing. 
Can't  they  discourse  about  ball,  rout,  or  play, 
And  know  reviewing's  quite  out  of  their  way? 

It  strikes  me  as  a  thing  exceeding  stupid 

This  conversation  about  books,  books,  books. 
When  I  was  young,  and  sat  'midst  damsels  grouped, 

I  talked  of  roses,  zephyrs,  gurgling  brooks, 
Venus,  the  Graces,  Dian,  Hymen,  Cupid, 

Perilous  glances,  soul-subduing  looks, 
Slim  tapering  fingers,  glossy  clustering  curls. 
Diamonds  and  emeralds,  cairngorms  and  pearls. 

On  Una  that  made  sunshine  in  the  shade, 

And  Emily  with  eye  of  liquid  jet, 
And  gentle  Desdemona,  and  the  maid 

That  sleeps  within  the  tomb  of  Capulet 
Hearts  love  to  ponder.     Would  it  not  degrade 

Our  notion  of  a  nymph  like  Juliet, 
To  be  informed  that  she  had  just  read  through 
Last  number  of  the  Edinbunrfi  Review  f 


28  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Leave  ye  to  dominies  and  sticker  stibblers, 

And  all  the  sedentary  generation, 

The  endless  chitter-cliattcr  about  scribblers, 

And  England's  melancholy  situation. 

Let  them  be  still  the  customary  nibblers 

Of  all  that  rule  or  edify  the  nation  ; 

Leave  off  the  Corn-bill,  and  the  law  of  libel, 

And  read  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  or  your  Bible. 

From  the  poem  itself  we  quote  the  following  stanzas, 
without  any  remarks,  convinced  that  their  simple  elegance 
and  unaffected  grace  stand  in  no  need  of  the  critic's 
recommendation : — 

I  rose  this  morning  at  half-past  nine, 

At  breakfast  coffee  I  consumed  pour  quatre, 
Unnumbered  rolls  enriched  with  marmalade  fine. 

And  little  balls  of  butter  dished  in  water, 
Tiiree  eggs,  two  platesful  of  superb  cold  chine 

(Much  recommended  to  make  thin  folks  fatter) ; 
And,  having  thus  my  ballast  stowed  on  board, 
Roamed  forth  to  kill  a  day's  time  like  a  lord. 

How  I  contrived  to  pass  the  whole  forenoon, 

I  can't  remember  though  my  life  were  on  it  ; 
I  helped  G.  T.  in  jotting  of  a  tune, 

And  hinted  rhymes  to  G s  for  a  sonnet  ; 

Called  at  the  Knox's  shop  with  Miss  Balloon, 

And  heard  her  ipse  dixit  on  a  bonnet  ; 
Then  washed  my  mouth  with  ices,  tarts,  and  flummeries, 
And  ginger-beer  and  soda,  at  Montgomery's, 

Down  Princes  Street  I  once  or  twice  paraded, 

And  gazed  upon  these  same  eternal  faces  ; 
Those  beardless  beaux  and  bearded  belles,  those  faded 

And  flashy  silks,  surtouts,  pelisses,  laces  ; 
Those  crowds  of  clerks,  astride  on  hackneys  jaded. 

Prancing  and  capering  with  notarial  grace  ; 
Dreaming  enthusiasts  who  indulge  vain  whimsies 
That  they  might  pass  in  Bond  Street  or  St.  James's. 

I  saw  equestrian  and  pedestrian  vanish — 

One  to  a  herring  in  his  lonely  shop, 
And  some  of  kind  gregarious,  and  more  clannish, 

To  club  at  Waters'  for  a  mutton-chop  ; 
Myself  resolved  for  once  my  cares  to  banish, 

And  give  the  Cerberus  of  thought  a  sop  ; 
Got  Jack's,  and  Sam's,  and  Dick's,  and  Tom's  consent, 
And  o'er  the  Mound  to  Billy  Young's  we  went. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  29 

I  am  not  nice,  I  care  not  what  I  dine  on, 

A  sheep's  head  or  beef-steak  is  All  T  wish. 
Old  Homer  !  how  he  loved  the  epvdpov  olvov  : 

It  is  the  glass  that  glorifies  the  dish. 
The  thing  that  I  have  always  set  my  mind  on 

(A  small  foundation  laid  of  fowl,  flesh,  fish) 
Is  out  of  bottle,  pitcher,  or  punch-bowl, 
To  suck  reviving  solace  to  my  soul. 

Life's  a  dull,  dusty  desert,  waste  and  drear, 

With  now  and  then  an  oasis  between, 
Where  palm-trees  rise,  and  fountains  gushing  clear 

Burst  'neath  the  shelter  of  that  leafy  screen. 
Haste  not  your  parting  steps  when  such  appear, 

Repose,  ye  weary  travellers,  on  the  green. 
Horace  and  Milton,  Dante,  Burns,  and  Schiller, 
Dined  at  a  tavern — when  they  had  "the  siller." 

And  ne'er  did  poet,  epical  or  tragical, 

At  Florence,  London,  Weimar,  Rome,  Maybole, 

See  Time's  dark  lanthorn  glow  with  hues  more  magical 
Than  I  have  witnessed  in  the  Coffin-hole. 

Praise  of  antiquity  a  bam  and  fudge  I  call, 
Ne'er  past  the  present  let  my  wishes  roll ; 

A  fig  for  all  comparing,  croaking  grumblers. 

Hear  me,  dear  dimpling  Billy,  bring  the  tumblers. 

Let  blank  verse  hero,  or  Spenserian  rhymer, 

Treat  Donna  Musa  with  chateau-margout, 
Chateau-Lafitte,  Johannisberg,  Hocheimer, 

In  tall  outlandish  glasses  green  and  blue. 
Thanks  to  my  stars,  myself  a  doggrel-chimer, 

Have  nothing  with  such  costly  tastes  to  do ; 
My  muse  is  always  kindest  when  I  court  her 
O'er  whisky-punch,  gin-twist,  strong  beer,  and  porter. 

And  oh,  my  pipe,  though  in  these  dandy  days 

Few  love  thee,  fewer  still  their  love  confess, 
Ne'er  let  me  blush  to  celebrate  thy  praise, 

Divine  invention  of  the  age  of  Bess  ! 
I  for  a  moment  interrupt  my  lays 

The  tiny  tube  with  loving  lip  to  press  : 
I'll  then  come  back  with  a  reviving  zest, 

And  give  thee  three  more  stanzas  of  my  best. 

(I  stuoke.) 

Pipe  !  whether  plain  in  fashion  of  Frey-herr, 
Or  gaudy  glittering  in  the  taste  of  Boor, 
Deep-darkened  Meer-schaum  or  Ecume-de-mer, 
Or  snowy  clay  of  Gowda,  light  and  pure. 


30  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Let  different  people  different  pipes  prefer, 
Delft,  horn,  or  catgut ;   long,  short,  older,  newer; 

Puff,  every  brother,  as  it  likes  him  best : 
De  gustibus  non  disputandum  est. 

Pipe  !  when  I  stuff  into  thee  my  canaster, 

With  flower  of  camomil  and  leaf  of  rose, 
And  the  calm  rising  fume  comes  fast  and  faster. 

Curling  with  balmy  circles  near  my  nose, 
And  all  tlie  while  my  dexter  hand  is  master 

Of  the  full  cup  from  Meux's  vat  that  flows — 
Heavens  !  all  my  brain  a  soft  oblivion  wraps 
Of  wafered  letters  and  of  single  taps. 

I've  no  objections  to  a  good  cigar, 
A  true  Havannah,  smooth,  and  moist,  and  brown  ; 

But  then  the  smoke's  too  near  the  eye  by  far. 
And  out  of  doors  'tis  in  a  twinkling  flown  ; 

And  somehow  it  sets  all  my  teeth  ajar, 

When  to  an  inch  or  so  we've  smoked  him  down  ; 

And,  if  your  leaf  have  got  a  straw  within  it, 

You  know  'tis  like  a  cinder  in  a  minute. 

I  have  no  doubt  a  long  excursive  hooker 
Suits  well  some  lordly  lounger  of  Bengal, 

Who  never  writes  or  looks  into  a  book,  or 
Does  anything  with  earnestness  at  all. 

He  sits,  and  his  tobacco's  in  the  nook,  or, 
Tended  by  some  black  heathen  in  the  hall, 

Lays  up  his  legs,  and  thinks  he  does  great  things 

If  once  in  the  half-hour  a  puff  he  brings, 

I  rather  follow  in  my  smoking  trim 
The  example  of  Scots  cottars  and  their  wives, 

Who,  while  the  evening  air  is  warm  and  dim, 
In  July  sit  beside  their  garden  hives  ; 

And,  gazing  all  the  while  with  wrinkles  grim 
To  see  how  the  concern  of  honey  thrives, 

Empty  before  they've  done  a  four-ounce  bag 

Of  sailors'  twist,  or,  what's  less  common — shag. 

IV. 

This  winter  was  indeed  a  memorable  one  in  the  life  of 
Odoherty.  Divided  almost  in  equal  proportions  between 
the  Old  and  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh,  the  society  of 
Hogg,  Allan,  and  the  Dilettanti  on  the  one  hand,  and  that 
of  the  female  and  fashionable  world  on  the  other,  and  thus 
presenting  to  the  active  mind  of  the   Ensign  a  perpetual 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  31 

succession  or,  rather,  alternation  of  the  richest  viands,  it 
produced  the  effects  which  might  have  been  anticipated, 
and  swelkd  considerably  the  bulk  of  two  portfolios,  respec- 
tively set  apart  for  the  prose  and  verse  compositions  which, 
at  this  period  of  his  career,  our  bard  was  so  rapidly  pouring 
forth  to  the  admiration  of  his  numerous  friends  and  the 
public. 

His  morning  hours  were  devoted  to  attend  several  courses 
of  lectures  in  the  University  ;  for  Odoherty  was  never  weary 
of  learning,  and  embraced  with  ardour  every  opportunity  that 
was  afforded  him  of  increasing  the  stores  of  his  literary 
acquisitions  and  accomphshments.  His  remarks  upon  the 
different  lectures  which  he  now  attended  possess  all  his 
characteristic  acuteness,  and  would  have  done  honour  to  a 
more  practised  critic.  But  these  we  reserve  for  the  separate 
publication  of  his  works.  To  insert  any  mutilated  fragments 
of  them  here  would  be  an  act  of  injustice  to  the  illustrious 
Professors,  Brown,  Playfair,  Leslie,  Hope,  Ritchie,  &c.,  no 
less  than  to  their  distinguished  disciple.  Great  and  illustrious 
as  is  the  fame  of  these  philosophers,  it  is  possible  that  the 
names  of  some  of  them  may  live  in  distant  ages  chiefly 
because  of  their  connection  with  that  of  Odoherty.  The 
Ensign  may  be  to  them  what  Xenophon  has  been  to  Socrates  ; 
he  may  be  more,  for  it  is  possible  that  none  of  them  may 
have  a  Plato. 

The  gay  world  of  the  northern  metropolis,  which  durmg 
this  remarkable  winter  was  adorned  by  the  graceful  and 
ingenious  Ensign,  seems,  we  are  constrained  to  observe,  to 
have  found  less  favour  in  his  eyes  than  in  those  of  most  other 
visitors  with  whom  we  have  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing. 
In  one  of  those  inimitable  letters  of  his,  addressed  to  the 
compiler  of  the  present  sketch,  he  comments  with  .some 
little  causticity  on  the  incidents  of  several  balls  and  routes 
which  he  had  just  attended.  "The  gaieties  of  Edinburgh," 
writes  the  Ensign,  "  are  a  bad  and  lame  caricature  of  those 
of  London.  There  is  the  same  squeeze,  the  same  heat, 
the  same  buzz ;  but,  alas !  the  ease,  the  elegance,  the  non- 


32  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

chalance  are  awanting.  In  London  the  different  orders  of 
society  are  so  numerous  that  they  keep  themselves  totally 
apart  from  each  other;  and  the  highest  circles  of  fashion 
admit  none  as  denizens  except  those  who  possess  the  here- 
ditary claims  of  birth  and  fortune,  or  (as  in  my  own  case) 
those  who  are  supposed  to  atone  for  their  deficiencies  in 
these  respects  by  extraordinary  genius  or  merit.  Hence 
there  are  so  few  stones  of  the  first  or  even  of  the  second 
water  that  recourse  is  necessarily  had  to  far  inferior  gems, 
not  unfrequently  even  to  the  transitory  mimicries  q{  paste. 
You  shall  see  the  lady  of  an  attorney  stowing  away  her  bed- 
steads and  basinstands,  dismantling  all  her  apartments,  and 
turning  her  whole  family  topsy-turvy  once  in  a  season,  in  order 
that  she  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  dispersing  two  hundred 
cards,  with  '  At  /io??ie '  upon  them.  It  is  amusing  enough 
to  see  with  what  laborious  exertion  she  and  her  daughters, 
sensible  people  that  attend  to  domestic  concerns,  plainwork, 
&c.,  for  three  parts  of  the  year,  become  for  a  few  short  weeks 
the  awkward  inapt  copyists  of  their  far  less  respectable 
betters.  It  is  distressing  to  see  the  faded  airs  with  which 
these  good  bourgeoises  endeavour  to  conceal  their  confusion 
in  receiving  the  curtsy  of  a  lady  of  quality,  who  comes  to 
their  houses  only  for  the  purpose  of  quizzing  them  in  some 
corner,  with  some  sarcastic  younger  brother,"  &c.  The  rest 
of  the  letter,  consisting  chiefly  of  rapturous  descriptions  of 
particular  young  ladies,  is  omitted  from  motives  of  delicacy. 
Two  fair  creatures,  however,  a  most  exquisite  petite  blonde, 
and  a  superb  sultana-like  brunette,  who  seem  to  have  divided 
for  several  weeks  the  possession  of  the  sensitive  heart  of 
Odoherty,  may  receive,  upon  personal  application  to  the 
publisher,  several  sonnets,  elegies,  &c.,  which  are  inscribed 
with  their  names  in  the  above-mentioned  portfolio  of  their 
departed  admirer,  faint  and  frail  memorials  of  unripened 
affections, — memorials  over  which  they  may  now  drop  a  tear 
of  delightful  pensiveness,  which  they  may  now  press  to  the 
virgin  bosom  without  a  hope,  and  therefore,  alas  !  without 
a  blush. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  33 

About  this  period  their  Imperial  Highnesses  the  Arch- 
dukes John  and  Lewis  of  Austria  arrived  in  the  Caledonian 
metropolis.  Although  they  received  every  polite  attention 
from  the  military,  legal,  and  civic  dignitaries  of  the  place, 
these  elevated  personages  were  afflicted,  notwithstanding, 
with  considerable  symptoms  of  ennui  in  the  course  of  the 
long  evening  which  they  spent  at  M'CuUoch's,  after  returning 
from  the  pomps  and  festivities  of  the  day.  It  was  then  that, 
their  Highnesses  expressing  some  desire  to  partake  of  the 
more  unceremonious  and  week-day  society  of  the  Northern 
Athens,  various  characters  of  singing,  smoking,  and  scientific 
celebrity  were  introduced  to  their  apartment,  through  the 
intervention  of  a  gentleman  in  their  suite.  Among  these, 
it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  observe,  was  Odoherty.  The 
Ensign,  with  that  happy  tact  which  a  man  of  true  genius 
carries  into  every  situation  of  life,  immediately  perceived 
and  caught  the  air,  manner,  &c.,  in  a  word,  whatever  was 
best  adapted  for  captivating  the  archiducal  fancy.  His 
proficiency  in  the  German  tongue,  the  only  one  which  these 
princes  spoke  with  much  fluency,  was  not  indeed  great ;  but 
he  made  amends  for  this  by  the  truly  Germanic  ferocity 
with  which  he  smoked  (for  the  Ensign  was  one  of  those 
who  could  send  the  cloud  ad  libitum  through  the  ears  and 
nostrils,  as  well  as  the  mouth),  by  the  unqualified  admiration 
which  he  testified  for  the  favourite  imperial  beverage  of  Giles' 
ale ;  but,  above  all,  by  the  style  of  matchless  excellence  in 
which  he  sung  some  of  his  own  songs,  among  which  were 
the  following : — 


SONG    I. 

Confusion  to  routs  and  at  homes, 

To  assemblies,  and  balls,  and  what  not  ; 
'Tis  with  pain  e'er  Odoherty  roams 

From  the  scenes  of  the  pipe  and  the  pot. 
Your  Dandies  may  call  him  a  sot. 

They  never  can  call  him  a  spoon  ; 
And  Odoherty  cares  not  a  jot, 

For  he's  sure  you  won't  join  in  the  tune. 
VOL.  I. 


34  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

With  your  pipes  and  your  swipes, 
And  your  herrings  and  tripes, 
You  never  can  join  in  the  tune. 

I'm  a  swapper,  as  every  one  knows. 

In  my  pumps  six  feet  three  inches  high  ; 
'Tis  no  wonder  your  minikin  beaux 

Have  a  fancy  to  fight  rather  shy 
Of  a  GulHver  chap  such  as  I, 

That  could  stride  over  troops  of  their  tribes. 
That  had  never  occasion  to  buy 

Either  collars,  or  calves,  or  kibes. 
My  boot  wrenches  and  pinches. 
Though  'tis  wide  twenty  inches. 
And  I  don't  bear  my  brass  at  my  kibes. 

When  I  see  a  fantastical  hopper, 

A  trim  little  chip  of  the  ton. 
Not  so  thick  as  your  Highness'  pipe-stopper, 

And  scarcely,  I  take  it,  so  long, 
Swaddled  prim  and  precise  as  a  prong, 

With  his  ribs  running  all  down  and  up, 
Says  I,  Does  the  creature  belong 

To  the  race  of  the  ewe  or  the  tup  ? 

With  their  patches  and  their  scratches, 
And  their  plastered  mustaches, 
They  are  more  of  the  ewe  than  the  tup. 


SONG    II. 

That  nothing  is  perfect  has  frequently  been 

By  the  wisest  philosophers  stated  untruly  ; 
Which  only  can  prove  that  they  never  had  seen 

The  agreeable  Lady  Lucretia  Gilhooly. 
Where's  the  philosopher  would  not  feel  loss  of  her? 

Whose  bosom  these  bright  sunny  eyes  would  not  thawi 
Although  I'm  a  game  one,  these  little  highwaymen 

Have  rifled  the  heart  of  poor  Major  M'Craw. 

Cook  sailed  round  the  world,  and  Commodore  Anson 

The  wonders  he  met  with  has  noted  down  duly  ; 
But  Cook,  nor  yet  Anson,  could  e'er  light  by  chance  on 

A  beauty  like  Lady  Lucretia  Gilhooly. 
Let  astronomer  asses  still  peep  through  their  glasses, 

Then  tell  all  the  stars  and  the  planets  they  saw  ; 
Damn  Georgium  Sidus  !  we've  Venus  beside  us, 

And  that  is  sufficient  for  Major  M'Craw, 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  35 

Delighted  with  this  mirthful  evening,  the  illustrious 
strangers,  before  breaking  up,  insisted  that  Odoherty,  the 
principal  source  of  its  hilarity,  should  accompany  them  next 
day  to  the  literary,  mercantile,  and  manufacturing  city  of 
Glasgow.  Here  the  Ensign  was  received  in  the  most  dis- 
tinguished manner,  not  more  on  account  of  the  company  in 
which  he  travelled  than  of  the  individual  fame  which  had 
already  found  its  way  before  him  to  the  capital  of  St.  Mungo. 
The  party  put  up  at  the  Buck's  Head,  to  the  excellent 
hostess  of  which  (Mrs.  Jardine)  the  Ensign  addressed  a 
pathetic  sonnet  at  parting.  At  the  dinner  given  by  the 
provost  and  magistrates,  the  Ensign  attended  in  full  puff,  and 
was  placed  among  the  most  illustrious  guests,  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  table.  He  sung,  he  joked,  he  spoke  ;  he  was  the 
sine  qua  non  of  the  meeting.  At  the  collation  prepared  for 
the  imperial  party  by  the  Professors  of  the  University,  he 
made  himself  equally  agreeable ;  and  indeed,  upon  both  of 
these  occasions,  laid  the  foundations  of  several  valuable 
friendships,  which  only  terminated  with  his  existence. 
Among  his  MSS.  we  have  found  a  paper  which  purports  to 
contain  the  words  of  a  programma  affixed  to  the  gate  of  the 
college  on  the  morning  preceding  the  visit  of  the  Archdukes. 
We  shall  not  hesitate  to  transcribe  this  fragment,  although, 
from  our  ignorance  of  the  style  and  ceremonial  observed  on 
similar  occasions  by  the  Scottish  universities,  we  are  not  able 
to  vouch  for  its  authenticity.  The  Ensign  kept  his  papers 
in  much  disorder — seria  mixta  Jocis,  as  his  Roman  favourite 

expresses  it. 

Q.  F.  F.  Q.  S. 

Senatus  Academicus  Togatis  et  non  Togatis  Salutem 
dat. — Ab  altissimo  et  potentissimo  Principe  Marchione  de 
Douglas  et  Clydesdale,  certiores  facti  quod  eorum  altitudines 
imperiales  Archiduces  Joannes  et  Ludovicus  de  Austria 
hodie  nos  visitatione  honorare  intendunt,  hasce  regulas 
enunciare  quomodo  omnes  se  sunt  gerere  placuit  nobis,  et 
quicunque  eas  non  volunt  observare  severrime  puniti  erunt 
postea. 


36  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

\tno.  Eorum  altitudines  imperiales  Archiduces  Joannes  et 
lAidovicus  de  Austria  capient  frigidam  collationem  in  aula 
])riori  cum  principal!  et  professoribus  (cum  togis  suis)  et 
quibusdam  generosis  hominibus  ex  urbe  et  vicinitate,  et 
signifero  Dochertiade  et  alia  sequela  eorum  circa  horam 
meridianam,  impensis  Facultatis. 

2.  Studentes  qui  barbas  habent  tondeant  et  manus  et 
fades  lavent  sicuti  in  die  dominico. 

3.  Studentes  omnes  indusia  nitida  induant  velut  cum  Dux 
Montis-Rosarum  erat  hie. 

4.  Studentes  Theologici  nigras  braccas  et  vestes  et  pallia 
decentia  induant  quasi  ministri. 

5.  Omnes  studentes  in  casu  sint  videri  per  Archiduces  et 
Marchiones  et  honorabiles  personas  qui  cum  iis  sunt ;  et 
Hibernici  et  Montani  supra  omnia  sibi  oculum  habeant  et 
omnes  pectantur. 

6.  Studentes  duas  lineas  faciant  decenter  et  cum  quiete 
intra  aulam  priorem  et  aulam  communem  cum  processio 
ambulat,  et  juniores  ni  rideant  cum  peregrinos  vident. 

7.  In  aula  communi  Professor  .  .  .  (name  illegible)  qui 
olim  in  Gallia  fuit  Francisce  illis  locutus  erit  nam  Professor 
...  est  mortuus. 

.  8.  Deinde  aliquis  ex  Physicis  sermonem  Anglicam  pro- 
nunciabit  et  Principalis  Latine  precabitur. 

9.  Sine  strepitu  dismissi  estotis  cum  omnia  facta  sunt. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  several  leaves  are  awanting  in 
the  Ensign's  diary,  which  probably  contained  an  account  of 
the  rest  of  the  tour  which  he  performed  in  company  with 
the  scions  of  the  house  of  Hapsburg.  Their  custom  of 
smoking  several  pipes  every  evening  after  supper  took  from 
him,  it  is  not  unlikely,  the  leisure  that  might  have  been 
necessary  for  composing  a  full  narrative  ;  but,  however  slight 
\\\%  precis  might  have  been,  its  loss  is  to  be  regretted.  The 
sketches  of  a  master  are  of  more  value  than  the  most 
elaborate  works  of  secondary  hands  ;  the  fragment  of  an 
Angelo  surpasses  the  chef -d' osuv res  of  a  West.  But  to 
return.     At  Dublin,  the  festivities  with  which  the  arrival  of 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  37 

the  party  was  celebrated  surpassed  in  splendour  and  variety, 
as  might  be  expected,  everything  that  had  been  exhibited 
in  the  cities  of  Scotland.  After  spending  several  days  in  a 
round  of  gaieties,  the  Archdukes  set  sail  for  Liverpool. 
Odoherty,  from  the  pressure  of  his  professional  engagements, 
found  himself  compelled  to  go  no  farther  in  the  train  of  the 
princely  travellers.  The  parting  was  one  of  those  scenes 
which  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  Al- 
though the  Ensign  lingered  a  day  or  two  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  brilliant  society  of  Dublin,  although  he  spent  his 
mornings  with  Phillips,  and  his  evenings  with  Lady  Morgan, 
his  spirits  did  not  soon  recover  their  usual  tone  and  elasticity. 
The  state  of  gloom  in  which  his  mind  was  thus  temporarily 
involved  extended  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  its  influence 
to  his  muse.  We  do  not  wish  to  prolong  this  article  beyond 
the  allowable  limit ;  but  we  must  make  room  for  a  single 
specimen  of  the  dark  effusions  wiiich  at  this  epoch  flowed 
from  the  gay,  the  giddy  Odoherty. 

THE  ENGLISH  SAILOR  AND  THE  KING  OF  ACHEN's  DAUGHTER. 

A    TALE   OF  TERROR. 

Come,  listen  gentles  all, 
And  ladies  unto  me, 
And  you  shall  be  told  of  a  sailor  bold 
As  ever  sailed  on  sea. 

'Twas  in  the  month  of  May, 
Sixteen  hundred  sixty  and  four, 
We  sallied  out,  both  fresh  and  stout, 
In  the  good  ship  Swiftsure. 

With  wind  and  weather  fair 
We  sailed  from  Plymouth  Sound  ; 
And  the  Line  we  crossed,  and  the  Cape  we  passed, 
Being  to  China  bound. 

And  we  sailed  by  Sunda  Isles, 
And  Ternale  and  Tydore, 
Till  the  wind  it  lagged,  and  our  sails  they  flagged, 
In  sight  of  Achen's  shore. 

Becalmed,  days  three  times  three, 
We  lay  in  the  burning  sun ; 


38  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Our  water  we  drank,  and  our  meat  it  stank, 
And  our  biscuits  were  well  nigh  done. 

Oh  !  then  'twas  an  awful  sight 
Our  seamen  for  to  behold, 
Who  t'other  day  were  so  fresh  and  gay, 
And  their  hearts  as  stout  as  gold. 

But  now  our  hands  they  shook, 
And  our  cheeks  were  yellow  and  lean, 
Our  faces  all  long,  and  our  nerves  unstrung. 
And  loose  and  squalid  our  skin. 

And  we  walked  up  and  down  the  deck 
As  long  as  our  legs  could  bear  us  ; 
And  we  thirsted  all,  but  no  rain  would  fall. 
And  no  dews  arise  to  cheer  us. 

But  the  red  red  sun  from  the  sky 
Lent  his  scorching  beams  all  day. 
Till  our  tongues,  through  drought,  hung  out  of  our  mouth, 
And  we  had  no  voice  to  pray. 

And  the  hot  hot  air  from  the  South 
Did  lie  on  our  lungs  all  night, 
As  if  the  grim  Devil,  with  his  mouth  full  of  evi 
Had  blown  on  our  troubled  sprite. 

At  last,  so  it  happed  one  night. 
When  we  all  in  our  hammocks  lay, 
Bereft  of  breath,  and  expecting  death 
To  come  ere  break  of  day, 

On  a  sudden  a  cooling  breeze 
Shook  the  hammock  where  I  was  lain  ; 
And  then,  by  Heaven's  grace,  I  felt  on  my  face 
A  drop  of  blessed  rain. 

I  opened  my  half-closed  eyes, 
And  my  mouth  I  opened  it  wide  ; 
And  I  started  with  joy  from  my  hammock  so  high, 
And  ' '  A  breeze,  a  breeze  !  "  I  cried. 

But  no  man  heard  me  cry. 
And  the  breeze  again  fell  down  ; 
And  a  clap  of  thunder,  with  fear  and  wonder 
Nigh  cast  me  in  a  swound. 

I  dared  not  look  around, 
Till,  by  degrees  grown  bolder, 
I  saw  a  grim  sprite,  by  the  moon's  pale  light, 
Dim  glimmering  at  my  shoulder. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  39 

He  was  drest  in  a  seaman's  jacket, 
Wet  trousers,  and  dripping  hose, 
And  an  unfelt  wind  I  lieard  behind, 
That  whistled  among  his  clothes. 

I  looked  at  him  by  the  light  of  the  stars, 
I  looked  by  the  light  of  the  moon  ; 
And  I  saw,  though  his  face  was  covered  with  scars, 
John  Jewkes,  my  sister's  son. 

"Alas  !  John  Jewkes,"  I  cried, 
"  Poor  boy,  what  brings  thee  here  ?  " 
But  nothing  he  said,  but  hung  down  his  head, 
And  made  his  bare  skull  appear. 

Then  I,  by  my  grief  grown  bold, 
To  take  his  hand  endeavoured  ; 
But  his  head  he  turned  round,  which  a  gaping  wound 
Had  nigh  from  his  shoulders  severed. 

He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak. 
Like  a  man  with  his  last  breath  struggling, 
And,  before  every  word,  in  his  throat  was  heard 
A  horrible  misgugsling. 


■'&&' 


At  last,  with  a  broken  groan. 
He  gurgled,  "  Approach  not  me  ! 
For  the  fish  have  my  head,  and  the  Indians  my  blood, 
'Tis  only  my  ghost  you  see. 

"  And  dost  thou  not  remember 
Three  years  ago  to-day. 
How  at  aunt's  we  tarried,  when  sister  was  married 
To  Farmer  Robin,  pray? 

' '  Oh  !  then  we  were  blythe  and  jolly. 
But  none  of  us  all  had  seen. 
While  we  sung  and  we  laughed,  and  the  stout  ale  quaffed, 
That  our  number  was  thirteen. 

'•  And  none  of  all  the  party, 
At  the  head  of  the  table,  saw. 
While  our  cares  we  drowned,  and  the  flagon  went  round, 
Old  Goody  Martha  Daw. 

"  Rut  Martha  she  was  there. 
Though  she  never  spake  a  word  ; 
And  by  her  sat  her  old  black  cat, 
Though  it  never  cried  or  purred. 

"  And  she  leaned  on  her  oaken  crutch. 
And  a  bundle  of  sticks  she  broke, 


40  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

And  her  prayers  backward  muttered,  and  the  Devil's  words  uttered 
Though  she  never  a  word  out  spoke, 

' ' '  Twas  on  a  Thursday  morn, 
That  very  day  was  se'nnight, 
I  ran  to  sweet  Sue,  to  bid  her  adieu, 
For  I  could  not  stay  a  minute. 

"  Then  crying  with  words  so  tender. 
She  gave  me  a  true  lover's  locket. 
That  I  still  might  love  her,  forgetting  her  never— 
So  I  put  it  in  my  pocket. 

"  And  then  we  kissed  and  parted, 
And  knew  not,  all  the  while, 
That  Martha  was  nigh  on  her  broomstick  so  high, 
Looking  down  with  a  devilish  smile. 

"  So  I  went  to  sea  again. 
With  my  heart  brimfuU  of  Sue  ; 
Though  my  mind  misgave  me,  the  salt  waters  would  have  me. 
And  I'd  take  my  last  adieu. 

' '  We  made  a  prosperous  voyage 
Till  we  came  to  this  fatal  coast. 
When  a  storm  it  did  rise,  in  seas  and  in  skies, 
That  we  gave  ourselves  up  for  lost. 

"  Our  vessel  it  was  stranded 
All  on  the  shoals  of  Achen  ; 
And  all  then  did  die,  save  only  I, 
And  I  hardly  saved  my  bacon. 

"It  happed  that  very  hour, 
The  Black  King,  walking  by. 
Did  see  me  sprawling,  on  my  hands  and  knees  crawling, 
And  took  to  his  palace  hard  by. 

"  And  finding  that  I  was 
A  likely  lad  for  to  see. 
My  bones  well  knit,  and  my  joints  well  set, 
And  not  above  twenty-three, 

"  He  made  me  his  gardener  boy, 
To  sow  pease  and  potatoes. 
To  water  his  flowers,  when  there  were  no  showers, 
And  cut  his  parsley  and  lettuce. 

' '  Now  it  so  fell  out  on  a  Sunday 
(Which  these  pagans  never  keep  holy), 
I  was  gathering  rue,  and  thinking  on  Sue, 
With  a  heart  full  of  melancholy, 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  41 

"  When  the  King  of  Achen's  daughter 
Did  open  her  casement  to  see  ; 
And,  as  she  looked  round  on  the  gooseberry  ground, 
Her  eyes  they  lit  upon  me  ; 

"  And  seeing  me  tall  and  slim, 
And  of  shape  right  personable  ; 
My  skin  so  white,  and  so  very  unlike 
The  blacks  at  her  father's  table, 

"She  took  it  into  her  head 
(For  so  the  Devil  did  move  her), 
That  I,  in  good  sooth,  was  a  comely  youth, 
And  would  make  a  gallant  lover. 

"  So  she  tripped  from  her  chamber  so  high. 
All  in  silks  and  satins  clad. 
And  her  gown  it  rustled,  as  down  she  bustled, 
With  steps  like  a  princess  sad. 

"  Her  shoes  they  were  decked  with  pearls. 
And  her  hair  with  diamonds  glistened, 
And  her  gimcracks  and  toys,  they  made  such  a  noise. 
My  mouth  watered  the  while  I  listened. 

"Then  she  tempted  me  with  glances, 
And  with  sugared  words  so  tender, 
(And  though  she  was  black,  she  was  straight  in  the  back. 
And  young  and  tall  and  slender). 

"  But  I  my  love  remembered, 
And  the  locket  she  did  give  me, 
And  resolved  to  be  true  to  my  darling  Sue, 
As  she  did  ever  believe  me. 

"  Whereat  the  princess  waxed 
Both  furious  and  angry. 
And  said,  she  was  sure  I  had  some  paramour 
In  kitchen  or  in  laundry. 

"  And  then,  with  a  devilish  grin, 
She  said,  '  Give  me  your  locket ' — 
But  I  damned  her  for  a  witch,  and  a  conjuring  bitch, 
And  kept  it  in  my  pocket. 

"  Howbeit,  both  day  and  night 
She  did  torture  and  torment. 
And  said  she,  '  If  you'll  yield  to  me  the  field, 
'  I'll  give  thee  tliy  heart's  content. 

"  '  But  give  me  up  the  locket, 
'  And  stay  three  months  with  me, 


42  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

'  And  then,  if  the  will  remains  with  you  still, 
'  I'll  ship  you  off  to  sea.' 

"  So  I  thought  it  the  only  way 
To  behold  my  lovely  Sue  ; 
And  the  thoughts  of  Old  England,  they  made  my  heart  tingle,  and 
I  gave  up  the  locket  so  true. 

' '  Thereon  she  laughed  outright 
With  a  hellish  grin,  and  I  saw 
That  the  princess  was  gone,  and  in  her  room 
There  stood  old  Martha  Daw. 

' '  She  was  all  astride  a  broomstick. 
And  bid  me  get  up  behind  ; 
So  my  wits  being  lost,  the  broomstick  I  crossed, 
And  away  we  flew,  swift  as  the  wind. 

"  But  my  head  it  soon  turned  giddy, 
I  reeled  and  lost  my  balance, 
So  I  tumbled  over,  like  a  perjured  lover, 
A  warning  to  all  gallants. 

' '  And  there  where  I  tumbled  dovv'n 
The  Indians  found  me  lying  ; 
My  head  they  cut  off,  and  my  blood  did  quaff, 
And  set  my  flesh  a-frying, 

' '  Hence,  all  ye  English  gallants 
A  warning  take  by  me. 
Your  true  love's  locket  to  keep  in  your  pocket 
Whenever  you  go  to  sea. 

"And,  O  dear  uncle  Thomas, 
I  come  to  give  you  warning, 
As  then  'twas  my  chance  with  Davy  to  dance, 
'Twill  be  yours  to-morrow  morning. 

"  'Twas  three  years  agone  this  night. 
Three  years  gone  clear  and  clean. 
Since  we  sat  down  at  Aunt's  at  the  wedding  to  dance,  ' 
And  our  number  was  thirteen. 

"  Now  I  and  sister  Nan 
(Two  of  that  fatal  party) 
Have  both  gone  from  Aunt's  with  Davy  to  dance, 
Though  then  we  were  hale  and  hearty. 

' '  And,  as  we  both  have  died 
(I  speak  it  with  grief  and  sorrow) 
At  the  end  of  each  year,  it  now  is  clear 
That  you  should  die  to-morrow. 


MEMOIR  or  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  43 

' '  But  if,  good  uncle  Thomas, 
You'll  promise,  and  promise  truly. 
To  plough  the  main  for  England  again. 
And  perform  my  orders  duly, 

"  Old  Davy  will  allow  you 
Another  year  to  live, 
To  visit  your  friends,  and  make  up  your  odd  ends, 
And  your  enemies  forgive. 

"  But,  friend,  when  you  reach  Old  England, 
To  Laure'ston  town  you'll  go. 
And  then  to  the  Mayor,  in  open  fair, 
Impeach  old  Martha  Daw. 

"And  next  you'll  see  her  hanged 
With  the  halter  around  her  throat ; 
And,  when  void  of  life,  with  your  clasp-knife 
The  string  of  her  apron  cut. 

"Then,  if  that  you  determine 
My  last  desires  to  do. 
In  her  left-hand  pocket  you'll  find  the  locket. 
And  carry  it  to  Sue." 

The  grisly  spectre  thus 
In  mournful  accents  spoke, 
By  which  time,  being  morning,  he  gave  me  no  warning, 
But  vanished  in  sulphur  and  smoke. 

Next  day  there  sprang  up  a  breeze. 
And  our  ship  began  to  tack, 
And  for  fear  of  the  ghost,  we  left  the  coast, 
And  sailed  for  England  back. 

And  I,  being  come  home. 
Did  all  his  words  pursue  ; 
Old  Martha  likewise  was  hung  at  the  'size. 
And  I  carried  the  locket  to  Sue. 

And  now,  being  tired  of  life, 
I  make  up  my  mind  to  die  ; 
But  I  thought  this  story  I'd  lay  before  ye, 
For  the  good  of  posterity. 

Oh  never  then  sit  at  table 
When  the  number  is  thirteen  ; 
And,  lest  witches  be  there,  put  salt  in  your  beer. 
And  scrape  your  platters  clean. 


44  MEMOIIi  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

This  "Tale  of  Terror"  was  composed  at  the  express 
request  of  a  distinguished  female,  nearly  related  (by  marriage 
and  genius)  to  its  no  less  distinguished  author.  In  return  this 
matchless  female  christened  a  lovely  and  promising  boy,  of 
whom  she  was  delivered,  during  the  stay  of  the  Ensign,  after 
the  name  of  Odoherty ;  an  appellation  the  ideas  suggested 
by  which  will  be  agreeable,  or  otherwise,  to  its  bearer, 
according  as  he  shall,  in  future  years,  inherit  or  not  inherit 
some  portion  of  the  genius  in  whose  honour  it  was  originally 
conferred.  Of  the  various  genet hliaca  composed  upon  the 
occasion  the  most  admired  was  the  following  : — 


TO   THE   CHILD    OF   CORINNA  ! 

O  boy  !  may  the  wit  of  thy  mother  awaking 

On  thy  dewy  lip  tremble  when  years  have  gone  by  ; 

While  the  fire  of  Odoherty,  fervidly  breaking, 

In  glances  and  gleams,  may  illume  thy  young  eye. 

Oh,  then  such  a  fulness  of  power  shall  be  seen 
With  the  graces  so  blending,  in  union  endearing, 

That  angels  shall  glide  o'er  the  ocean  green. 
To  catch  a  bright  glimpse  of  the  glory  of  Erin  ! 

Oh,  sure  such  a  vision  of  beauty  and  might, 

Commingling,  in  splendour,  by  him  was  exprest, 

The  old  Lydian  sculptor,  the  delicate  sprite, 
That  in  Venus'  soft  girdle  his  Hercules  drest. 


On  his  return  to  Edinburgh  we  find  the  indefatigable 
mind  of  the  Ensign  earnestly  engaged  in  laying  the  plan  and 
preparing  the  materials  for  a  weekly  paper,  upon  the  model 
of  the  Tatler,  the  Spectator,  and  the  Saleroofu.  His  views 
in  regard  to  this  publication  were  never  fully  realised ;  but 
we  have  open  before  us  a  drawer  which  contains  a  vast 
accumulation  of  notes  and  esquisses  connected  with  it.  We 
insert  a  few  of  the  shortest  in  the  meantime,  and  may  perhaps 
quote  a  few  dozens  of  them  hereafter. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  45 


There  is  nothing  in  this  world  more  hkely  to  produce  a 
good  understanding  in  families  and  neighbourhoods  than  a 
resolution  to  be  immediately  entered  into  by  all  the  several 
members  of  the  same,  never  again,  from  this  time  forward, 
upon   any   occasion   or   pretence   whatever,    in   speech  or 
writing,  to  use  the  monosyllable  /.     This  will  no  doubt  cause 
some  trouble  and  inconveniences  at  first,  especially  to  those 
who  are  not  half  so  intimate  with  any  other  pronoun ;  but 
by  the  help  of  a  small  penalty  to  be  strictly  levied  upon 
every  transgression,  that  will  soon  be  got  over,  and  this  most 
wicked   and   pernicious  monosyllable   effectually  banished 
from  the  world.     The  Golden  Age  will  then  re-descend  on 
earth,  and  many  other  things  will  happen,  of  the  particulars 
of  which  the  curious  reader  may  satisfy  himself  by  referring 
to  Virgil's  Eclogue.     Among  the  most  interesting  circum- 
stances  of  this   great   revolution   (which,  however,  is    not 
specified  in  the  place  referred  to)  will  be  the  total  abolition 
of  both  metallic  and  paper  currency.     Money  will  be  no  more. 
Those  that   have  will  give  to  those  that  want;   and  the 
redundant  population  will  not,  on  having  the  matter  properly 
explained  to  them,  object  to  removing  themselves  by  some 
convenient  and  gentle  method  of  suicide,  rendering  war, 
famine,   pestilence,  and  misery  (so  politely  called  by  Mr. 
Malthus  by  the  somewhat  endearing  term,   checks)   utterly 
unnecessary.     Who  would  not  wish  to  accelerate  to  mankind 
the  approach   of  this  blessed  era?     The  simple  and  sure 
means  are  above  stated  ;  and,  if  the  world  does  not  forthwith 
proceed  to  make  itself  happy,  it  can  no  longer  shelter  itself 
under  the  pretence  of  not  knowing  how  to  set  about  it. 


II. 

Of  all  the  Natural  Sciences,  that  of  Scandal  has  been  the 
most  universally  cultivated  in  every  civilised  country,  and 
the  most  successfully  in  our  own.     Modern  scandalographers 


46  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

have  comprised  it  under  two  great  divisions,  open  or  direct 
scandal,  and  implied  or  indirect  scandal. 

Instances  of  the  first  are  now  less  common  in  society  than 
formerly.  This  perhaps  arises  more  from  an  artificial  re- 
finement in  our  manners  than  from  any  real  refinement  in 
our  minds.  There  still  exist  many  who  would  not  hesitate, 
under  favourable  circumstances,  to  make  use  of  the  direct 
scandal ;  and  there  are  many  more  who  would  not  be 
ashamed  to  listen  to  it.  But  in  all  circles,  whether  public 
or  private,  there  are,  for  the  most  part,  three  or  four  men 
and  women,  who  are  as  different  from  the  surrounding  mass 
of  starched  neck-cloths  and  satin  slips  "  as  red  wine  is  from 
Rhenish."  These  humane  and  gentle  beings  check  the 
growth  of  direct  scandal,  which,  notwithstanding  the  fostering 
care  of  its  vulgar  disciples,  is  generally  "  no  sooner  blown 
than  blasted."  Being  prevented  from  lifting  its  malignant 
head  into  the  liberal  air,  it  strikes  downward,  and,  spread- 
ing its  obscure  ramifications  underground,  gives  rise  to  the 
indirect  or  implied  scandal. 

This  is  the  more  dangerous  kind,  in  as  far  as  it  is  more 
difficult  to  eradicate  or  guard  against  it.  In  polished 
society,  where  it  most  frequently  occurs,  it  has  neither  a 
local  habitation  nor  a  name.  It  is  "an  airy  tongue,  that 
syllables  men's  names,"  without  pronouncing  them  distinctly  ; 
and  the  labour  of  the  metaphysical  chemist  has  been  unequal 
to  the  discovery  of  any  sure  test  for  its  detection.  It  is  also, 
on  that  account,  more  fondly  cherished  by  the  disciples 
of  the  science,  because  the  practical  gratification  arising 
from  it  is  in  consequence  so  much  the  greater.  '  Thus  a 
scandalous  assertion,  if  made  directly,  cannot  be  frequently 
repeated,  because  the  mode  of  its  expression  admits  of  little 
variety ;  whereas  your  implied  scandal  is  capable  of  being 
varied  almost  infinitely,  and  thus  affords  a  pleasant  and 
continued  opportunity  of  showing  off  to  advantage  the 
ingenuity  of  the  malicious  man,  without  vexing  the  dull  ear 
of  the  drowsy  one.  Under  the  name  of  personal  talk,  it  may 
be  regarded  as  constituting  the  essence  of  conversation  in 
society  at  the  present  period. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  47 

III. 

There  are  few  subjects  on  which  men  differ  so  much  as 
in  regard  to  blue-stockings.  I  beheve  that  the  majority  of 
literary  men  look  upon  them  as  entirely  useless.  Yet  a  little 
reflection  will  serve  us  to  show  the  unphilosophical  nature 
of  this  opinion.  There  seems,  indeed,  to  be  a  system  of 
exclusive  appropriation  in  literature,  as  well  as  in  law,  which 
cannot  be  too  severely  reprobated.  A  critic  of  the  present 
day  cannot  hear  a  young  woman  make  a  harmless  observa- 
tion on  poetry  or  politics  without  starting  ;  which  start,  I  am 
inclined  to  think,  proceeds  from  affectation,  considering  how 
often  he  must  have  heard  the  same  remark  made  on  former 
occasions.  Ought  the  female  sex  to  be  debarred  from 
speaking  nonsense  on  literary  matters  any  more  than  the 
men?  I  think  not.  Even  supposing  that  such  privilege 
was  not  originally  conferred  by  a  law  of  Nature,  they  have 
certainly  acquired  right  to  it  by  the  long  prescription. 
Besides,  if  commonplace  remarks  were  not  daily  and  nightly 
rendered  more  commonplace  by  continual  repetition,  even 
a  man  of  original  mind  might  run  the  hazard  of  occasionally 
so  far  forgetting  himself  and  his  subject  as  to  record  an  idea 
which,  upon  more  mature  deliberation,  might  be  found  to 
be  no  idea  at  all.  This,  I  contend,  is  prevented  by  the 
judicious  interference  of  the  fair  sex. 

At  the  same  time  "a  highly  polished  understanding,"  in 
an  ugly  woman,  is  a  thing  rather  to  be  deprecated  than 
otherwise.  A  pretty  girl  may  say  what  she  chooses,  and  be 
"  severe  in  youthful  beauty  "  with  impunity,  for  no  one  will 
interrupt  her  solely  to  criticise  the  colour  of  her  stockings ; 
but  I  think  that  a  plain  one  should  reflect  seriously  before 
she  "  cultivates  her  mind  assiduously." 


IV. 

One  solitary  death's  head,  all  of  a  sudden  grinning  on  us 
in  our  own  bed-room,  would  be  a  much  more  trying  sight 


48  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

than  millions  of  skulls  piled  up  into  good  large  houses  of 
three  stories.  Architecture  of  that  kind  is  less  impressive 
than  could  be  imagined.  There  is  a  tolerable  specimen  of 
it  at  Mucruss  Abbey,  Killarney  ;  but  the  effect  is  indifferent. 
Skulls,  somehow  or  other,  do  not  build  well.  Perhaps  they 
would  look  better  in  mortar.  As  they  are  arranged  at 
Mucruss  Abbey,  they  look  like  great  clusters  of  the  wax  of 
the  humble-bee ;  and  after  heavy  rain  the  effect  of  the  water 
dripping  from  the  jaw-bones  and  eye-holes  is  rather  ludicrous 
than  pathetic.  They  are  all  in  the  melting  mood  at  one 
time,  and  apparently  for  no  sufficient  reason ;  while  the 
extreme  uniformity  of  their  expression  may,  without  much 
impropriety,  be  said  to  be  quite  monotonous.  It  may  be 
questioned  if  a  stranger,  unacquainted  with  this  order  of 
architecture,  would,  at  first  sight,  perceive  the  nature  of  its 
material.  Perhaps  he  would,  for  a  while,  see  the  likeness  of 
one  or  two  skulls  only,  and  wonder  how  they  got  there  ;  till, 
by  degrees,  the  whole  end-wall  would  laughably  break  out, 
as  it  were,  into  a  prodigious  number  of  vacant  faces,  and 
wholly  destroy  the  solemnity  of  that  otherwise  impressive 
religious  edifice.  Yet  it  is  not  to  be  thought  that  an  Irish- 
man could  contemplate  such  a  skullery  with  unmoved 
imagination.  Where  be  all  their  brogue  and  all  their  bulls 
now?  A  silent  gable-end  of  O'Donohues  and  Maggilli- 
cuddies  !  Walls  with  long  arms— but  sans  eyes,  sans  nose, 
sans  ears,  sans  brains  !  A  mockery  of  the  live  population 
of  the  county  Kerry  !  A  cairn  of  skulls  erected  over  the 
dry  bones  of  the  buried  independence  of  the  south  of 
Ireland  !  Yes,  thanks  to  the  genius  of  the  Lake  of  Kil- 
larney, there  is  not  here  the  skull  of  a  single  absentee. 

If  the  reader  has  ever  been  in  the  kingdom  of  Dahomey, 
he  will  remember  the  avenue  leading  up  to  the  king's  palace. 
For  nearly  a  mile  it  is  lined  on  each  side  by  a  wall  of  skulls 
twenty  feet  high ;  and  how  nobly  one  comes  at  last  on  the 
skull  palace  !  Yet  the  scene  cloys  on  the  spectator.  One 
comes  at  last  to  be  insensible  to  the  likeness  between  the 
head  on  his  own  shoulders  and  those  that  compose  the  skull- 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  49 

work  of  the  royal  residence  ;  and  he  might  forget  it  entirely, 
were  it  not  that  he  occasionally  sees  a  loose  skull  replaced 
by  a  head  belonging  the  night  before  to  one  of  his  friends. 
It  is  understood  that  the  present  king  of  Dahomey  is  about 
to  remove  these  walls,  and  distribute  the  old  materials  through 
his  kingdom,  now  greatly  in  want  of  inclosures.  There  is 
also  some  talk  of  taking  down  the  ancestral  palace  itself,  and 
of  building  another  of  fresh  skulls.  It  is  calculated  that  three 
hundred  thousand  adult  skulls,  and  three  hundred  thousand 
infant  ones,  will  be  sufficient  for  a  very  handsome  palace ; 
and  fifty  thousand  annually  have  been  cheerfully  subscribed 
for  six  years.  It  will  be  finished,  most  probably,  about  the 
same  time  with  the  college  of  Edinburgh ;  and  report  speaks 
highly  of  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  elevation. 

From  Mucruss  and  Dahomey  the  transition  is  easy  and 
natural  to  the  catacombs  of  Paris.  They  are  on  a  larger 
scale,  and  consequently  so  much  the  less  terrifying.  One 
"  skull  by  itself  skull"  may  be  no  joking  matter ;  but,  after 
remaining  unmolested  for  a  few  minutes  among  some  billions 
of  pericraniums,  we  come  to  feel  a  sovereign  contempt  of 
the  whole  defunct  world,  and  would  not  care  a  straw  though 
a  dozen  of  them  were  to  jump  down  and  attempt  to  kick 
our  shins.  One  takes  out  a  skull,  and  puts  it  back  again 
into  its  place,  just  as  one  would  a  common  book  from  the 
shelves  of  a  library ;  and,  what  is  far  worse,  every  skull  is 
verbatim  et  literatim  the  same  empty  performance,  and,  not 
being  bound  in  Russia  leather,  worm-eaten  through  and 
through.  A  man  in  the  catacombs  may  indeed  be  said  to 
be  in  a  brown  study. 

A  night  passed  in  a  vaulted  cell,  with  one  or  even  two 
skeletons,  especially  if  they  were  well  known  to  have  been 
able-bodied  men  when  alive,  might  well  occasion  a  cold 
sweat,  and  make  the  hair  to  stand  on  end.  There  would  be 
something  like  equal  terms  there,  one  quick  against  two 
dead ;  and  no  man  of  spirit  could  refuse  the  encounter, 
though  the  odds  were  against  him,  guineas  to  pounds.  A 
ring  would  have  to  be  formed,  the  odd  ghost  bottle-holder 

VOL.  I.  D 


50  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

and  umpire.  But  in  a  po])ulous  Place  of  Skulls — a  Cranio- 
polis  like  the  catacombs,  containing  so  enormous  an  "  in- 
habitation "  that  no  regular  census  has  ever  been  made — any 
accidental  visitor  miglit  contrive,  surely,  to  while  away  a  few 
hours  without  much  rational  perturbation,  and,  unless  very 
much  disposed  indeed  to  pick  a  quarrel,  might  suffer  the 
thigh-bones  to  lie  at  rest,  as  pieces  of  ornamental  furniture, 
never  intended  to  be  wielded  as  weapons  either  of  offensive 
or  defensive  warfare. 

A  night  passed  in  a  small,  black,  bleak,  musty  old  church, 
not  far  from  the  catacombs,  would  be  worse  by  far  than  the 
catacombs  themselves.  One  would  sit  there  full  of  the 
abstract  image  of  skulls  ;  and,  beyond  all  doubt,  several  skulls 
would  come  trundling  in  during  the  course  of  the  night. 
Of  old,  when  a  hero  was  dubbed  knight,  he  sat  up  during 
the  dark  hours  in  a  church,  where  an  occasional  ghost  or 
two  might  touch  him,  when  gliding  by,  with  its  icy  fingers. 
It  would  have  required  but  a  small  share  of  chivalrous  feeling 
to  have  kept  watch  in  an  intrenchment  of  skulls,  seemingly 
impregnable.  It  asks  more  courage  to  fight  the  champion 
of  an  army  in  single  combat  than  to  dash  into  the  lines. 


The  toils  of  the  day  were  now  near  a  close,  and  the 
Editor  with  his  Contributors  was  about  to  leave  the  tent 
for  an  evening  walk  along  the  Dee  and  its  "  bonny  banks  of 
blooming  heather,"  to  indulge  the  most  delightful  of  all 
feelings,  such  namely  as  arise  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  passed  our  time  in  a  way  not  only  agreeable  to  our- 
selves, but  useful  to  the  whole  of  the  widespread  family  of 
man,  when  John  Mackay  came  bouncing  in  upon  us  like  a 
grasshopper  :  "  Gots  my  life,  here  are  twa  unco  landloupers 
cumin  dirdin  down  the  hill — the  tane  o'  them  a  heech 
knock-kneed  stravaiger  wi'  the  breeks  on,  and  the  tither, 
ane  o'  the  women-folk,  as  roun's  she's  lang,   in  a  green 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  51 

Joseph,  and  a  tappen  o'  feathers  on  her  pow."  At  the 
word  "  women-folk,"  each  contributor 

"Sprang  upwards  like  a  pyramid  of  fire  ;  " 

and  we  had  some  difficulty  in  preventing  a  sally  from  the 
tent.  "Remember,  gentlemen,"  quoth  we,  "that  you  are 
still  under  literary  law — be  seated."  We  ourselves,  as 
master  of  the  ceremonies,  went  out,  and  lo !  we  beheld  two 
most  extraordinary  itinerants. 

The  gentleman  who  was  dressed  in  brown-once-black 
had  a  sort  of  medico-theological  exterior— which  we  after- 
wards found  to  be  representative  of  the  inward  man.  He 
was  very  tall  and  in-kneed  * — indeed,  somewhat  like  Rich- 
mond the  black  about  the  legs  ;  the  squint  of  his  albino 
eyes  was  far  from  prepossessing ;  and  stray  tufts  of  his  own 
white  hair  here  and  there  stole  lankly  down  from  beneath 
the  up-curled  edge  of  a  brown  caxon  that  crowned  the 
apex  of  his  organisation.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  the 
roof  of  his  mouth,  and,  when  he  said  to  us,  "You  see 
before  you  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  itinerant  lecturer  on 
poetr)',  politics,  oratory,  and  the  belles  lettres^'"  at  each 
word  his  tongue  came  away  from  the  locu?n  tenens  of  his 
palate  with  a  bang  like  a  piece  of  wet  leather  from  a  stone 
(called,  by  our  Scottish  children,  "  sookers  : "  we  forget  the 
English  name),  each  syllable  indeed,  standing  quite  per  se, 
and  not  without  difficulty  to  be  drilled  into  companies  or 
sentences. 

But  we  are  forgetting  the  lady.  She  was  a  short,  fat, 
"  dumpy  woman  " — quite  a  bundle  of  a  body,  as  one  may 
say — with  smooth  red  cheeks,  and  little  twinkling  roguish 
eyes ;  and, '  when  she  returned  our  greeting,  we  were 
sensible  of  a  slight  accent  of  Erin,  which,  we  confess,  up 
in  life  as  we  are,  falls  on  the  drum  of  our  ear 

"That's  like  a  melody  sweetly  played  in  tune." 


*  It  was  upon  this  gentleman  that  the  celebrated  punster  of  the  West 
made  that  famous  pun,  "  the  Battle  of  the  Pyrenees  (the  pair  o'  knees)." 


52  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

She  was,  as  John  Mackay  had  at  some  distance  dis- 
covered, in  a  green  riding-habit,  not,  perhaps,  much  the 
worse,  but  certainly  much  the  smoother  for  wear, — and, 
while  her  neat-turned  ankles  exhibited  a  pair  of  yellow  laced 
boots  which  nearly  reached  the  calf  of  her  leg,  on  her  head 
waved  elegantly  a  plume  of  light-blue  ostrich  feathers.  The 
colours  altogether,  both  those  of  nature  and  of  art,  were 
splendid  and  harmonious,  and  the  Shepherd,  whose  honest 
face  we  by  chance  saw  (contrary  to  orders)  peeping  through 
a  little  chink  of  the  tent,  whispered  "  Losh  a  day,  gin  there 
binna  the  queen  o'  the  fairies  !  "  We  requested  the  match- 
less pair  to  walk  in  ;  but  Dr.  Magnus,  who  was  rather  dusty, 
first  got  John  Mackay  to  switch  him,  behind  and  before, 
with  a  bunch  of  long  heather,  and  we  ourselves  performed 
the  same  office,  with  the  greatest  delicacy,  to  the  lady. 

The  improvement  on  both  was  most  striking  and  instan- 
taneous. The  Doctor  looked  quite  fresh  and  ready  for  a 
lecture,  while  the  lady  reminded  us — so  sleek,  smooth, 
and  beautiful  did  she  appear — of  a  hen  after  any  little 
ruffling  incident  in  a  barn-yard.  We  three  entered  the 
tent — "  Contributors  !  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe  and  lady  on 
a  lecturing  tour  through  the  Highlands."  In  a  moment 
twenty  voices  entreated  the  lady  to  be  seated.  Dr.  Morris 
offered  her  a  seat  on  his  bed,  which,  being  folded  up,  he 
now  used  as  a  chair  or  sofa.  Wastle  bowed  ^to  the  antique 
carved  oak  arm-chair  that  had  been  sent  from  Mar  Lodge 
by  the  Thane.  Tickler  was  lifting  up  from  the  ground  an 
empty  hamper  to  reach  it  across  the  table  for  her  accommoda- 
t  on.  Buller  was  ready  with  the  top  or  bottom  of  the  whisky 
cask,  and  we  ourselves  insisted  upon  getting  the  honour  of 
the  fair  burden  to  the  Contributor's  Box.  Seward  kept 
looking  at  her  through  his  quizzing-glass.  "  Deuced  fine 
wumman,  by  St.  Jericho  !  demme  if  she  b'nt  a  facsimile  of 
Mary-Ann  Clarke,  only  summat  deeper  in  the  fore-end — 
one  of  old  Anacreon's  ^a&vKoh.'Koi." 

Her    curtsy   was    exceedingly   graceful,  when   all   of   a 
sudden,   casting    her   eyes   on   the    Standard-bearer   who. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  53 

contrary  to  his  usual  amenity  towards  the  sex,  stood  sour 
and  silent  in  a  corner,  she  exclaimed,  "  By  the  powers,  my 
own  swate  Morgan  Odoherty  ! "  and  jumping  up  upon  the 
table,  she  nimbly  picked  her  steps  among  jugs,  glasses,  and 
quechs  (upsetting  alone  Kempferhausen's  ink-horn  over  an 
Ode  to  the  Moon),  and  in  a  moment  was  in  the  Adjutant's 
arms.  Mrs.  M'Whirter,  the  fair  Irish  widow  whom  the 
Ensign  had  loved  in  Philadelphia,  stood  confessed.  There 
clung  she,  like  a  mole,  with  her  little  paws  to  the  Standard- 
bearer's  sides,  striving  in  vain  to  reach  those  beguiling  lips 
which  he  kept  somewhat  haughtily  elevated  about  six  feet 
three  inches  from  the  ground,  leaving  an  unscalable  height 
of  at  least  a  yard  between  them  and  the  mouth  of  the  much 
flustered,  deeply  injured  Mrs.  M'Whirter.  The  widow, 
whose  elegant  taste  is  well  known  to  the  readers  of 
"  Blackwood,"  exclaimed,  in  the  words  of  Betty  (so  she 
called  him), 

"  Ah  !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 
The  steep  where  love's  proud  temple  shines  afar?" 

"  Never  mind  the  money,  my  dearest  Morgan.  Och  !  I 
have  never  know'n  such  another  man  as  your  sweet  self 
since  we  parted  at  Philadelphia." 

The  Adjutant  looked  as  if  he  had  neither  lost  nor  won, 
still  gently  but  determinedly  repelling  the  advances  of  the 
warm-hearted  widow,  whose  face  he  thus  kept,  as  it  were,  at 
arm's  length.  At  last,  with  a  countenance  of  imperturbable 
solemnity,  worthy  of  a  native  of  Ireland  and  a  contributor 
to  "Blackwood,"  he  coolly' said:  "Why,  Mr.  Editor,  the 
trick  is  a  devilish  good  one,  very  well  played,  and  knowingly 
kept  up ;  but  now  that  you  gentlemen  have  all  had  your 
laugh  against  Odoherty,  pray,  Mrs.  Roundabout  Fat-ribs, 
may  I  ask  when  you  were  last  bateing  hemp,  and  in  what 
house  of  correction?"  "Och!  you  vile  Sadducee."  "I 
suspect,"  said  Tickler,  "that  you  yourself,  my  fair  Mrs. 
M'Whirter,  were  the  seducee,  and  the  Ensign  the  seducer." 
"  Why,  look  ye,"  continued  Odoherty,  "  if  you  are  Molly 
M'Whirter,  formerly  of  Philadelphia,  you  have  the  mark  of 


54  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

a  murphy  {Hihernice,  potato)  on  your  right  side,  just  below 
the  fifth  rib,  and  of  a  shamrock  or,  {as  these  EngHsh  gentle- 
men would  call  it)  a  trefoil,  between  your  shoulders  behind, 
about  half-way  down " 

Here  Mrs.  M'Whirter  lost  all  temper,  and  appealed  to 
Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  if  Odoherty  was  not  casting  foul 
aspersions  on  her  character.  The  Doctor  commenced  an 
oration  with  that  extraordinary  sort  of  utterance  already 
hinted  at,  which  quite  upset  the  Adjutant's  gravity ;  and  the 
lady,  now  seizing  the  "tempora  mollia  fandi,"  said  with  a 
bewitching  smile  :  "  Come  now,  my  dearest  Morgan,  confess, 
confess  ! "  The  Standard-bearer  was  overcome,  and,  kissing 
his  old  friend's  cheek  in  the  most  respectful  manner,  he 
said  :  "  I  presume  Mrs.  M'Whirter  is  no  more,  and  that  I 
see  before  me  the  lady  of  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  in  other 
words,  Mrs.  Dr.  Oglethorpe."  "  Yes,  Morgan,  he  is  indeed 
my  husband ;  come  hither,  Magnus,  and  shake  hands  with 
the  Adjutant ;  this  is  the  Mr.  Odoherty  of  whom  you  have 
heard  me  so  often  spake."  Nothing  could  be  more  de- 
lightful than  this  reconciliation.  We  again  all  took  our 
seats,  Dr.  Magnus  on  our  own  left  hand,  and  Mrs.  Dr. 
Magnus  on  our  right,  close  to  whom  sat  and  smiled,  like 
another  Mars,  the  invincible  Standard-bearer. 

It  was  a  high  gratification  to  us  now  to  fipd  that  Odoherty 
and  Mrs.  M'Whirter  had  never  been  united  in  matrimony. 
It  was  true  that  in  America  they  had  been  tenderly  attached 
to  each  other,  but  peculiar  circumstances,  some  of  which 
are  alluded  to  in  a  memoir  of  the  Adjutant's  life  else- 
where published,  had  prevented  their  union,  and  soon 
after  his  return  to  Europe  the  M'Whirter  had  be- 
stowed her  hand  on  a  faithful  suitor  whom  she  had 
formerly  rejected.  Dr.  Magnus  Oglethorpe,  lecturer  on 
poetry,  politics,  oratory,  &c. ;  a  gentleman  famous  for  re- 
moving impediments  in  the  organs  of  speech,  and  who, 
after  having  instructed  in  public  speaking  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  orators  in  the  House  of  Representatives, 
United  States,  had  lately  come  over  to  Britain   to  retard, 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  55 

by  his  precepts  and  his  practice,  the  decHne  and  fall  of 
eloquence  in  our  island.  As  we  complimented  the  Doctor 
on  the  magnificent  object  of  his  pedestrian  tour,  he  volun- 
teered a  lecture  on  the  spot,  and  in  an  instant,  and  springing 
up  as  nimbly  upon  the  table  as  Sir  Francis  Burdett  or  Mr. 
John  Hobhouse  could  have  done,  the  American  Demos- 
thenes (who  seemed  still  to  have  pebbles  in  his  mouth, 
though  far  inland),  thus  opened  it  and  spake  : — 

LECTURE  ON  WHIGGISM. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen, — Fear  is  "  Whiggism,"  hatred  is 
"  Whiggism  " — contempt,  jealousy,  remorse,  wonder,  despair, 
or  madness,  are  all  "Whiggism." 

The  miser  when  he  hugs  his  gold,  the  savage  who  paints 
his  idol  with  blood,  the  slave  who  worships  a  tyrant,  or  the 
tyrant  who  fancies  himself  a  god — the  vain,  the  ambitious, 
the  proud,  the  choleric  man,  the  coward,  the  beggar,  all  are 
"Whigs." 

"  The  '  Whig,'  the  lover,  and  the  poet, 
Are  of  imagination  all  compact. 
One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  Hell  can  hold — 
The  madman." 

"Whiggism  "  is  strictly  the  language  of  imagination  ;  and 
the  imagination  is  that  faculty  which  represents  objects,  not 
as  they  are  in  themselves,  but  as  they  are  moulded,  by  other 
thoughts  and  feelings,  into  an  infinite  variety  of  shapes  and 
combinations  of  power.  This  language  is  not  the  less  true 
to  nature,  because  it  is  false  in  point  of  fact ;  but  so  much 
the  more  true  and  natural,  if  it  conveys  the  impression 
which  the  object  under  the  influence  of  passion  makes  on  the 
mind.  Let  an  object,  for  instance,  be  presented  in  a  state 
of  agitation  or  fear,  and  the  imagination  will  distort  or  mag- 
nify the  object,  and  convert  it  into  the  likeness  of  whatever 
is  most  proper  to  encourage  the  fear. 

Tragic  "Whiggism,"  which  is  the  most  impassioned 
species  of  it,  strives  to  carry  on  the  feeling  to  the  utmost 
point,  by  all  the  force  of  comparison  or  contrast — loses  the 


$6  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

sense  of  present  suffering  in  the  imaginary  exaggerations  of 
it,   exhausts  the  terror  by  an  unHmited  indulgence  of  it, 
grapples  with  impossibilities  in  its  desperate   impatience   of 
restrai/it. 

When  Lear  says  of  Edgar,  nothing  but  the  unkind 
"  ministry  "  could  have  brought  him  to  this,  what  a  bewildered 
amazement,  what  a  wrench  of  the  imagination,  that  cannot 
be  brought  to  conceive  of  any  other  cause  of  misery  than 
that  which  has  bowed  it  down,  and  absorbs  all  other  sorrow 
in  its  own  !  His  sorrow,  like  a  flood,  supplies  the  sources 
of  all  other  sorrow. 

In  regard  to  a  certain  Whig,  of  the  unicorn  species,  we 
may  say — How  his  passion  lashes  itself  up,  and  swells  and 
rages  like  a  tide  in  its  sounding  course,  when,  in  answer  to 
the  doubts  expressed  of  his  returning  "temper,"  he  says — 

' '  Never,  lago.     Like  to  the  Pontic  Sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont  ; 
Even  so  my  '  frantic '  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  '  sense," 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up." 

The  pleasure,  however,  derived  from  tragic  "Whiggism," 
is  not  anything  peculiar  to  it  as  Whiggism,  as  a  fictitious 
and  fanciful  thing.  It  is  not  an  anomaly  of  the  imagination. 
It  has  its  source  and  groundwork  in  the  common  love  of 
"power"  and  strong  excitement.  As  Mr.  Burke  observes, 
people  flock  to  "  Whig  meetings  ; "  but,  if  there  were  a  public 
execution  in  the  next  street,  the  "  house  "  would  very  soon  be 
empty.  It  is  not  the  difiference  between  fiction  and  reality 
that  solves  the  difficulty.  Children  are  satisfied  with  stories 
of  ghosts  and  witches.  The  grave  politician  drives  a  thriving 
trade  of  abuse  and  calumnies,  poured  out  against  those 
whom  he  makes  his  enemies  for  no  other  end  than  that  he 
may  live  by  them.  The  popular  preacher  makes  less  fre- 
quent mention  of  Heaven  than  of  Hell.  Oaths  and  nicknames 
are  only  a  more  vulgar  sort  of  "  Whiggism."    We  are  as  fond 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.        37 

of  indulging  our  violent  passions  as  of  reading  a  description 
of  those  of  others.  We  are  as  prone  to  make  a  torment  of 
our  fears  as  to  luxuriate  in  our  hopes  of  "  mischief."  The 
love  of  power  is  as  strong  a  principle  in  the  mind  as  the  love 
of  pleasure.  It  is  as  natural  to  hate  as  to  love,  to  despise 
as  to  admire,  to  express  our  hatred  or  contempt  as  our  love 
and  admiration. 

"  Masterless  passion  sways  us  to  the  mood 
Of  what  it  hkes  or  loathes." 

Not  that  we  like  what  we  loathe,  but  we  like  to  indulge 
our  hatred  and  scorn  of  it  (viz.,  Toryism),  to  dwell  upon  it, 
to  exasperate  our  idea  of  it  by  every  refinement  of  ingenuity 
and  extravagance  of  illustration,  to  make  it  a  bugbear  to 
ourselves,  to  point  it  out  to  others  in  all  the  splendour  of 
deformity,  to  embody  it  to  the  senses,  to  stigmatise  it  in 
words,  to  grapple  with  it  in  thought,  in  action,  to  sharpen  our 
intellect,  to  arm  our  will  against  it,  to  know  the  worst  we 
have  to  contend  with,  and  to  contend  with  it  to  the  utmost. 

Let  who  will  strip  nature  of  the  colours  and  the  shapes 
of  "Whiggism,"  the  "Whig"  is  not  bound  to  do  so;  the 
impressions  of  common  sense  and  strong  imagination — that 
is,  of  passion  and  "  temperance  " — cannot  be  the  same,  and 
they  must  have  a  separate  language  to  do  justice  to  either. 
Objects  must  strike  differently  upon  the  mind,  independently 
of  what  they  are  in  themselves,  so  long  as  we  have  a  different 
interest  in  them,  as  we  see  them  in  a  different  point  of 
view,  nearer  or  at  a  greater  distance  (morally  or  physically 
speaking),  from  novelty,  from  old  acquaintance,  from  our 
ignorance  of  them,  from  our  fear  of  their  consequences, — from 
contrast,  from  unexpected  likeness ;  hence  nothing  but 
Whiggism  can  be  agreeable  to  nature  and  truth. 

This  lecture  gave  universal  satisfaction  ;  but  Dr.  Magnus  is 
a  man  of  too  much  genius  not  to  acknowledge  unreservedly 
his  obligations  to  other  great  men  ;  and,  after  our  plaudits 
had  expired,  he  informed  us  that  he  claimed  little  other 
merit  than  that  of  having  delivered  the  lecture  according  to 


58  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

the  best  rules  and  principles  of  oratory,  for  that  the  words 
were  by  his  friend  Mr.  Hazlitt.  "  In  the  original,"  said  he, 
"  Mr.  Hazlitt  employs  the  word  '  Poetry,'  which  I  have  slightly 
changed  into  the  word  'Whiggism,'  and  thus  an  excellent 
lecture  on  politics  is  procured,  without  the  ingenious  essayist 
having  been  at  all  aware  of  the  ultimate  meaning  of  his 
production.  As  the  lecture  was  but  short,  will  you  have 
another  ?  "  "  No,  no,  enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast,"  quod 
Odoherty.  "Perhaps,  Mr.  Editor,  if  you  request  it,  Mrs. 
Magnus  will  have  the  goodness  to  make  tea."  There  was 
not  only  much  true  politeness  in  this  suggestion  of  the 
Adjutant,  but  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  female  character ; 
and,  accordingly,  the  tea-things  were  not  long  of  making 
their  appearance,  for  in  our  tent  it  was  just  sufficient  to 
hint  a  wish,  and  that  wish,  whatever  it  might  be,  that  moment 
was  gratified.  Mrs.  Magnus,  we  observed,  put  in  upwards 
of  thirty  spoonfuls,  being  at  the  rate  of  two  and  a  half  for 
each  contributor,  and  the  lymph  came  out  of  the  large 
silver  tea-pot  "a  perfect  tincture,"  into  his  third  and  last 
cup  of  which  each  contributor  emptied  a  decent  glass  of 
whisky ;  nor  did  the  Lady  of  the  Tent,  any  more  than  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  show  any  symptoms  of  distaste  to  the 
mountain  dew.  The  conversation  was  indeed  divine,  and 
it  was  wonderful  with  what  ease  Mrs.  Morgan  conducted  her- 
self in  so  difficult  a  situation.  She  had  a  word  or  a  smile 
for  every  one,  and  the  Shepherd  whispered  to  Tickler,  just 
loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  those  near  the  Contributor's 
Box,  "  sic  a  nice  leddy  wad  just  sute  you  or  me  to  a  hair, 
Mr.  Tickler.  Faith,  thae  blue  ostrich  plumbs  wad  astonish 
Davy  Bryden,  were  he  to  see  them  hanging  o'er  the  tea-pat 
at  Eltrive  Lake,  wi'  a  swurl." 

After  an  "  excellent  new  "  song  read  by  the  Bailie,  said 
Mrs.  Magnus : — 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Odoherty  (for  they  treated  each  other  with 
infinite  respect),  will  you  give  us  something  amatory  ?  "  "I 
gives  my  vice,  too,  for  something  hamatory,"  pertly  enough 
whiffled  Mr.  Tims ;  when  the  Standard-bearer,  after  humming 


I 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  59 

a  few  notes,  and  taking  the  altitude  from  the  pitch-key  of 
Tickler  (which  he  carries  about  with  him  as  certainly  as  a 
parson  carries  a  corkscrew),  went  off  in  noble  style  with  the 
following  song,  his  eyes  all  the  while  turned  towards  Mrs. 
Magnus  Oglethorpe,  whose  twinklers  emanated  still  but  elo- 
quent responses  not  to  be  misunderstood  : — 


INCONSTANCY  j     A    SONG   TO    MRS.    M'WHIRTER. 
BY   MR.   ODOHERTY. 

I. 

"Ye  fleeces  of  gold  amidst  crimson  enrolled 

That  sleep  in  the  calm  western  sky, 
Lovely  relics  of  day  float — ah  !  float  not  away  ! 

Are  ye  gone?  Then,  ye  beauties,  good-bye  !  " 
It  was  thus  the  fair  maid  I  had  loved  would  have  staid 

The  last  gleamings  of  passion  in  me  ; 
But  the  orb's  fiery  glow  in  the  soft  wave  below 

Had  been  cooled — and  the  thing  could  not  be. 

2. 

While  through  deserts  you  rove,  if  you  find  a  green  grove 

Where  the  dark  branches  overhead  meet, 
There  repose  you  a  while  from  the  heat  and  the  toil, 

And  be  thankful  the  shade  is  so  sweet  ; 
But  if  long  you  remain  it  is  odds  but  the  rain 

Or  the  wind  'mong  the  leaves  may  be  stirring  : 
They  will  strip  the  boughs  bare— you're  a  fool  to  stay  there — 

Change  the  scene  without  further  demurring. 

3. 

If  a  rich-laden  tree  in  your  wanderings  you  see 

With  the  ripe  fruit  all  glowing  and  swelling, 
Take  your  fill  as  you  pass— if  you  don't  you're  an  ass, 

But  I  daresay  you  don't  need  my  telling. 
'Twould  be  just  as  great  fooling  to  come  back  for  more  pulling  : 

When  a  week  or  two  more  shall  have  gone, 
These  firm  plums  very  rapidly,  they  will  taste  very  vapidly, 

— By  good  luck  we'll  have  pears  coming  on  1 

4- 
All  around  Nature's  range  is  from  changes  to  changes, 

And  in  change  all  her  charming  is  centered — 
When  you  step  from  the  stream  where  you've  bathed,  'twere  a  dream 

To  suppose't  the  same  streapi  that  you  entered  ; 


6o  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Each  clear  crystal  wave  just  a  passing  kiss  gave, 

And  kept  rolling  away  to  the  sea, 
So  the  love-stricken  slave  for  a  moment  may  rave, 

But  ere  long,  oh  !  how  distant  he'll  be  ! 


Why — 'tis  only  in  name,  you,  e'en  you,  are  the  same 

With  the  SHE  that  inspired  my  devotion  : 
Every  bit  of  the  lip  that  I  loved  so  to  sip 

Has  been  changed  in  the  general  commotion — 
Even  these  soft  gleaming  eyes  that  awaked  my  young  sighs 

Have  been  altered  a  thousand  times  over  ; 
Why?  oh  why,  then  complain  that  so  short  was  your  reign? 

Must  all  Nature  go  round  but  your  lover  ? 

The  tears  flowed  in  torrents  from  the  blue  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Magnus,  during  the  whole  of  this  song ;  and  when  Mr.  Tims, 
who  was  now  extremely  inebriated  (he  has  since  apologised 
to  us  for  his  behaviour,  and  assured  us  that  when  tipsy  on 
tea  he  is  always  quite  beyond  himself),  vehemently  cried, 
"  Hangcore  !  hangcore  ! "  the  gross  impropriety  of  such  un- 
feeling conduct  was  felt  by  Mr.  Seward,  who  offered,  if 
agreeable  to  us,  to  turn  him  out  of  the  tent ;  but  Tims 
became  more  reasonable  upon  this,  and  asked  permission 
to  go  to  bed  ;  which  being  granted,  his  friend  Price  assisted 
the  small  cit  to  lay  down,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  we  think, 
unless  we  were  deceived,  that  we  faintly  heard  something 
like  his  own  thin  tiny  little  snore.  Mrs.  Magnus  soon 
recovered  her  cheerfulness ;  for  being,  with  all  her  vivacity, 
subject  to  frequent  but  short  fits  of  absence,  she  every  now 
and  then,  no  doubt  without  knowing  what  she  was  about, 
filled  up  her  tea-cup,  not  from  the  silver  tea-pot,  but  from  a 
magisterial-looking  bottle  of  whisky,  which  then,  and  indeed 
at  all  times,  stood  on  our  table.  She  now  volunteered  a 
song  of  her  own  composition ;  and  after  fingering  away  in 
the  most  rapid  style  of  manipulation  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  as  if  upon  her  own  spinnet  in  Philadelphia,  she  too 
took  the  key  from  Tickler's  ready  instrument,  and  chanted  in 
recitativo  what  follows  ;  an  anomalous  kind  of  poetry  : — 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  6i 

CHAUNT. — BY    MRS.    M'WHIRTER. 
Tune — The  Powldoodies  of  Bur  ran* 


I  wonder  what  the  mischief  was  in    me  when  a  bit  of   my  music  I  prof- 
fered ye ! 
How  could  any  woman  sing  a  good   song  when   she's  just  parting  with 

Morgan  Odoherty? 
A  poor  body,  I  think,  would  have  more  occasion  for  a  comfortable  quiet  can, 
To  keep  up  her  spirits  in  taking  lave  of  so  nate  a  young  man  ; 
Besides,  as  forme,  I'm  not  an  orator  like  Bush,  Plunkett,  Grattan,  orCurran, 
So  I  can  only  hum  a  few  words  to  the  old  chaunt  of  the  Powldoodies  of 
Burran. 

Chorus — Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  green  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  Powldoodies,  the  clean  Powldoodies, 

The  gaping  Powldoodies  of  Burran  ! 


I  remember  a  saying  of  my  Lord  Norbury,  that  excellent  Judge, 

Says  he,  never  believe  what  a  man  says  to  ye,  Molly,  for  believe  me  'tis  all 

fudge  ; 
He  said  it  sitting  on  the  Bench  before  the  whole  Grand  Jury  of  Tipperary. 
If  I  had  minded  it,  I  had  been  the  better  on't,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Mary  ; 
1  would  have  paid  not  the  smallest  attention,  ye  good-for-nothing  elf  ye. 
To  the  fine  speeches  that  took  me  off  my  feet  in  the  swate  city  of  Philadelphy. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  «S:c. 

3- 
By  the  same  rule,  says  my  dear  Mr.   Bush  one  night  when  I  was  sitting 

beside  Mausey, 
"  Molly,  love,"  says  he,  "  if  you  go  on  at  this  rate,  you've  no  idea  what 

bad  luck  it  will  cause  ye  ; 
You  may  go  on  very  merrily  for  a  while,  but  you'll  see  what  will  come  on't, 
When  to  answer  for  all  your  misdeeds,  at  the  last  you  are  summoned  ; 
Do  you  fancy  a  young  woman  can  proceed  in  this  sad  light-headed  way, 
And  not  suffer  in  the  long  run,  tho'  manetime  she  may  merrily  say. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,"  &c.  &c. 

4. 
But  I'm  sure  there's  plenty  of  other  people  that's  very  near  as  bad's  me. 
Yes,  and  I  will  make  bould  to  affirm  it,  in  the  very  tiptopsomest  degree  ; 

*  The  Powldoodies  of  Burran  are  oysters,  of  which  more  may  be  said 
hereafter. 


62  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

Only   they're  rather  more  cunning   concealing   on't,  tho'  they  meet  with 

their  fops 
Every  now  and  then  by  the  mass,  aboutfour  o'clock  in  their  milliners' shops  ; 
In  our  own  pretty  Dame  Street  I've  seen  it— the  fine  lady  comes  commonly 

first, 
And  then  comes  her  beau  on  pretenceof  a  watch-ribbon,  or  the  like  I  purtest. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

5- 
But  as  for  me,  I  could  not  withstand  him,  'tis  the  beautiful  dear  Ensign  I 

mean, 
When  he  came  into  the  Shifii?ig  Daisy  *  with  his  milkwhite  smallclothes 

so  clean. 
With  his  epaulette  shining  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  golden  gorget  at  his 

breast, 
And  his  long  silken  sash  so  genteelly  twisted  many  times  round  about  his 

neat  waist ; 
His  black  gaiters  that  were  so  tight,  and  reached  up  to  a  little  below  his  knee. 
And  showed  so  well  the  prettiest  calf  e'er  an  Irish  lass  had  the  good  luck 

to  see. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

6, 

His  eyes  were  like  a  flaming  coal-ftre,  all  so  black  and  yet  so  bright. 
Or  like  a  star  shining  clearly  in  the  middle  of  the  dark  heaven  at  night  ; 
And  the  white  of  them  was  not  white,  but  a  charming  sort  of  hue, 
Like  a  morning  sky,  or  skimmed  milk,  of  a  delicate  sweet  blue  ; 
But  when  he  whispered  sweetly,  then  his  eyes  were  so  soft  and  dim. 
That  it  would  have  been  a  heart  of  brass  not  to  have  pity  upon  him. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

7- 
And  yet  now  you  see  he's  left  me  like  a  pair  of  old  boots  or  shoes. 
And  makes  love  to  all  the  handsome  ladies,  for  ne'er  a  one  of  them  can 

refuse ; 
Through  America  and  sweet  Ireland,  and  Bath  and  London  City, 
For  he  must  always  be  running  after  something  that's  new  and  pretty, 
Playing  the  devil's  own  delights  in  Holland,  Spain,  Portugal,  and  France, 
And  here  too  in  the  cold  Scotch  mountains,  where  I've  met  with  him  by 

very  chance. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 


When  he  first  ran  off  and  deserted  me,  I  thought  my  heart  was  plucked 

away. 
Such  a  tugging  in  my  breast,  I  did  not  sleep  a  wink  till  peep  of  day — 

*  The.  Shining  Daisy  WAS  the  sign  of  Mrs.  M'Whirter's  chop-house  at 
Philadelphia.  Sir  Daniel  Donelly  hoisted  the  same  sign  over  his  booth  the 
other  day  at  Donnybrook  YaXx.  — Editor. 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  63 

May  I  be  a  sinner  if  I  ever  bowed  but  for  a  moment  my  eye-lid, 
Tossing  round  about  from  side  to  side  in  the  middle  of  my  bid. 
One  minute  kicking  off  all  the  three  blankets,  the  sheets,  and  the  counter- 
pane, 
And  then  stufifing  them  up  over  my  head  like  a  body  besitle  myself  again. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

9- 

Says  I  to  myself,  I'll  repeat  over  the  whole  of  the  Pater  Noster,  Ave-Maria, 
and  Creed, 

If  I  don't  fall  over  into  a  doze  e'er  I'm  done  with  them  'twill  be  a  very  un- 
common thing  indeed  ; 

But,  would  you  believe  it  ?     I  was  quite  lively  when   I  came  down  to   the 
Amen, 

And  it  was  always  just  as  bad  tho'  I  repeated  them  twenty  times  over  and 
over  again  ; 

I  also  tried  counting  of  a  thousand,  but  still  found  myself  broad  awake. 

With  a  cursed  pain  in  the  fore  part  of  my  head,  all  for  my  dear  sweet 
Ensign  Odoherty's  sake. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  <S:c. 

10. 

But,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  I  was  in  a  high   fever  when  I  woke  in  the 

morning, 
Whereby  all  women  in  my  situation  should  take  profit  and  warning  ; 
And  Doctor  Oglethorpe  he  was  sent  for,  and  he  ordered  me  on  no  account 

to  rise, 
But  to  lie  still  and  have  the  whole  of  my  back  covered  over  with  Spanish 

flies; 
He  also  gave  me  leeches  and  salts,  castor-oil,  and  the  balsam  capivi, 
Till  I  was  brought  down  to  a  mere  shadow,  and  so  pale  that  the  sight  would 

have  grieved  ye. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

II. 

But  in  the  course  of  a  few  days  more  I  began  to  stump  a  little  about. 

And  by  the  blessing  of  air  and  exercise,  I  grew  every  day  more  and  more 

stout ; 
And  in  a  week  or  two  I  recovered  my  twist,  and  could  play  a  capital  knife 

and  fork, 
Being  not  in  the  least  particular  whether  it  was  beef,  veal,  lamb,  mutton,  or 

pork  ; 
But  of  all  the  things  in  the  world,  for  I  was  always  ray  fatlier's  own  true 

daughter, 
I  liked  best  to  dine  on  fried  tripes,  and  wash  it  down  with  a  little  hot  brandy 

and  water. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 


64  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

12. 

If  I  had  the  least  bit  of  genius  for  poems,  I  could  make  some  very  nice  songs 
On  the  cruelties  of  some  people's  sweethearts,  and  some  people's  sufferings 

and  wrongs ; 
For  he  was  master,  I'm  sure,  of  my  house,  and  there  was  nothing  at  all  at  all 
In  the  whole  of  the  Shining  Daisy  for  which  he  could  not  just  ring  the  bell 

and  call ; 
We  kept  always  a  good  larder  of  pigeon-pies,  hung  beef,  ham,  and  cowheel, 
And  we  would  have  got  anything  to  please  him  that  we  could  either  beg,  bor- 
row, or  steal. 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c- 

13- 

And  at  night  when  we  might  be  taking  our  noggin  in  the  little  back-room, 

I  thought  myself  as  sure  of  my  charmer  as  if  he  had  gone  to  church  my  bride- 
groom ; 

But  I  need  not  keep  harping  on  that  string  and  ripping  up  of  the  same  old 
sore, 

He  went  off  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post,  and  I  never  heard  tell  of  him  no 
more, 

So  I  married  the  great  Doctor  Oglethorpe,  who  had  been  my  admirer  all 
along. 

And  we  had  some  scolloped  Powldoodies  for  supper  ;  and  every  crature 
joined  in  the  old  song, 

Oh  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran,  &c.  &c. 

14. 

Some  people  eat  their  Powldoodies  quite  neat  just  as  they  came  out  of  the 

sea, 
But  with  a  little  black  pepper  and  vinegar  some  other  people's  stomachs 

better  agree ; 
Young  ladies  are  very  fond  of  oyster  pates,  and  young  gentlemen  of  oyster 

broth. 
But  I  think  I  know  a  bit  of  pasture  that  is  far  better  than  them  both  : 
For  whenever  we  want  to  be  comfortable,  says  I  to  the  Doctor,  My  dear  man, 
Let's  have  a  few  scolloped  Powldoodies,  and  a  bit  of  tripe  fried  in  the  pan. 
Chorus— 0\\  !  the  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  green  Powldoodies  of  Burran, 

The  green  Powldoodies,  the  clean  Powldoodies, 

The  gaping  Powldoodies  of  Burran. 

After  Mrs.  Magnus  had  received  those  plaudits  from  the 
tent  due  to  this  exhibition  of  native  genius,  the  learned 
Doctor  somewhat  anxiously  asked  us  what  sort  of  accommo- 
dation we  had  for  him  and  his  lady  during  the  night  ?  We 
told  him  that  the  tent  slept  twenty  easily,  and  that  a  few 
more  could  be  stowed  away  between  the  interstices.     "  But 


MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY.  65 

give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  Dr.  Magnus,  on  that  score ;  we 
are  aware  of  the  awkwardness  of  a  lady  passing  the  night 
with  so  many  contributors,  and  of  the  censoriousness  of  the 
world,  many  people  in  which  seem  determined,  Doctor,  to 
put  an  unfavourable  construction  on  everything  we  do  or 
say.  Besides,  your  excellent  lady  might  find  our  tent  like 
the  Black  Bull  Inn  of  Edinburgh  as  it  was  twenty  years 
ago,  when  Dr.  Morris  first  visited  it, '  crowded,  noisy,  shabby, 
and  uncomfortable.'  Now  the  inn  at  Braemar  is  a  most 
capital  one,  where  the  young  ladies  of  the  family  will  pay 
every  attention  to  Mrs.  Magnus.  We  have  already  de- 
spatched a  special  messenger  for  Dr.  Morris'  shandrydan, 
and  as  it  is  a  fine  moonlight  night,  you  can  trundle  yourselves 
down  to  bed  in  a  jiffey."  The  sound  of  the  shandrydan 
confirmed  our  words,  and  we  all  attended  Mrs.  Magnus  and 
her  husband  to  the  road,  to  see  them  safely  mounted.  Our 
readers  have  all  seen  Peter's  shandrydan,  a  smart,  snug,  safe, 
smooth,  roomy,  easy-going  concern,  that  carries  you  over 
the  stones  as  if  you  were  on  turf;  and  where,  may  we  ask, 
will  you  see  a  more  compact  nimble  little  horse  than  Peter's 
horse,  Scrub,  with  feet  as  steady  as  clock-work,  and  a  mouth 
that  carries  his  bit  with  a  singular  union  of  force  and  tender- 
ness ?  "I  fear  that  I  cannot  guide  this  vehicle  along  High- 
land roads,"  said  Dr.  Magnus;  "and  I  suspect  that  steed  is 
given  to  starting,  from  the  manner  in  which  he  keeps  rearing 
his  head  about,  and  pawing  the  ground  like  a  mad  bull. 
My  dear,  it  would  be  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to 
ascend  the  steps  of  that  shandrydan."  While  the  orator 
was  thus  expressing  his  trepidation,  the  Standard-Bearer 
handed  Mrs.  Magnus  forward,  who,  with  her  nodding 
plumes,  leapt  lightly  up  beneath  the  giant  strength  of  his 
warlike  arm,  and  took  her  seat  with  an  air  of  perfect  com- 
posure and  dignity ;  while  Odoherty,  adjusting  the  reins 
with  the  skill  of  a  Lade  or  Buxton,  and  elevating  his  dexter 
hand  that  held  them  and  the  whip  in  its  gnostic  grasp, 
caught  hold  of  the  rail  of  the  shandrydan  with  his  left,  and 
flung  himself,  as  it  were,  to  the  fair  side  of  her  who  had 

VOL.  I.  E 


66  MEMOIR  OF  MORGAN  ODOHERTY. 

once  been  the  mistress  of  his  youthful  heart,  but  for  whom 
he  now  retained  only  the  most  respectful  affection.  "  Mount 
up  behind,  Dr.  Magnus,"  cried  the  Adjutant,  somewhat 
impatiently;  "your  feet  will  not  be  more  than  six  inches 
from  the  ground,  so  that  in  case  of  any  disaster,  you  can 
drop  off  like  a  ripe  pease-cod ;  mount,  I  say.  Doctor, 
mount."  The  Doctor  did  so;  and  the  Standard-Bearer 
giving  a  blast  on  Wastle's  bugle,  and  cutting  the  thin  air 
with  his  thong  several  yards  beyond  Scrub's  nose,  away 
went  the  shandrydan,  while  the  mountains  of  the  Dee 
echoed  again  to  the  rattling  of  its  wheels. 


1Rote  from  /IDr.  ©Dobcrtp. 

My  dear  Editor, — The  report  of  my  death,  a  report 
originally  created  by  the  malevolence  of  a  fiend,  has,  I  am 
sorry  to  observe,  gained  considerable  currency  through  the 
inadvertence  of  you,  a  friend.  Had  my  body  been  really 
consigned  to  the  dust,  you  should  have  received  intelligence 
of  that  event,  not  from  the  casual  whispers  of  a  stranger, 
but  from  the  affectionate  bequest  of  a  sincere  admirer ;  for, 
sir,  I  may  as  well  mention  the  fact  that,  by  a  holograph 
codicil  to  my  last  will  and  testament,  I  have  constituted 
you  sole  tutor  and  curator  of  all  my  MSS. ;  thus  providing, 
in  case  of  accidents,  for  these  my  intellectual  offspring  the 
care  of  a  guardian  who,  I  am  well  aware,  would  super- 
intend, with  a  father's  eye,  the  mode  of  their  introduction 
into  public  life. 

I  flatter  myself,  however,  that  you  will  not  hear  with 
indifference  of  my  being  still  in  a  condition  to  fulfil  this 
office  in  propria  persona.  On  some  future  occasion  I  shall 
describe  to  your  readers,  in,  I  hope,  no  uninteresting 
strains,  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  my  fate  during  the 
last  two  years :  among  these  not  the  least  amusing  will  be 
the  narrative  of  those  very  peculiar  circumstances  which 
have  induced  me  to  lie  perdue,  a  listener  to  no  less  than 
two  succeeding  historians  of  my  life,  supposed  to  be 
terminated,  and  eulogists  of  my  genius,  no  less  falsely 
supposed  to  have  been  swallowed  up  in  the  great  vortex 
of  animation.     But  of  all  this  anon. 

I  enclose,  in  the  meantime,  as  the  first  offerings  of  my 


68  NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 

reacknowledged  existence,  three  several  productions  of  my 
muse.  The  first  (The  Garland)  was  composed  by  me  a 
few  weeks  ago,  on  the  following  occasion. 

I  happened  to  be  in  Hawick  at  the  moment  when  the 
celebrated  giantess,  Mrs.  Cook,  passed  through  that  town 
on  her  way  from  the  South.  Animated  with  that  rightful 
spirit  of  curiosity  which  has  been  pronounced  to  be  the 
mother  of  all  knowledge,  I  immediately  hastened  to  wait 
upon  her.  The  vast  stature  of  this  remarkable  woman,  her 
strength  (for  with  a  single  squeeze  she  had  well  nigh 
crushed  my  fingers  to  dust),  the  symmetry  of  her  figure, 
but  above  all,  the  soft  elegance  of  her  features, — these 
united  attractions  were  more  than  sufficient  to  make  a 
deep  impression  on  the  mind  of  one  who  has  never  pro- 
fessed himself  to  be  "  a  stoic  of  the  woods."  After  spend- 
ing a  comfortable  evening  at  Mrs.  Brown's,  I  set  out  for 
Eltrive,  the  seat  of  my  friend  Mr.  Hogg,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  walk  composed  the  following  lines,  which  I  soon 
afterwards  sent  to  Mrs.  Cook.  It  is  proper  to  mention 
that  the  fair  daughter  of  Anak  enclosed  to  me,  in  return,  a 
ticket  of  free  admission  for  the  season,  of  which  I  shall 
certainly  very  frequently  avail  myself  after  my  arrival  in 
Edinburgh. 

The  other  two  poems,  the  Eve  of  St.  Jerry,  and  the 
Rime  of  the  Auncient  Waggonere,  were  composed  by  me 
many  years  ago.  The  reader  will  at  once  detect  the 
resemblance  which  they  bear  to  two  well-known  and  justly 
celebrated  pieces  of  Scott  and  Coleridge.  This  resem- 
blance, in  justice  to  myself,  is  the  fruit  of  their  imitation, 
not  of  mine.  I  remember  reciting  the  Eve  of  St.  Jerry 
about  the  year  1795  to  Mr.  Scott,  then  a  very  young  man; 
but  as  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mr.  Coleridge, 
although  I  have  often  wished  to  do  so,  and  hold  his  genius 
in  the  highest  estimation,  I  am  more  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  the  accurate  idea  he  seems  to  have  possessed  of  my  pro- 
duction, unless,  indeed,  I  may  have  casually  dropt  a  copy 
of  the  MS.  in  some  bookseller's  shop  in  Bristol,  where  he 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY.  69 

may  have  found   it. — Meantime,   I   remain,    dear   Editor, 
your  affectionate  servant, 

Morgan  Odoherty. 
Eltrive  Lake,  Feb.  29//^,  1819. 


ODOHERTY  S  GARLAND. 
IN  HONOUR  OF  MRS.  COOK,   THE  GREAT. 

Let  the  Emerald  Isle  make  O'Brien  her  boast,* 

And  let  Yorkshire  be  proud  of  her  "  strapping  young  man  ;" 
But  London,  gay  London,  should  glory  the  most. 

She  has  reared  Mrs.  Cook,  let  them  match  her  who  can  ; 
This  female  Goliah  is  thicker  and  higher 

Than  Italian  Belzoni,  or  Highlandman  Sam. 
Yet  the  terrible  creature  is  pretty  in  feature, 

And  her  smile  is  as  soft  as  a  dove  or  a  lamb. 
When  she  opens  her  eyelids  she  dazzles  you  quite 

With  the  vast  flood  of  splendour  that  flashes  around  ; 
Old  Ajax,  ambitious  to  perish  in  light, 

In  one  glance  of  her  glory  perdition  had  found. 
Both  in  verse  and  in  prose,  to  the  bud  of  a  rose 

Sweet  lips  have  been  likened  by  amorous  beau  ; 
But  her  lips  may  be  said  to  be  like  a  rose-bed. 

Their  fragrance  so  full  is,  so  broad  is  their  glow. 


*  Charles  O'Brien,  the  person  here  alluded  to,  measured  exactly  eight  feet 
two  inches  in  his  pumps.  His  countenance  was  comely,  and  his  chest  well 
formed,  but,  like  the  "  Muiier  Formosa"  of  Horace's  Satire,  or  (what  may  be 
considered  as  a  more  appropriate  illustration)  like  the  idol  of  the  Philistines, 
he  was  very  awkwardly  shaped  in  the  lower  extremities.  He  made  a  practice 
of  selling  successively  to  many  gentlemen  of  the  medical  profession,  tlie  rever- 
sion of  his  enormous  carcase.  It  is  said  that  one  of  these  bargains — viz.  that 
contracted  between  him  and  thecelebrated  Listen  of  Edinburgh — was  reduced 
to  a  strictly  legal  shape.  It  is  well  known  that,  according  to  the  forms  of 
Scots  law,  nothing  but  movables  can  be  conveyed  by  testament ;  every 
other  species  of  property  requires  to  be  transferred  by  a  deed  infer  vivos. 
The  acute  northern  anatomist,  doubting  whether  any  court  of  law  would 
have  been  inclined  to  class  O'Brien's  body  among  movables,  insisted  that 
the  giant  should  vest  Ihcfee  of  the  said  body  in  him  (the  surgeon),  saving 
and  retaining  to  himself  (the  giant)  a  right  of  usufruct  or  liferent.  We  have 
not  heard  by  what  symbol  the  doctor  completed  his  infeftment.  [The 
skeleton  of  O'P.rien,  the  Irish  giant,  is  preserved  in  the  Museum  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin.] 


70  NOTE  FROM  yiU.  ODOHKKTY. 

The  similitudes  used  in  king  Solomon's  book, 

In  laudation  of  some  little  Jewess  of  old, 
If  we  only  suppose  tlicm  devised  for  the  Cook, 

Would  appear  the  reverse  of  improper  or  bold. 
There  is  many  a  tree  that  is  shorter  than  she, 

In  particular  that  on  which  Johnston  was  swung  ; 
Had  the  rope  been  about  her  huge  arm,  there's  no  doubt 

That  the  friend  of  the  Scotsinan  at  once  had  been  hung. 

The  cedars  that  grew  upon  Lebanon  hill, 

And  the  towers  of  Damascus  might  well  be  applied. 
With  imperfect  ideas  the  fancy  to  fill. 

Of  the  monstrous  perfections  of  Cook's  pretty  bride. 
Oh  !  if  one  of  the  name  be  immortal  in  fame, 

Because  round  the  wide  globe  he  adventured  to  roam, 
Mr.  Cook,  I  don't  see  why  yourself  should  not  be 

As  illustrious  as  he  without  stirring  from  home  ! 

Quoth  Odohertv. 


THE    EVE    OF    ST.    JERRY. 

[The  reader  will  learn  with  astonishment  that  I  composed  the  two  fol- 
lowing ballads  in  the  fourteenth  year  of  my  age,  i.e.  A.D.  1780.  I  doubt 
if  either  Milton  or  Pope  rivalled  this  precocity  of  genius.— M,  O.] 

Dick  Gossip  the  barber  arose  with  the  cock, 

And  pulled  his  breeches  on  ; 
Down  the  staircase  of  wood,  as  fast  as  he  could, 

The  valiant  shaver  ran. 

He  went  not  to  the  country  forth 

To  shave  or  frizzle  hair  ; 
Nor  to  join  in  the  battle  to  be  fought 

At  Canterbury  fair. 

Yet  his  hat  was  fiercely  cocked,  and  his  razors  in  his  pocket, 

And  his  torturing  irons  he  bore  ; 
A  staff  of  crab-tree  in  his  hand  had  he, 

Full  five  feet  long  and  more. 

The  barber  returned  in  three  days'  space. 

And  blistered  were  his  feet ; 
And  sad  and  peevish  were  his  looks. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  street. 


He  came  not  from  where  Canterbury 

Ran  ankle-deep  in  blood  ; 
Where  butcher  Jem,  and  his  comrades  grim, 

The  shaving  tribe  withstood.  ^ 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY.  71 

Yet  were  his  eyes  bruised  black  and  blue  ; 

His  cravat  twisted  and  tore  ; 
His  razors  were  with  gore  imbued — 

But  it  was  not  professional  gore.* 

He  halted  at  the  painted  pole, 

Full  loudly  did  he  rap, 
And  whistled  on  his  shaving  boy, 

Whose  name  was  Johnny  Strap. 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  young  tickle-beard, 

And  mind  that  you  tell  me  true, 
For  these  three  long  days  that  I've  been  away, 

What  did  Mrs.  Gossip  do? 

When  the  clock  struck  eight,  Mrs.  Gossip  went  straight. 

In  spite  of  the  pattering  rain, 
Without  stay  or  stop  to  the  butcher's  shop, 

That  lives  in  Cleaver  Lane. 

I  watched  her  steps,  and  secret  came 

Where  she  sat  upon  a  chair : 
No  person  was  in  the  butcher's  shop — 

The  devil  a  soul  was  there. 

The  second  night  I  spied  a  light 

As  I  went  up  the  Strand, 
'Twas  she  who  ran,  with  pattens  on, 

And  a  lanthern  in  her  hand  ; 

She  laid  it  down  upon  a  bench, 

And  shook  her  wet  attire  ; 
And  drew  in  the  elbow-chair,  to  warm 

Her  toes  before  the  fire. 

In  the  twinkling  of  a  walking-stick, f 

A  greasy  butcher  came. 
And  with  a  pair  of  bellows  he 

Blew  up  the  dying  flame. 

And  many  a  word  the  butcher  spoke 

To  Mrs.  Gossip  there  ; 
But  the  rain  fell  fast,  and  it  blew  such  a  blast 

That  I  could  not  tell  what  they  were. 

*  We  have  no  wish  to  injure  the  reputation  of  this  gentleman  ;  but,  from 
the  above  stanza,  it  is  evident  that  his  hand  was  liable  to  tremor,  whether 
from  natural  nervous  debility,  or  the  effect  of  brandy,  we  cannot  take  upon 
us  to  determine. — M.  OD. 

f  From  this  line  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  the  oaken  saplings  of  our 
ancestors  rivalled  in  elasticity  the  bamboo  canes  of  our  modern  dandies. — 
M.  OD. 


72  NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 

The  third  night  there  the  sky  was  fair, 

There  neither  was  wind  nor  rain  ; 
And  again  I  watched  the  secret  pair 

At  the  shop  in  Cleaver  Lane. 

And  I  heard  her  say,  "  Dick  Gossip's  away, 

So  we'll  be  blithe  and  merry, 
And  the  bolts  I'll  undo,  sweet  butcher,  to  you, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  Jerry."  * 

"  I  cannot  come,  I  must  not  come" — 
"  For  shame,  faint-hearted  snarler. 
Must  I  then  moan,  and  sit  alone, 
In  Dicky  Gossip's  parlor? 

"  The  dog  shall  not  tear  you,  and  Strap  f  slia.ll  not  hear  you, 
And  blankets  I'll  spread  on  the  stair  ; 
By  the  blood-red  sherry,  and  holy  St.  Jerry, 
I  conjure  thee,  sweet  butcher,  be  there." 

' '  Though  the  dog  should  not  tear  me,  and  Strap  should  not  hear  me, 
And  blankets  be  spread  on  the  stair, 
Yet  there's  Mr.  Parrot,  who  sleeps  in  the  garret, 
To  my  footsteps  he  could  swear." 

"  Fear  not  Mr.  Parrot,  who  sleeps  in  the  garret. 
For  to  Hampstead  the  way  he  has  ta'en  : 
An  inquest  to  hold,  as  I  have  been  told. 
On  the  corpse  of  a  butcher  that's  slain." 

He  turned  him  round,  and  grimly  he  frowned. 
And  he  laugh'd  right  scornfully, 
"  The  inquest  that's  held,  on  the  man  that's  been  killed, 
May  as  well  be  held  on  me. 

"  At  the  lone  midnight  hour,  when  hobgoblins  have  power, 
In  thy  chamber  I'll  appear ; 
With  that  he  was  gone,  and  your  wife  left  alone, 
And  I  came  running  here." 

Then  changed,  I  trow,  was  the  barber's  brow, 
From  the  chalk  to  the  beet-root  red  : 
"  Now  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  butcher  thou'st  seen. 
By  Mambrino  I'll  smite  off  his  head." 


*  We  have  in  vain  scrutinised  the  kalendar  for  the  name  of  this  saint. — 
M.  OD. 

t  After  his  master's  misfortune,  this  gentleman  settled  in  the  North,  and 
was  the  great-grandfather  of  that  Strap  so  honourably  noticed  by  Smollett. 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY.  73 

"  On  the  point  of  his  nose,  which  was  Hke  a  red  rose, 
Was  a  wart  of  enormous  size  ; 
And  he  made  a  great  vaporing  with  a  blue  and  white  apron, 
And  red  stockings  rolled  up  to  his  thighs."  * 

"  Thou  liest,  thouliest,  young  Johnny  Strap, 
It  is  all  a  fib  you  tell, 
For  the  butcher  was  taken,  as  dead  as  bacon. 
From  the  bottom  of  Carisbrook  well." 

"  My  master,  attend,  and  I'll  be  your  friend, 
I  don't  value  madam  a  button  ; 
But  I  heard  Mistress  say,  Don't  leave,  I  pray. 
Sweet  Timothy  Slaughter-mutton." 

He  oped  the  shop  door,  the  counter  he  jumped  o'er. 

And  overturned  Strap, 
Then  bolted  up  the  stair,  where  he  found  his  lady  fair, 

With  the  kitten  on  her  lap. 

"  Now  hail,  now  hail,  thou  lady  bright, — 
Now  hail,  thou  barber  trim, 
What  news  from  Canterbury  fight, 
What  news  from  bloody  Jem  ?"  + 

' '  Canterbury  is  red  with  gore, 
For  many  a  barber  fell ; 
And  the  mayor  has  charged  us  for  evermore 
To  watch  the  butcher's  well." 

Mrs.  Gossip  blushed,  and  her  cheek  was  flushed, 

But  the  barber  shook  his  head  ; 
And  having  observed  that  the  night  was  cold, 

He  tumbled  into  bed. 

Mrs.  Gossip  lay  and  mourned,  and  Dicky  tossed  and  turned  ; 

And  he  muttered  while  half  asleep, 
The  stone  is  large  and  round,  and  the  halter  tight  and  sound, 

And  the  well  thirty  fathoms  deep. 

The  gloomy  dome  of  St.  Paul's  struck  three, 

The  morning  began  to  blink. 
And  Gossip  slept,  as  if  his  wife 

Had  put  laudanum  in  his  drink. 


*  This  was  no  doubt  a  bold  and  masterly  attempt  of  the  butcher  to  imitate 
plush  breeches. — M.  OD. 

+  It  is  astonishing  that  Hume  and  other  historians  make  no  mention  of 
this  bloody  encounter,  which  threatened  to  exterminate  the  whole  shaving 
generation,  or  at  least  scatter  them  hke  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel. — M.  OD. 


74  NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 

Mrs.  Gossip  drew  wide  the  curtnins  aside, 
The  candle  had  burned  to  the  socket, 

And  lo  !  Timothy  stood,  all  covered  with  blood, 
With  his  right  hand  in  his  pocket. 

"  Dear  Slaughter-mutton,  away,"  she  cried, 

"  I  pray  thee  do  not  stop." 
"  Mrs.  Gossip,  I  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side. 

But  he  sleeps  as  sound  as  a  top. 

"  Near  Carisbrook  well,  I  lately  fell 
Beneath  a  barber's  knife  ; 
The  coroner's  inquest  was  held  on  me — 
But  it  did  not  restore  me  to  life.* 

"  By  thy  husband's  hand  was  T  foully  slain, 
He  threw  me  into  the  well, 
And  my  sprite  in  the  shop,  in  Cleaver  Lane, 
For  a  season  is  doomed  to  dwell. '' 

Love  mastered  fear.     ' '  What  brings  thee  here  ? ' 
The  Love-sick  matron  said  ; 
' '  Is  thy  fair  carcase  gone  to  pot  ?  " 
The  goblin  shook  his  head. 

"  I  slaughtered  sheep,  and  slaughtered  was, 
And  for  breaking  the  marriage  bands, 
My  flesh  and  bones  go  to  David  Jones,t 
But  let  us  first  shake  hands." 

He  laid  his  left  fist  on  an  oaken  chest. 
And,  as  she  cried,  "  Don't  burn  us  ;  " 

With  the  other  he  grasped  her  by  the  nose, 
And  scorched  her  like  a  furnace. 

There  is  a  felon  in  Newgate  jail. 

Who  dreads  the  next  assize  ; 
A  woman  doth  dwell  in  Bedlam  cell. 

With  a  patch  between  her  eyes. 

The  woman  who  dwells  in  Bedlam  cell. 
Whose  reason  is  not  worth  a  button. 

Is  the  wife  of  a  barber  in  Newgate  jail. 
Who  slaughtered  Slaughter-mutton, 


*  It  seems  to  us  an  unconscionable  expectation  of  the  butcher,  that  the 
inquest  of  the  coroner  was  to  restore  the  "vis  vitae." — M.  OD. 

t  Apparently  one  of  the  slang  names  for  the  "hangman  of  creation," 
omitted  by  Burns  in  his  address  to  that  celebrated  personage. — M.  OD. 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 


75 


THE    RIME    OF    THE    AUNCIENT    WAGGONERE. 


IN    FOUR    PARTS. 


Part  Fiist. 

It  is  an  auncient  Waggonere, 
And  hee  stoppeth  one  of  nine  : 
"  Now  wherefore  dost  thou  grip  me  soe 
With  that  horny  fist  of  thine?  " 

"  The  bridegroom's  doors  are  opened  wide, 
And  thither  I  must  walke  ; 
Soe,  by  your  leave,  I  must  be  gone, 
I  have  noe  time  for  talke  !  " 

Hee  holds  him  with  his  horny  fist — 
"  There  was  a  wain,"  quothe  hee — 
"  Holde  offe,  thou  raggamouffine  tykke." 
Eftsoones  his  fist  dropped  hee. 

Hee  satte  him  down  upon  a  stone, 

With  ruefulle  looks  of  feare  ; 
And  thus  began  this  tippyse  manne, 

The  red-nosed  waggonere. 

"  The  waine  is  fulle,  the  horses  pulle, 

Merrilye  did  we  trotte 
Alonge  the  bridge,  alonge  the  road, 

A  jolly  crewe,  I  wotte." 
And  here  the  tailore  smotte  his  breaste, 

He  smelte  the  cabbage  potte  ! 

"  The  nighte  was  darke,  like  Noe's  arke. 

Cure  waggone  moved  alonge  ; 
The  hail  poured  faste,  loude  roared  the  blaste. 

Yet  still  we  moved  alonge  ; 
And  sung  in  chorus,  'Cease,  loud  Borus,' 

A  very  charminge  songe. 

"  '  Bravoe,  bravissimoe,' I  cried, 
The  sounde  was  quite  elatinge  ; 
But,  in  a  trice,  upon  the  ice. 
We  hearde  the  horses  skaitinge. 

"  The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there. 
It  was  a  dismale  mattere 
To  see  the  cargoe,  one  by  one, 
Flounderinge  in  the  wattere  ! 


An  auncient  wag- 
gonere stoppeth 
ane  tailore  going  to 
a  wedding,  where- 
at he  hath  been  ap- 
pointed to  be  best 
manne,  and  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  cast- 
ing of  the  slippere. 

The  waggonere  in 
mood  for  chat,  and 
admits  of  no  ex- 
cuse. 

The  tailore  seized 
with  the  ague. 


He  listeneth  hke  a 
three  years  and  a 
half  child. 


The  appetite  oC  the 
tailore  whetted  by 
the  smell  of  cab- 
bage. 


The  waggonere,  in 
talking  anent  Bo- 
reas, maketh  bad 
orthogiaphye. 


Their  mirthe  inter- 
rupted. 


And  the  passengers 
exercise  them- 
selves in  the  pleas- 
ant art  of  swim- 
minge,  as  doeth  al- 
so   their    prog,    to 


76 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 


wilte,  great  store  of 
cokle  roasted  beef ; 
item,  ane  beef-stake 
pye  ;  item,  viii 
clioppines  of  usque- 
baugh. 

The  waggonere 
hailethe  ane  goOiC, 
with  ane  novel 
salulatione. 


The  tailore  impa- 
tient to  be  gone, 
but  is  forcibly  per- 
suaded to  remain. 


With  rout  and  roare,  we  reached  the  shore, 

And  never  a  soul  did  sinke  ; 
But  in  tlie  rivere,  gone  for  evere, 

Swum  our  meate  and  drinke. 

At  Icngthe  we  spied  a  good  grey  goose, 

Thorough  the  snow  it  came  ; 
And  with  the  butte  ende  of  my  whippe 

1  hailed  it  in  (joddliis  name. 

It  staggered  as  it  liad  been  drunke, 

So  dexterous  was  it  hitte  ; 
Of  brokene  boughs  we  made  a  fire, 

Thommc  Loncheone  roasted  itte." — 

Be  done,  thou  tipsye  waggonere. 

To  the  feaste  I  must  awaye." 
The  waggonere  seized  him  bye  the  coatte. 

And  forced  him  there  to  stave, 
Begginge,  in  gentlemanlie  style, 

Butte  halfe-ane-hour's  delaye. 


THE   RIME   OF   THE   AUNCIENT   WAGGONERE. 


The  waggonere's 
bowels     yearn     to- 
wards the  sunne. 


']  he  passengers 
throwe  the  blame 
of  the  goose  mas- 
sacre on  the  inno- 
cent waggonere. 


The  sunne  suflferes 
ane  artificial 
eclipse,    and     hor- 
ror loUows,  the 
same  not  being 
mentioned  in  the 
Belfaste  Almanacke. 

Various  hypothe- 
ses on  the  subject, 
frome     which     the 
passengeres   draw 
wronge  conclu- 
sions. 


Part  Second. 

'  The  crimson  sunne  was  rising  o'ere 

The  verge  of  the  horizon  ; 
Upon  my  worde,  as  faire  a  sunne 
As  ever  I  clapped  eyes  onne. 

'Twill  bee  ane  comfortable  thinge," 
The  mutinous  crewe  'gan  crye  ; 

'Twill  be  an  comfortable  thinge 
Within  the  jaile  to  lye  ; 

Ah  !  execrable  wretche,"  saide  they, 
"Thatte  caused  the  goose  to  die  ! 

The  day  was  drawing  near  ittes  close, 
The  sunne  was  well  nighe  settinge ; 

When  lo  !  it  seemed  as  iffe  his  face 
Was  veiled  with  fringe-warke-nettinge. 

Somme  saide  itte  was  ane  apple  tree. 

Laden  with  goodlye  fruite, 
Somme  swore  itte  was  ane  foreigne  birde, 

Some  said  it  was  ane  brute  ; 
Alas  !  it  was  ane  bumbailiffe, 

Riding  in  pursuite  ! 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 


77 


A  hue  and  crye  sterte  uppe  behind^ 
Whilke  smote  oure  ears  like  thunder, 

Within  the  waggone  there  was  drede, 
Astonishmente  and  wonder. 


Ane  lovelye  sound 
ariseth ;  ittes  ef- 
fects described. 


One  after  one,  the  rascalls  rann, 

And  from  the  carre  did  jump  ; 
One  after  one,  one  after  one. 

They  felle  with  heavy  thump. 

Six  miles  ane  houre  theye  offe  did  secure. 
Like  shippes  on  ane  stormye  ocean, 

Theire  garments  fiappinge  in  the  winde, 
With  ane  shorte  uneasy  motion. 

Their  bodies  with  their  legs  did  fiye, 

Theye  fled  withe  feare  and  glyffe  ; 
Why  star'st  thoue  see? — With  one  goode  blow, 
I  felled  the  bumbailiffe  1 " 


The  passengers 
throw  somersets. 


The  waggonere 

complimenteth  the 
bumbailiffe  with 
ane  Mendoza. 


THE    RIME    OF    THE    AUNCIENT    WAGGONERE. 
Part  Third. 


'  I  feare  thee,  auncient  waggonere, 
I  feare  thy  hornye  fiste. 
For  itte  is  stained  with  gooses  gore, 
And  bailiffs  blood,  I  wist. 

'  I  fear  to  gette  ane  fisticuffe 

From  thy  leathern  knuckles  brown  ; 
With  that  the  tailors  strove  to  ryse  — 
The  waggonere  thrusts  him  down. 

'  Thou  craven,  if  thou  mov'st  a  limye, 
I'll  give  thee  cause  for  feare  ;  ' 

And  thus  went  on,  that  tipsye  man, 
The  red-billed  waggoner. 


The   tailore    meet- 
eth  Corporal 
Feare 


The  bumbailiffe  so  beautifull  ! 

Declared  itte  was  no  joke. 
For,  to  his  knowledge,  both  his  legs 

And  fifteen  ribbes  were  broke. 


The    bailiffe    com- 
plaineth  of  consid- 
erable derange- 
ment of  his  animal 
economye. 


"  The  lighte  was  gone,  the  nighte  came  on, 
Ane  hundrede  lantherns'  sheen 
Glimmerred  upon  the  kinge's  highwaye — 
Ane  lovelye  sighte,  1  ween. 


Policemen  with 
their  lanlheriies, 
purbue  the  waggo- 
nere. 


78 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 


Steppeth    20   fecte 
in  imitationc  of  the 
Admirable  Crich- 
loun. 


Complaineth  of 
foul  play,  and  fal- 
leth   down   in    ane 
trance. 


One  acteth  the 
parte  of  Job's  com- 
lortere. 


"  '  Is  it  he,'  ciuoth  one,  '  is  this  the  manne? 
I'll  laye  the  rascalle  stiffe  ; ' 
With  cruel  stroke  the  beak  he  broke 
Of  the  harmless  bumbailiffe. 

"  The  threatening  of  the  saucye  rogue 
No  more  I  coulde  abide. 
Advancing  forthe  my  goode  right  legge, 

Tiiree  paces  and  a  stride, 
I  sent  iTiy  lefte  foot  dexterously 
Seven  inches  through  his  side. 

"  Up  came  the  seconde  from  the  vanne  ; 
We  had  scarcely  fought  a  round. 
When  some  one  smote  me  from  behinde, 
And  I  fell  down  in  a  swound  : 

"  And  when  my  head  began  to  clear, 
I  heard  tiie  yemering  crew — 
Quoth  one,  '  Tliis  man  hath  penance  done, 
And  penance  more  shall  do.'  " 


THE   RIME    OF   THE   AUNCIENT   WAGGONERE. 


Part  Fourth. 


The  waggonere  ' 
maketh  ane  shrewd 
observation. 


The  waggonere 
tickleth  the  spleen 
of  the  jailer,  who 
daunces  ane  Fa- 
dango. 

Rejoicethe   in   the 
fra"rance  of  the 


Dreadeth  Shoan 
Dhu,  the   corporal 
of  the  guarde. 


"  O  Freedom  is  a  glorious  thing  ! 
And,  tailore,  by  the  by, 
I'd  rather  in  a  halter  swing 
Than  in  a  dungeon  lie. 

"  The  jailere  came  to  bring  me  foode. 
Forget  it  will  I  never, 
How  he  turned  up  the  white  o'  his  eye 
When  I  stuck  him  in  the  liver, 

"  His  threade  of  life  was  snapt :  once  more 

I  reached  the  open  streete  ; 
The  people  sung  out  '  Gardyloo  ' 

As  I  ran  down  the  streete. 
Methought  the  blessed  air  of  heaven 

Never  smelte  so  sweete. 

"  Once  more  upon  the  broad  highwaye, 
I  walked  with  feare  and  drede ; 

And  every  fifteen  steppes  I  tooke 
I  turned  about  my  heade, . 

For  feare  the  corporal  of  the  guarde 
Might  close  behind  ine  trede  ! 


NOTE  FROM  MR.  ODOHERTY. 


79 


"  Behold,  upon  the  western  wave 
Setteth  the  broad  bright  sunne  ; 
So  I  must  onward,  as  I  have 
Full  fifteen  miles  to  runne/ 

"  And  should  the  bailiffes  hither  come 
To  aske  whilke  waye  I've  gone, 
Tell  them  I  took  the  othere  road, 
Said  hee,  and  trotted  onne," 


The  waggonere 
taketh  leave  of  the 
tailore, 


The  tailore  rushed  into  the  roome,  to  whome  ane 

O'erturning  three  or  foure  ;  small  accidente 

Fractured  his  skuUe  against  the  walle, '  wherTupon  fol- 

And  worde  spake  never  more  !  !  loweth  the  morale 

very  proper  to  be  had  in  minde  by  all 
members  of  the  Dilettanti  Society  when 
they  come  over  the  bridge  at  these 
houres.  Wherefore  let  them  take  heed 
and  not  lay  blame  where  it  lyeth  nott. 


Morale, 

Such  is  the  fate  of  foolish  men, 
The  danger  all  may  see 

Of  those  who  list  to  waggonere. 
And  keepe  bad  companye. 


Cbrtstabel. 

The  Introduction  to  Fart  the  Third. 

Listen  !  Ye  know  that  I  am  mad, 

And  ye  will  listen  ! — wizard  dreams 

Were  with  me — all  is  true  that  seems ! 
From  dreams  alone  can  truth  be  had — 
In  dreams  divinest  lore  is  taught, 
For  the  eye,  no  more  distraught. 
Rests  most  calmly ;  and  the  ear, 

Of  sound  unconscious,  may  apply 
Its  attributes  unknown,  to  hear 

The  Music  of  Philosophy  ! 

Thus  am  I  wisest  in  my  sleep. 

For  thoughts  and  things  which  daylight  brings 

Come  to  the  spirit  sad  and  single ; 
But  verse  and  prose,  and  joys  and  woes. 

Inextricably  mingle 
When  the  hushed  frame  is  silent  in  repose  ! 
Twilight  and  moonlight,  mist  and  storm, 
Black  night,  and  fire-eyed  hurricane, 
And  crested  lightning,  and  the  snows 
That  mock  the  sunbeams,  and  the  rain 
Which  bounds  on  earth  with  big  drops  warm. 
All  are  round  me  while  I  spell 
The  legend  of  sweet  Christabel ! 

CHRISTABEL.— Part  Third. 

Nine  moons  have  waxed,  and  the  tenth  in  its  wane 
Sees  Christabel  struggle  in  unknown  pain  ! 


CHRISTABEL.  8i 

For  many  moons  was  her  eye  less  bright, 

For  many  moons  was  her  vest  more  tight. 

And  her  cheek  was  pale,  save  when,  with  a  start, 

The  life-blood  came  from  the  panting  heart 

And,  fluttering  o'er  that  thin  fair  face, 

Past  with  a  rapid,  nameless  pace ; 

And  at  moments  a  big  tear  filled  the  eye, 

And  at  moments  a  short  and  smothered  sigh 

Swelled  her  breast  with  sudden  strain, 

Breathed  half  in  grief  and  half  in  pain, 

For  hers  are  pangs  on  the  rack  that  wind 

The  outward  frame  and  the  inward  mind. 

And  when  at  night  she  did  visit  the  oak. 

She  wore  the  Baron's  scarlet  cloak 

(That  cloak  which,  happy  to  hear  and  to  tell. 

Was  lined  with  the  fur  of  the  leopard  well). 

And  as  she  wandered  down  the  dell, 

None  said  'twas  the  Lady  Christabel. 

Some  thought  'twas  a  weird  and  ugsome  elf; 

Some  deemed  'twas  the  sick  old  Baron  himself, 

^^■ho  wandered  beneath  the  snowy  lift 

To  count  his  beads  in  solemn  shrift 

(For  his  shape  below  was  wide  to  see, 

All  bloated  with  the  hydropsie). 

Oh,  had  her  old  father  the  secret  known. 

He  had  stood  as  stark  as  the  statue  of  stone 

That  stands  so  silent  and  white  and  tall 

At  the  upper  end  of  his  banquet-hall ! 

Am  I  asleep,  or  am  I  awake  ? 

In  very  truth  I  oft  mistake. 

As  the  stories  of  old  come  over  my  brain, 

And  I  build  in  spirit  the  mystic  strain. 

Ah  !  would  to  the  Virgin  that  I  were  asleep  ! 

But  I  must  wake,  and  I  must  weep ! 

Sweet  Christabel,  it  is  not  well 

VOL.   I.  F 


82  CHRISTABEL. 

That  a  lady,  pure  as  the  sunless  snow- 
That  lies  so  oft  on  the  mountain's  brow, 
That  a  maiden  of  sinless  chastity 
In  child-birth  pangs  should  be  doomed  to  die. 
Or  live  with  a  name  of  sorrow  and  shame. 
And  hear  the  words  of  blemish  and  blame  ! 
For  the  world  that  smiles  at  the  guilt  of  man 
Places  woman  beneath  its  ban. 
Alas  !  that  scandal  thus  should  wreak 
Its  vengeance  on  the  warm  and  weak; 
That  the  arrows  of  the  cold  and  dull 
Should  wound  the  heart  of  the  beautiful ! 

Of  the  things  that  be,  did  we  know  but  half. 

Many  and  many  would  weep  who  laugh  ! 

Tears  would  darken  many  an  eye, 

Or  that  deeper  grief  (when  its  orb  is  dry. 

When  it  cannot  dare  the  eye  of  day) 

O'er  the  clouded  heart  would  stray 

Till  it  crumbled  like  desert  dust  away  ! 

But  here  we  meet  with  grief  and  grudge. 

And  they  who  cannot  know  us  judge  ! 

Thus  souls  on  whom  good  angels  smile 

Are  scoffed  at  in  our  world  of  guile. 

Let  this,  Ladie,  thy  comfort  be  : 

Man  knows  not  us ;  good  angels  know 

The  things  that  pass  in  the  world  below. 

And  scarce,  methinks,  it  seems  unjust 

That  the  world  should  view  thee  with  mistrust ; 

For  who  that  saw  that  child  of  thine. 

Pale  Christabel,  who  could  divine 

That  its  sire  was  the  Ladie  Geraldine  ? 

But  in  I  rush,  with  too  swift  a  gale, 
Into  the  ocean  of  my  tale  ! 
Not  yet,  young  Christabel,  I  ween 
Of  her  babe  hath  lighter  been. 


CHRISTABEL.  83 

— 'Tis  the  month  of  the  snow  and  the  blast, 
And  the  days  of  Christmas  mirth  are  past, 
When  the  oak-roots  heaped  on  the  hearth  blazed 

bright, 
Casting  a  broad  and  dusky  light 
On  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  warriors  old, 
Who  stared  from  the  wall,  most  grim  to  behold  ; 
On  shields  where  the  spider  his  tapestry  weaves, 
On  the  holly  boughs  and  the  ivy  leaves, 
The  few  green  glories  that  still  remain 
To  mock  the  storm  and  welcome  the  rain, 
Brighter  and  livelier  'mid  tempest  and  shower. 
Like  a  hero  in  the  battle  hour ! 
Brave  emblems  o'er  the  winter  hearth, 
They  cheered  our  fathers'  hours  of  mirth  ! 

Twelve  solar  months  complete  and  clear 

The  magic  circle  of  the  year  ! 

Each  (the  ancient  riddle  saith) 

Children  two  times  thirty  hath  ! 

Three  times  ten  are  fair  and  white. 

Three  times  ten  are  black  as  Night ; 

Three  times  ten  hath  Hecate, 

Three  times  ten  the  God  of  Day  : 

Thus  spoke  the  old  hierophant 

(I  saw  her  big  breast,  swelling,  pant) 

What  time  I  dreamed,  in  ghostly  wise, 

Of  Eleusinian  mysteries ; 

For  I  am  the  hierarch 

Of  the  mystical  and  dark, 

And  now,  if  rightly  I  do  spell 

Of  the  Lady  Christabel, 

She  hates  the  three  times  ten  so  white, 

And  sickens  in  their  searching  light ; 

And  woe  is  hers — alas  !  alack  ! 

She  hates  the  three  times  ten  so  black ; 


84  CHRISTABEL.' 

As  a  mastiff  bitch  doth  bark, 
I  hear  her  moaning  in  the  dark  ! 


'Tis  the  month  of  January  : 

^Vhy,  lovely  maiden,  light  and  airy. 

While  the  moon  can  scarcely  glow 

Through  the  plumes  of  falling  snow. 

While  the  moss  upon  the  bark 

Is  withered  all,  and  damp  and  dark, 

While  cold  above  the  stars  in  doubt 

Look  dull,  and  scarcely  will  stay  out. 

While  the  snow  is  heavy  on  beechen  bower, 

And  hides  its  namesake,  the  snowdrop  flower. 

Why  walk  forth  thus  mysteriously  ? 

Dear  girl,  I  ask  thee  seriously. 

Thy  cheek  is  pale,  thy  locks  are  wild^- 

Ah,  think  how  big  thou  ait  with  child  ! 

Though  the  baron's  red  cloak  through  the  land  hath  no  fellow, 

Thou  shouldst  not  thus  venture  without  an  umbrella ! 

Dost  thou  wander  to  the  field  of  graves 
Where  the  elder  its  spectral  branches  waves ; 
And  will  thy  hurried  footsteps  halt 
Where  thy  mother  sleeps  in  the  silent  vault  ? 
Where  the  stranger  pauses  long  to  explore 
The  emblems  quaint  of  heraldic  lore, 
Where,  though  the  lines  are  tarnished  and  dim. 
Thy  mother's  features  stare  gaunt  and  grim, 
And  grinning  skull  and  transverse  bone, 
And  the  names  of  warriors  dead  and  gone, 
Mark  Sir  Leoline's  burial-stone  : 
Thither  go  not,  or  I  deem  almost 
That  thou  wilt  frighten  thy  mother's  ghost ! 
Or  wilt  thou  wend  to  the  huge  oak-tree, 
And,  kneeling  down  upon  thy  knee, 
Number  the  beads  of  my  rosary  ? 


CHRISTABEL.  85 

Nine  beads  of  gold  and  a  tenth  of  pearl, 
And  a  prayer  with  each,  my  lovely  girl, 
Nine  and  one  shalt  thou  record  ; 
Nine  to  the  Virgin  and  one  to  the  Lord  ! 
The  pearls  are  ten  times  one  to  behold, 
And  ten  times  nine  are  the  beads  of  gold  : 
Methinks  'tis  hard  of  the  friar  to  ask 
On  a  night  like  this  so  weary  a  task  ! 

'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant,  in  summer  time. 

In  the  green  wood  to  spell  the  storied  rhyme. 

When  the   light  winds  above  'mong  the  light   leaves  are 

singing. 
And  the  song  of  the  birds  through  your  heart  is  ringing ; 
'Tis  pleasant,  'tis  pleasant  when  happily  humming 
To  the  flowers  below  the  blythe  bee  is  coming  ! — 
When  the  rivulet,  coy  and  ashamed  to  be  seen. 
Is  heard  where  it  hides  'mong  the  grass-blades  green, 
When  the  light  of  the  moon  and  each  starry  islet 
Gives  a  charm  more  divine  to  the  long  summer  twilight, 
When  the  breeze  o'er  the  blossomy  hawthorn  comes  cheerful, 
'Tis  pleasant— with  heart,  ah  !  how  happy  though  fearful — 
With  heaven-beaming  eyes  where  tears  come  while  smiles 

glisten 
To  the  lover's  low  vows  in  the  silence  to  listen  ! 

'Tis  pleasant  too  on  a  fine  spring  day 
(A  month  before  the  month  of  May) 
To  pray  for  a  lover  that's  far  away  ! 
But,  Christabel,  I  cannot  see 
The  powerful  cause  that  sways  with  thee 
Thus,  with  a  face  all  waxen  white. 
To  wander  forth  on  a  winter  night. 

The  snow  hath  ceased,  dear  lady  meek, 
But  the  night  is  chill  and  bleak ; 


86  CHRISTABEL. 

And  clouds  are  passing  swift  away 
Below  the  moon  so  old  and  grey — 
The  crescent  moon,  like  a  bark  of  pearl, 
That  lies  so  calm  on  the  billowy  whirl ; 
Rapidly,  rapidly 
With  the  blast 
Clouds  of  ebony 
Wander  fast. 
And  one  the  maiden  hath  fixed  her  eye  on 
Hath  passed  o'er  the  moon  and  is  near  the  horizon  ! 
Ah,  Christabel,  I  dread  it,  I  dread  it. 

That  the  clouds  of  shame 
Will  darken  and  gather 

O'er  the  maiden's  name. 
Who  chances  unwedded 
To  give  birth  to  a  child,  and  knows  not  its  father ! 

One — two — three — four — five — six — seven — eight — nine- 
ten — eleven ! — 
Tempest  or  calm,  in  moonshine  or  shower, 
The  castle  clock  still  tolls  the  hour. 
And  the  cock  awakens,  and  echoes  the  sound. 
And  is  answered  by  the  owls  around ; 
And  at  every  measured  tone 
You  may  hear  the  old  baron  grunt  and  groan. 
'Tis  a  thing  of  wonder,  of  fright,  and  fear. 
The  mastiff  bitches'  moans  to  hear ; 
And  the  aged  cow  in  her  stall  that  stands. 
And  is  milked  each  morning  by  female  hands 
(That  the  baron's  breakfast  of  milk  and  bread 
May  be  brought  betimes  to  the  old  man's  bed, 
Who  often  gives,  while  he  is  dressing, 
His  Christabel  a  father's  blessing) — 
That  aged  cow,  as  each  stroke  sounds  slow. 
Answers  it  with  a  plaintive  low ! 
And  the  baron  old,  who  is  ill  at  rest, 
Curses  the  favourite  cat  for  a  pest ; 


CHRISTABEL.  87 

For  let  him  pray,  or  let  him  weep, 

She  mews  through  all  the  hours  of  sleep. 

Till  the  morning  comes  with  its  pleasant  beams, 

And  the  cat  is  at  rest,  and  the  baron  dreams. 

Let  it  rain  however  fast. 

Rest  from  rain  will  come  at  last. 

And  the  blaze  that  strongest  flashes 

Sinks  at  last,  and  ends  in  ashes  ! 

But  sorrow  from  the  human  heart, 

And  mists  of  care — will  they  depart  ? 

I  know  not,  and  I  cannot  tell, 

Saith  the  Lady  Christabel ; 

But  I  feel  my  bosom  swell ! 

In  my  spirit  I  behold 

A  lady — call  her  firm,  not  bold — 

Standing  lonely  by  the  burn  : 
Strange  feelings  through  her  breast  and  brain 
Shoot  with  a  sense  of  madness  and  pain. 

Ah,  Christabel,  return,  return ; 
Let  me  not  call  on  thee  in  vain ! 
Think,  lady  dear,  if  thou  art  drowned. 
That  thy  body  will  be  found. 
What  anguish  will  thy  spirit  feel 
When  it  must  to  all  reveal 
What  the  spell  binds  thee  to  conceal ! 
How  the  baron's  heart  will  knock  'gainst  his  chest 
When  the  stake  is  driven  into  thy  breast. 
When  thy  body  to  dust  shall  be  carelessly  flung, 
And  over  the  dead  no  dirge  be  sung. 
No  friend  in  mourning  vesture  dight. 
No  lykewake  sad — no  tapered  rite  ! 

Return,  return,  thy  home  to  bless. 
Daughter  of  good  Sir  Leoline ; 

In  that  chamber  a  recess. 

Known  to  no  other  eye  than  thine, 
Contains  the  powerful  wild  flower  wine 


88  CHRISTABEL. 

Thnt  often  cheered  thy  mother's  heart ; 
Lady,  lovely  as  thou  art, 
Return  and,  ere  thou  dost  undress 
And  lie  down  in  thy  nakedness, 
Repair  to  thy  secret  and  favourite  haunt 
And  drink  the  wine  as  thou  art  wont, 
Hard  to  uncork  and  bright  to  decant  ! 

My  merry  girl — she  drinks — she  drinks  ; 

Faster  she  drinks  and  faster  ; 
My  brain  reels  round  as  I  see  her  whirl  : 
She  hath  turned  on  her  heel  with  a  sudden  twirl, 

Wine,  wine  is  a  cure  for  every  disaster ; 
For  when  sorrow  wets  the  eye, 
Yet  the  heart  within  is  dry. 
Sweet  maid,  upon  the  bed  she  sinks  : 
May  her  dreams  be  light,  and  her  rest  be  deep  ; 
Good  angels  guard  her  in  her  sleep  ! 


mn^  iRoutina. 

A    LYRICAL    BALLAD. 

Fit  subject  for  heroic  story, 
I  sing  a  youth  of  noble  fame  ; 

Town  and  country,  ten  miles  round, 

Awaken  at  the  glowing  sound 
Of  gallant  Billy  Routing's  name  ! 

Who  wanders  'mid  the  summer  landscape, 
To  scare  the  crows,  for  ever  shouting  ? 
Who  makes  that  sweet  harmonious  noise, 
Surpassing  far  the  raven's  voice  ? 

By  heavens  'tis  he,  'tis  Billy  Routing  ! 

Billy  Routing  walketh  lamely — 

Lamely,  lamely  walketh  he ; 
Billy  Routing  cannot  work  ; 
You'd  swear  his  leg  is  made  of  cork 

(I  never  saw  him  bend  his  knee). 

The  doctors  say  he's  paralytic 

Fair  certificate  he  showeth  ; 
Billy  limpeth  through  the  town, 
Hawking  ballads  up  and  down  ; 

Up  and  down,  where'er  he  goeth. 

Billy  Routing  hath  a  staff. 

Measuring  inches  forty-three : 
Its  head  is  smooth ;  with  leathern  string 
I've  seen  it  from  his  button  swing — 
(Some  say  it  grew  upon  a  tree  ! ! !) 


90  BILLY  ROUTING. 

Billy  Routing  is  a  sportsman  : 

In  summer  I  have  seen  him  trouting. 

A  poet  also  is  the  youth ; 

A  player  too,  for  I,  in  truth, 

In  country  barns  have  heard  him  spouting. 

Billy  hath  a  goodly  great-coat, 

I'll  take  my  oath  it  once  was  green. 

Though  now  it  shines  of  many  a  hue ; 

A  lovelier  coat,  I'm  certain,  you 
On  human  back  have  never  seen. 


Now  to  my  tale  : — It  chanced  that  Billy 
Was  seven  months  from  his  home  away ; 

And  no  one  of  him  heard  or  saw, 

Till  on  the  top  of  blue  Skiddaw 
He  landed  on  a  summer  day. 

It  chanced  on  that  eventful  morning, 
While  walking  forth  upon  the  plain, 

I  saw  him  with  my  telescope, 

I  saw  him  on  the  mountain  top, 
Holding  a  donkey  by  the  mane  ! 

Oh  !  where  have  you  been,  Billy  Routing  ? 

We  dreaded  much  that  thou  wast  lost ; 
Long  did  we  drag  each  pond  and  river. 
Fearing  that  thou  wert  gone  for  ever. 

And  stuck  handbills  on  every  post. 

And  hast  thou  been  in  Fairyland, 

This  many  a  month,  this  many  a  day  ? 

And  hast  thou  seen  the  Danish  boy  ? 

The  idiot  lad,  or  Betty  Foy  ? 

Old  Goody  Blake,  or  Lucy  Gray  ? 


BILLY  ROUTING.  91 

Or  hast  thou  been  in  Nor-ro-way, 

Among  the  mountains  gathering  leeches  ? 

That  is  a  lovely  beast  of  thine ; 

I'm  sure  its  skin  would  make  a  fine 
Soft  easy  pair  of  leathern  breeches. 

Now  Billy,  tell  me  all  your  tidings, 
Now  Billy,  haste  and  tell  me  true. 

What  was  his  answer,  can  you  tell  ? 

With  the  bold  front  of  Peter  Bell, 

He  crowed  aloud,  "  Tu-whit,  too-whoo  ! ! !  " 

Note. — Further  to  illustrate  this  interesting  subject,  I  have  only  to  observe, 
that  Mr.  Routing  was  a  person  of  an  "aspetto  nobile  ; "  in  his  youth  he 
suffered  a  severe  attack  of  the  "  eruptio  popularis,"  commonly  hight  small- 
pox ;  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  somewhat  impaired  the  "  contorno 
del  suo  viso."  From  being  so  much  in  the  sun,  his  countenance  had  acquired 
a  tawny — I  had  almost  said^a  n*"lS!l  colour.  The  most  objectionable 
feature  of  his  inward  man,  was  the  "  auri  sacra  fames,"  which  sometimes 
"07076  0.VTOV  "  to  make  free  with  "  les  oiseaux  domestiques  "  about  farm- 
yards. I  remember  on  speaking  to  him  on  this  subject,  in  a  friendly  manner, 
he  defended  himself  with  this  quotation  from  Plato  de  Republica,lib.  2.  cap.  4, 
"  e.a.v  exwAif  xP'tl^°-^>  e^ofiev  (piKovs^  I  have  always  chimed  in  with  that 
opinion,  that  the  sayings  of  great  men,  however  trivial,  are  worthy  of  eternal 
commemoration,      l-^ide  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Hayley's  Cowper,  &c. 

Rydal  Mount.  W.  W. 


5obn  6ilp(n  atiD  /IDa3cppa. 

Had  the  poem  of  "  John  Gi]i)in  "  appeared  immediately  after 
that  of  "  Mazeppa,"  we  should  have  believed,  in  this  age  of 
parody,  that  Cowper  wished  to  have  his  joke  upon  Lord 
Byron.  As  it  is,  we  cannot  help  suspecting  that  his  lordship 
has  been  aiming  a  sly  hit  at  the  bard  of  Olncy ;  and  though 
his  satire  is  occasionally  rather  stiff  and  formal,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  on  the  whole  the  Hetman  of  the  Cossacks  is  a 
very  amusing  double  of  the  train-band  captain  of  the 
Cockneys. 

"John  Gilpin"  has  always  appeared  to  us  a  very  fine 
chivalrous  poem.  Unquestionably,  the  author  sometimes 
indulges  in  a  strain  of  humour  which,  to  fastidious  minds, 
lessens  the  sublimity  of  the  principal  character  and  of  his 
destinies  ;  yet  we  believe  that  by  more  philosophical  readers 
this  mixture  of  the  ludicrous  with  the  terrible  is  felt  to 
present  a  more  true  and  affecting  picture  of  human  life. 

In  childhood  and  early  youth  we  are,  after  all,  the  best 
judges  of  representation  of  human  passion.  We  see  objects, 
incidents  and  events,  as  they  really  are ;  we  estimate  their 
effect  on  the  agents  engaged  with  them  free  from  all  bias ; 
and  mere  words,  mere  poetry,  however  much  they  may  de- 
light us,  are,  during  that  wise  and  blessed  age,  unable  to 
pervert  our  judgment,  or  mislead  the  natural  affections  of 
our  heart. 

Accordingly,  "John  Gilpin"  is  that  poem  which  has 
drawn  from  youth  more  tears  and  smiles  than,  perhaps,  any 
other  in  the  whole  range  of  English  poetry.  It  is  treasured 
up  in  every  amiable  and  sensitive  heart,  and  that  man  is 
little  to  be  envied  whose  conjugal  affection  would  not  kindle 


JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA.  93 

at  the  inn  of  Edmonton,  or  whose  fihal  piety  would  not 
grow  warmer  at  the  calendrer's  house  at  Ware. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  give  an  elaborate  analysis  of 
"  John  Gilpin,"  or  a  philosophical  exposition  of  the  principles 
on  which  that  great  poem  is  constructed.  This  would 
necessarily  lead  us  into  a  discussion  of  the  principles  of  all 
poetry,  which  we  prefer  giving  some  months  hence,  in  a 
separate  treatise.  Mr  Wordsworth  has,  to  be  sure,  done 
this  already,  in  his  preface  to  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads ; "  but, 
unless  we  are  greatly  mistaken  («/  fallor),  he  has  not 
exhausted  the  subject,  and  we  do  not  fear  that  among  the 
numerous  quartos  yet  to  be  written  thereupon,  ours  can  fail 
of  attracting  some  portion  of  that  public  regard  which  we 
gratefully  acknowledge  to  have  hitherto  been  so  lavishly 
bestowed  on  our  lucubrations. 

It  seems  to  have  been  Lord  Byron's  intention  to  show 
what  John  Gilpin's  feelings  would  in  all  probability  have 
been  had  he  been  placed  in  circumstances  different  from 
those  in  which  he  found  himself  on  the  anniversary  of  his 
marriage  with  Mrs.  Gilpin  ;  and  surely  the  least  imaginative 
reader  will  be  of  opinion  that  the  noble  lord  has  attained 
this  difficult  object  in  Mazeppa.  After  the  perusal  of  the 
two  works,  we  all  feel  that  if  John  Gilpin's  stars  had  per- 
mitted it,  he  was  just  the  man  to  have  become  the  monarch 
of  the  Ukraine ;  and  vice  versa,  that  Mazeppa,  but  for  the 
accident  of  his  birth,  &c.,  might  have  established  a  highly 
respectable  firm  in  Cheapside. 

Cowper  has  not  given  us  any  account  of  the  ante-nuptial 
loves  of  John  Gilpin,  but  introduced  him  at  once  to  our 
acquaintance  as  a  married  man  with  a  considerable  family, 
and  in  a  thriving  trade.  Mazeppa,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
involved  himself,  early  in  life  and  the  poem,  in  a  very  im- 
proper intrigue.  But  human  nature  is  the  same  in  all 
countries ;  and  no  good  objection  could  have  been  brought 
against  either  bard,  though  John  Gilpin  had  been  described 
as  gallanting  a  citizen's  wife  on  a  water-party  to  Richmond, 
and  Mazeppa  comfortably  settled  with  a  wife  and  family  in 


94  JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA. 

some  mercantile  town  on  the  frontiers  of  Poland.  As  Mr. 
Wordsworth  remarks,  "  similitude  dissimilitude  "  is  one  of 
the  chief  sources  of  the  sublime  in  poetry. 

That  principle  being  once  admitted,  Mazeppa  will  probably 
seem  to  every  one  sufficiently  like  John  Gilpin  in  character 
and  situation  in  life.  Let  us  next  look  at  the  two  gentlemen 
after  they  are  fairly  mounted.  There  is  no  occasion  to  quote 
the  whole  description  of  John,  for  it  is  probably  familiar  to 
our  readers.     Suffice  it  to  remind  them  that 

"  John  Gilpin,  at  his  horse's  side, 
Fast  seized  the  flowing  mane." 

And  that  afterwards, 

' '  Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 
Equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat, 
He  manfully  did  throw." 

Lord  Byron  is  more  minute  in  his  description ;  and  from 
it  we  suspect  that,  on  the  whole,  Mazeppa  was  better 
mounted  than  John  Gilpin. 

"  Bring  forth  the  horse— the  horse  was  brought. 
In  truth  he  was  a  noble  steed, 
A  Tartar  of  the  Ukraine  breed." 

John  Gilpin's  horse  was,  we  have  reason  to  know,  an  Irish- 
man— his  friend  the  calendrer  having  imported  him  from 
the  county  of  Tipperary.*  On  the  other  hand,  though 
better  mounted,  Mazeppa  was  worse  dressed,  for  he  was 

"  In  nature's  nakedness." 

This  being  the  case,  he  was  probably  in  the  long  run  no 
better  off  than  John  Gilpin,  of  whom  it  is  written  that 

"  The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot, 
Which  galled  him  in  his  seat." 

Hitherto   the   similarity  between   the   Hetman  and  the 

*  He  was  bred  by Blennerhasset,  Esq.     See  Sporting  Magazine  for 

that  year. 


JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA.  95 

Linen-draper  has  been  sufficiently  apparent ;  but  it  is  much 
more  striking  after  they  have  fairly  started. 

"  So,  fair  and  softly,  John  he  cried, 
But  John  he  cried  in  vain  ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 
In  spite  of  curb  or  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 

Who  cannot  sit  upright. 
He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before. 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got, 

Did  wonder  more  and  more." 

Nothing  can  be  finer  and  more  headlong  than  this,  except 
what  follows : — 

"  'Away,  away  !  my  breath  had  gone, 
I  saw  not  where  he  hurried  on  ! 
'Twas  scarcely  yet  the  break  of  day, 
And  on  he  foamed,  away,  away  ! ' " 

In  one  very  remarkable  particular,  John  Gilpin  is  dis- 
tinguished from  Mazeppa. 

"  So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must 
Who  cannot  sit  upright, 
He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 
And  eke  with  all  his  might." 

On  the  contrary,  Mazeppa  says : 

"With  sudden  wrath  I  wrenched  my  hand, 
And  snapped  the  cord,  which  to  the  mane 
Had  bound  my  neck  in  lieu  of  rein." 

It  would  appear,  therefore,  that  on  first  starting  Mazeppa 
(it  will,  no  doubt,  be  said  involuntarily)  had  his  arms  round 
his  horse's  neck,  but  afterwards  held  them  more  like  a 
gentleman  who  had  taken  lessons  in  riding,  whereas  John 
Gilpin  first  of  all  probably  attempted  to  elevate  his  bridle- 
hand,  but  afterwards  conceived  it  more  salutary  to  embrace 
the  neck  of  his  Bucephalus.     This,  however,  is  a  circum- 


96  JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA. 

stance  scarcely  worth  mentioning.     Lord  Byron  then  goes 

on  to  say  : 

"  Away,  away,  my  steed  and  I, 
Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind  ! " 

And  Cowper  in  like  manner  writes: 

"  Away  went  Gilpin  neck  or  nought. 
Away  went  hat  and  wig." 

Which  last  line  does,  we  confess,  convey  to  our  mind  a  more 
lively  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  motion  than  any  single  image 
in  Mazeppa. 

It  is  impossible,  however,  to  admire  sufficiently  the  skill 
with  which  Lord  Byron  has  contrasted  the  general  features 
of  Mazeppa's  ride  with  those  of  John  Gilpin's.  John's  steed 
gallops  along  the  king's  highway,  and  Mazeppa's  through  the 
desert.  Yet,  if  danger  or  terror  be  one  source  of  the  sublime, 
we  humbly  hold  that  there  is  a  sublimity  in  the  situation  of 
the  London  cit  far  beyond  that  of  the  Polish  gentleman. 
For  in  the  first  place  Mazeppa,  being  securely  bound  to  his 
horse,  need  entertain  no  apprehensions  of  a  severe  fall, 
whereas  John's  adhesion  to  his  nag  seems  to  the  reader 
almost  in  the  light  of  a  continued  miracle,  little  accustomed 
as  he  must  have  been  to  that  sort  of  exercise.  Secondly, 
would  not  any  person  whatever  prefer  galloping  along  turf, 
sand,  or  dust,  to  a  causeway  leading  from  the  metropolis  of 
a  great  empire  ?  Nothing  surprises  us  so  much  in  the  poem 
of  John  Gilpin  as  that  the  calendrer's  horse  does  not  come 
down,  which  would  almost  force  us  to  suspect  that  John  was 
a  better  horseman  than  the  world  in  general  gives  him  credit 
for.  Indeed,  though  not  much  of  a  metaphysician  ourselves, 
having  read  little  on  that  subject,  save  some  of  the  works  of 
the  celebrated  Macvey  Napier,  Esq.,  we  think  that  we  may 
venture  to  assert  that  a  considerable  portion  of  the  delight 
with  which  we  peruse  (or  rather  pursue)  John  Gilpin  arises 
from  our  admiration  of  his  skill  in  horsemanship.  This 
admiration  of  the  rider  is  also  blended  with  affection  for  the 
man : 


JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA.  97 

"  We  love  him  for  the  dangers  he  is  passing, 
And  he  loves  us  because  we  pity  them." 

And  this  leads  us,  in  the  third  place,  to  remark  that  those 
dangers  are  of  the  most  formidable  kind.  We  may  safely 
assert  that  before  he  reached  Edmonton,  he  had  brushed  by 
at  least  200  carriages,  coming  and  going,  of  all  sorts,  from 
the  broad-wheeled  waggon  to  the  shandrydan.  Yet  it  does 
not  appear  that  he  drove  any  of  them  into  pieces,  or  in  any 
one  instance  transfixed  his  friend's  galloway  on  the  pole  of 
a  carriage  coming  up  to  town.  He  seems  to  us  to  be  a 
man  under  the  protection  of  Providence.  And  then,  what 
majestic  calmness  and  composure  are  his  !  Why,  Mr.  Editor, 
not  two  men  in  eight  millions,  that  is  to  say,  no  other  man 
but  John  Gilpin,  in  the  whole  then  population  of  England, 
would  have  exhibited  such  heroism.  Mazeppa,  too,  no 
doubt  had  his  difficulties  to  contend  with,  but  they  were 
not  of  so  formidable  a  description.  His  feelings  must  have 
been  very  uncomfortable  as  he  "nearedthe  wild  wood," 
"  studded  with  old  sturdy  trees,"  and  he  probably  laid  his 
account  with  many  a  bang  on  the  shins ;  but  Lord  Byron 
ought  not  to  have  told  us  that  the  trees  "  were  few  and  far 
between ; "  for,  in  that  case,  the  forest  must  have  been  very 
pretty  riding. 

"  He  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind, 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind." 

It  would  almost  seem  from  these  lines  as  if  Mazeppa 
were  under  such  alarm  as  to  imagine  the  shrubs  and  trees 
to  be  chasing  him,  as  well  as  the  wolves.  This  is  a  touch 
of  poetry  beyond  anything  to  be  found  in  John  Gilpin. 
His  dangers  were  of  another  sort : 

"  The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed. 
Up  flew  the  windows  all " — 

The  extreme  folly  of  thus  suddenly  throwing  open  their 
windows  (an  ugly  trick,  by  which  many  an  honest  man  has 
come  to  an  untimely  end)  is  almost  redeemed  by  the  deep 

VOL.   I.  G 


98  JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA. 

interest  which  these  worthy  but  thoughtless  people  take  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  flying  Cockney  : 

"  And  every  soul  cried  out,  Well  done  ! 
As  loud  as  he  could  bawl." 

We  never  read  this  agonising  poem  (for  the  interest  is  so 
intensely  kept  up  as  to  be  indeed  agonising)  without  blessing 
ourselves  for  the  fortunate  delusion  of  the  various  turnpike- 
men  by  which  John  Gilpin  was  saved  the  necessity  of  taking 
many  dangerous  leaps,  one  or  other  of  which  would  in  all 
human  probability  have  proved  fatal. 

"  He  carries  weight — he  rides  a  race  !  " 

This  exclamation,  borne  before  him,  and  just  before  him, 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  gives  one  a  truly  awful  idea  of 
velocity,  and  well  might  Cowper  exclaim  : 

" 'T was  wonderful  to  view, 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpikemen 
Their  gates  wide  open  threw." 

No  sooner  did  the  public  mind  take  up  the  belief  "  he 
rides  a  race,"  than  by  a  wonderful  process  of  thought  it 
discovers  the  amount  of  the  wager  he  had  laid  : 

"  'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound" 

— an  immense  sum  at  that  time,  when  horse-racing  had  not 
nearly  reached  its  meridian  splendour,  and  when  only  a 
very  few  numbers,  if  any,  of  the  Sporting  Magazine  had 
been  published.  In  all  this  Cowper  has  manifestly  the 
advantage  over  Byron.  Compared  with  the  fine  passages 
now  quoted  from  Gilpin,  how  tame  are  the  following  words 
of  Mazeppa : — 

"  Untired,  untamed,  and  worse  than  wild. 
All  furious  as  a  favoured  child 
Balked  of  its  wish,  or  fiercer  still, 
A  woman  piqued,  who  has  her  will." 

Here  Mazeppa's  gallantry  altogether  forsakes  him,  nor 
can  we  imagine  a  more  inelegant  compliment  to  the  mistress 
whom  he  was  then  leaving  than  to  compare  her,  or  indeed 


JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA.  99 

any  of  her  sex,  to  a  wild  Tartar  horse,  on  whom  he  was  then 
tied  "in  nature's  nakedness." 

It  does  not  api:)ear  that  Gilpin  lost  his  senses  or  his 
presence  of  mind  during  any  portion  of  the  Excursion,  a 
Poem.  Mazeppa,  on  the  other  hand,  was  completely  done 
up,  and  absolutely  fainted  : 

"  He  who  dies 
Can  die  no  more  than  then  I  died, 
O'er-tortured  by  that  ghastly  ride." 

Presence  of  mind  is  a  quality  indispensable  in  the  character 
of  a  true  hero.     We  pity  Mazeppa,  but  we  admire  Gilpin. 

Mazeppa  complains  frequently  of  hunger  during  his  ride ; 
but  no  such  weakness  degrades  Gilpin,  who  seems  almost 
raised  above  all  the  ordinary  wants  of  nature  : 

"  Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  ! — here's  the  house, 
They  all  at  once  did  cry — 
The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired  ; 
Said  Gilpin — So  am  I  !  " 

Not  a  single  word  of  regret  does  he  utter  for  the  want  of 
that  dinner  which  has  so  long  waited  for  him,  but  which, 
from  the  impatient  appetites  of  Mrs.  Gilpin  and  the  children, 
he  well  knows  is  then  trembling  on  the  brink  of  destruction. 
One  solitary  exclamation  is  all  that  proceeds  from  his  lips 
as  he  hurries  by  below  the  balcony: 

"  So  am  I  !  " 

An  ordinary  writer  would  have  filled  his  mouth  with 
many  needless  words.  Lord  Byron  has  evidently  very 
closely  copied  this  sublime  passage  in  an  early  part  of 
Mazeppa's  career  : 

"  Writhing  half  my  form  about, 
Howled  back  my  curse  ;  but  'midst  the  tread, 
The  thunder  of  my  courser's  speed, 
Perchance  they  did  not  liear  nor  heed." 

It  may  be  questioned,  however,  if  this,  fine  as  it  is,  does 
not  want  the  concise  energy  of  the  original. 


lOO  JOHN  GILriN  AND  MAZEPPA. 

The  dangers  which  Gilpin  and  Mazcppa  encounter  arise 
not  only  from  land  but  water.     Thus  c^uoth  the  Pole  : 

"  Mothoiight  the  dash  of  waves  was  nigh. 
The  wild  horse  swims  the  wilder  stream." 

In  like  manner  we  are  told  by  Cowper : 

"Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 
These  gambols  he  did  play. 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash  J 
Of  Edmonton  so  gay ; 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 

Or  a  wild  goose  at  play." 

These  images  are  homely,  but  they  are  not,  on  that  account, 
the  less  expressive.  That  of  the  "  trundling  mop  "  simply 
expresses  the  appearance  of  the  "  wash  "  thrown  off  on  both 
sides  of  the  way  by  the  pony  eyi  passant ;  that  of  the  wild 
goose  at  play  makes  a  direct  appeal  to  the  imaginative  faculty, 
and  suggests,  to  our  minds  at  least,  a  much  more  poetical 
feeling  of  a  good  galloper  than  his  lordship's  images  of 
the  crying  baby  or  the  scolding  mistress.  It  gives  one  a 
momentary  flash  of  the  higher  and  hidden  powers  of  that 
roadster,  and  convinces  us  that  his  owner  would  not  part 
with  him  for  a  very  considerable  sum  of  money.  This  is 
one  of  those  sudden  and  unexpected  touches  so  characteristic 
of  Cowper,  and  that  prove  what  great  things  he  might  have 
accomi^lished  had  he  turned  his  genius  more  systematically 
to  the  cultivation  of  the  higher  provinces  of  poetry. 

After  swimming  the  river,  Mazeppa's  horse  is  not  in  the 
least  degree  tired,  but 

"  With  glossy  skin,  and  dripping  mane, 
And  reeling  limbs  and  reeking  flank, 
The  wild  steed's  sinewy  nerves  still  strain 
Up  the  repelling  bank." 

Here  Lord  Byron  strictly  follows  the  original : 

"  But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 
Inclined  to  tarry  there,"  &c. 


JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA.  loi 

And,  what  is  still  more  strikingly  similar,  the  two  horses  have 
the  very  same  motive  for  their  conduct : 

;'  For  why  ?    His  owner  had  a  house 
Full  ten  miles  off  at  Ware." 

Mazeppa's  horse  had  hitherto  been  accustomed  to  lead  a 
free-and-easy  life  rather  more  than  ten  miles  off  in  the 
Ukraine,  and  thither  accordingly  he  set  off  at  score,  making 
play  all  the  way,  pretty  much  after  the  fashion  of  a  steeple- 
hunt.  It  may  perhaps  be  worth  while  to  quote,  for  a 
particular  reason,  the  following  verse  : 

"  So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew. 
Shot  by  an  archer  strong  ; 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 
The  middle  of  my  song." 

Now  it  is  very  remarkable,  and  we  think  the  coincidence 
cannot  be  accidental,  that  the  corresponding  passage  in 
Mazeppa  also  occurs  just  about  the  middle  of  the  poem  ; 
which  satisfactorily  shows  that  the  original  structures  of  the 
two  great  works  do  in  their  dimensions  exactly  coincide. 

The  termination  of  Gilpin's  excursion,  therefore,  evidently 
suggested  that  of  Mazeppa's.  But  Byron  has  contrived  to  give 
quite  a  new  turn  to  his  poem,  so  that  in  the  final  catastrophe 
he  almost  seems  to  lose  sight  of  the  original.  At  Ware, 
Gilpin's  horse  stands  stock-still  at  the  door  of  his  master's 
house,  which,  by  the  by,  proves  that  he  had  not  that  unchancy 
trick  of  bolting  into  the  stable,  "sans  ceremonie,"  which  has 
incommoded  many  a  sober-headed  gentleman.  Mazeppa's 
horse,  in  like  manner,  falls  down  the  instant  he  reaches  home, 
so  we  observe  that  the  transition  from  motion  to  repose  is  in 
both  cases  equally  abrupt.  Mazeppa's  sufferings  are  now  at 
an  end,  and,  being  put  instantly  into  a  good  warm  bed,  he 
soon  comes  to  himself,  marries,  and  in  good  time  becomes 
the  father  of  many  children,  and  Hctman  of  the  Cossacks. 
Gilpin,  on  the  other  hand,  has  scarcely  had  leisure  to  put 
on  a  new  hat  and  wig  before  off  he  sets  again  without  ever 
drawing  his  bit ;  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  follow  him  farther 


102  JOHN  GILPIN  AND  MAZEPPA. 

with  any  minuteness.  Conclude  we  cannot  without  recalling 
to  the  memory  of  our  readers  one  stanza  which  ever  awakens 
in  our  minds  a  profound  sense  of  the  depth  of  Mrs.  Gilpin's 
conjugal  afiection,  and  of  the  illimitable  range  of  the  imagina- 
tion when  flying  on  the  wings  of  terrified  love  : 

"Now  Mrs.  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 
Her  Imsband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 
She  pulled  out  half-a-crown." 

Tiiat  one  line,  "  into  the  country  far  away,"  gives  to  us  a 
vaster  idea  of  distance,  of  time  and  space,  than  the  whole 
looo  lines  of  Mazeppa.  The  reader  at  once  feels  how  little 
chance  there  is  of  the  post-boy  overtaking  Gilpin,  and  owns 
that  the  worthy  man  ought  to  be  left  entirely  to  himself  and 
his  wild  destinies. 

We  need  pursue  the  parallel  no  farther.  But  we  may 
remark  that,  though  we  have  now  proved  John  Gilpin  to 
have  been  the  prototype  of  Mazeppa,  yet  the  noble  author 
has  likewise  had  in  his  recollection  the  punishment  which 
used  sometimes  to  be  inflicted  on  criminals  in  Russia.  They 
were  bound  on  the  back  of  an  elk,  and  sent  into  Siberia  or 
elsewhere.  We  refer  our  readers  to  the  Sporting  Magazine, 
where  they  will  find  a  very  affecting  picture  of  a  gentleman 
on  his  elk.  It  was  always  the  practice  to  shave  the  criminal 
before  he  mounted,  and,  in  the  picture  we  speak  of,  he  has 
a  beard  of  about  six  inches  long,  which  informs  us  that  he 
had  been  on  his  travels  probably  several  weeks.  Ut pictura 
poesis. 


Song, 

"that    I    LOVE   THEE,    CHARMING    MAID," 

To  its  own  tune. 

That  I  love  thee,  charming  maid,  I  a  thousand  times  have 
said. 
And  a  thousand  times  more  I  have  sworn  it ; 
But  'tis  easy  to  be  seen  in  the  coldness  of  your  mien 
That  you  doubt  my  affection,  or  scorn  it. 

Ah  me ! 

Not  a  single  pile  of  sense  is  in  the  whole  of  these  pretences 

For  rejecting  your  lover's  petitions  ; 
Had  I  windows  in  my  bosom,  oh  !  how  gladly  I'd  expose  'em 

To  undo  your  phantastic  suspicions. 

Ah  me ! 

You  repeat  I've  known  you  long,  and  you  hint  I  do  you 
wrong 
In  beginning  so  late  to  pursue  ye  ; 
But  'tis  folly  to  look  glum  because  people  did  not  come 
Up  the  stairs  of  your  nursery  to  woo  ye. 

Ah  me  ! 

In  a  grapery  one  walks  without  looking  at  the  stalks. 
While  the  bunches  are  green  that  they're  bearing  ; 
All  the  pretty  little  leaves  that  are  dangling  at  the  eaves 


Scarce  attract  even  a  moment  of  staring. 


Ah  me  ! 


I04  SONG. 

But  wlicn  time  has  swell'd  the  grapes  to  a  richer  style  of 
shapes, 
And  the  sun  has  lent  warmth  to  their  blushes, 
Then  to  cheer  us  and  to  gladden,  to   enchant  us  and  to 
madden. 
Is  the  ripe  ruddy  glory  that  rushes. 

Ah  me  ! 

Oh  'tis  then  that  mortals  pant,  while  they  gaze  on  Bacchus' 
plant, 
Oh  'tis  then — will  my  simile  serve  ye  ? 
Should  a  damsel  fair  repine,  though  neglected  like  a  vine  ? 
Both  ere  long  shall  turn  heads  topsy-turvy. 

Ah  me  ! 


®Dc  to  /Hbrs.  iflanaoan. 

BY   AN    IRISH    GENTLEMAN,    LATELY   DECEASED. 

Sir, — A  friend  of  mine  died  last  month  in  Tralee.  Sit  illi 
terra  levis.  He  left  behind  him  a  large  quantity  of  MSS. 
His  wife,  a  woman  of  singular  judgment,  appointed  me  to 
prepare  them  for  the  press ;  and  before  I  finally  commit 
them  entire  to  the  public,  I  think  it  right  to  give  a  specimen 
of  the  poetical  part.  Your  Magazine  has  been  pointed  out 
to  me  as  the  vehicle.  The  public  in  this  incredulous  age 
might  not  wish  to  purchase  a  couple  of  folios  without  some 
sample  of  their  contents.  I  give,  therefore,  the  first  that 
comes  to  hand. 

It  happens  to  be  a  poem,  written  about  1817,  to  a  Mrs. 
Flanagan  of  Youghall.  Various  passages  in  it  requiring 
elucidation,  I  submitted  it  to  the  people  who  could  give 
me  most  information  on  its  topics.  I  have  to  thank  Mr. 
Roderick  Mulshenan,  Eugene  Falvey,  mariner;  Lieutenant 
Duperier,  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt,  &c.  The  last  gentleman  took 
a  very  kind  interest  in  the  concern,  as  will  appear  by  the 
notes  furnished  by  himself  and  his  friends ;  and  I  hereby 
return  him  my  most  grateful  thanks.  Every  gentleman 
who  assisted  me  in  my  commentary  is  duly  mentioned, 
after  the  laudable  custom  of  those  viri  darissimi,  the  Vario- 
rum editors. 

I  shall  send  you  some  more  of  these  papers  in  prose  and 
verse,  with  a  life  of  the  author,  at  some  future  opportunity. — 
I  remain,  sir,  your  most  obedient  and  very  humble  servant, 

Philip  Forager. 

DRUMANIGILLIIiEG,  Feb.  29,   182O. 


io6 


ODE  TO  MRS.  FLANAGAN. 


P.S. — I  understand  that  it  is  conceived  by  some  of  the 
critics  who  have  perused  this  piece  that  the  hint  is  taken 
from  Horace.  Perhaps  so  ;  I  accordingly  subjoin  the  ode. 
I  have  some  notes  and  annotations  on  the  Latin  text,  which 
I  at  first  intended  to  send  to  you,  but,  on  mature  reflection, 
I  have  transmitted  them  to  Mr.  Kidd,  who  has  promised  to 
pubHsh  them  in  his  Curas  Posteriores  in  Horatii  Carmina. 


HoRATli,  Carin.  Lib.  ili.  Od.  7. 
Aster  tent  consolatur  de   Gygis  ab- 
sentia, et  adjideni  hortatur. 


Quio  fles,  Asterie,  quern  tibi  candidi 
Primo  restitiient  vere  Favonii, 
Tliyna  merce  bcatum, 
Constant!  juvenem  fide, 


Gygen?  Ille,  Notis  actus  ad  Oricum 
Post  insana  Caprae  sidera,  frigidas 
Noctes,  non  sine  multis 
Insomnis  lacrimis,  agit. 

Atqui  sollicits  nuncius  hospitse, 
Suspirare  Ciiloen,  et  miseram  tuis 
Dicens  ignibus  uri, 

Tentat  mille  vafer  modis. 
Ut  PrcEtum  mulier  perfida  credulum 
Falsis  impulerit  criminibus,  nimis 


MSS.  No.  I. 
To  Mrs.  Kitty  Flanagan,  comforts  her  on  the 
absence  of  her  hnsband,    /e>~ry  Platiagan, 
7nate  of  the  Jolly  Jupiter,  and  drofis  a  hint 
about  a  tight  dragoon. 
Why  do  cry,  my  sweet  Mrs.  Flanagan, 
When  you  will  soon  have  your  own  dear  man 

again, 
Whom  the  first  wind  will  bring  home  from  the 

Delaware, 
Brimful  of  sovereigns,  and  such  other  yellow 

ware? 
He's  driven  in  to  some  port  to  the  west  of  us 
(A  thing  that  might  happen,  dear,  to  the  best 

of  us), 
Where  he  is  sighing,  sobbing,  and  chattering, 
Night  and  day  long  of  his  own  dear  Catherine, 
Although  his  landlady,  one  Mrs.  Gallagher,* 
Wants  him  to  quit  you,  the  rogue,  and  to  follow 

her. 
She  tells  him  the  tale  of  the  wife  of  old  Poti- 

phar.t 
Relating  a  fact  that  will  ne'er  be  forgot  of  her  ; 


•  Mrs.  Gallagher  (pronounced  more  Hibernico,  GoUagher)  keeps  the  sign 
of  the  Cat-and- Bagpipes  in  Dingle,  a  woman  irreproachable  in  her  conduct, 
amatory  in  her  disposition,  fair  in  her  dealings,  and  a  good  hand  in  running 
spirits.  Touching  the  colour  of  her  hair,  it  is  red,  and  she  was  a  widow  (at 
the  time  of  this  poem)  of  her  third  husband  for  nearly  three  months  :  she 
has  been  since  married.  Miss  Skinandbone,  a  maiden  lady  in  Dingle,  tells 
me  that  her  treatment  of  Flanagan  was  kind,  and  that  he  was  no  Joseph — 
but  this  may  not  be  authenticated. — P.  F.  She  appears  to  be  a  woman  of 
taste  and  reading,  by  having  my  poem  in  her  house. — Leigh  Hunt.  It 
was  left  at  her  house  by  a  Cockney  barber,  who  was  running  away  from  his 
creditors,  and  taking  ship  on  board  the  Yankiedoodle  in  Dingle  ;  he  left  it 
with  Mrs  G.  as  pledge  for  a  tumbler  of  punch. — Roderick  Mulshenan. 
Perhaps  he  found  it  too  heavy  to  carry  it  any  further. — Z. 

t  This  allusion  to  Scripture  I  think  profane  and  reprehensible. — Leigh 
Hunt.  SodoL — Byron.  So  do  I. — Wm.  Hone.  So  do  I. — Bedford. 
So  do  L — Sussex.    So  do  L — T.  Moore.    So  also  many  more  Whig  wits, 


ODE  TO  MRS.  FLANAGAN. 


107 


Casto  Bellerophonti 
Maturare  necem,  refert. 

Narrat  pene  datum  Pelea  Tartaro, 
Magnessam  Hippolyten  dum  lugit 
abstinens : 
Et  peccare  docentes 
Fallax  historias  monet : 

Frustra  ;  nam  scopulis  siirdior  Icari 
Voces  audit,  adhuc  integer.  At,  tibi 
Ne  vicinus  Enipeus 

Plus  justo  placeat,  cave  ; 
Quamvis  noii  alius  flectere  equum 

sciens 
^que  conspicitur  gramine  Martio; 
Nee  qu'.squam  citus  seque 
Tusco  denatat  alveo. 

Prima  nocte  domum  claude  :  neque 

in  vias 
Sub  cantu  queruise  despice  tibiae  : 
£t  te  ssspe  vocanti 

Duram,  difScilis  mane. 


Wiio,  from  a  feeling  malignant  and  sul-te-ry. 
Had  Joseph  near  hanged  for  eschewing  adul- 
tery : 
And  from  this  basest,  this  vilest  of  women,  he 
Gets  Mr.  Hunt's  smutty  story  of  Rimini,* 
By  which,  'tis  plain,  she  hopes  to  a  surety, 
Soon  to  corrupt  his  natural  purity  ; 
But  he  resists  her  arts  and  her  flattery. 
Deaf  and  determined,  just  as  a  battery,  t 
But  there's  a  sergeant,  one  Patrick  Hennessy,  J 
Keep  away,  Kitty,  from  all  such  men  as  he. 
Though    he's    so     smart    that     he's    always 

employed  as 
Rough-rider  to  the  old  Marquis  of  Drogheda'sf 
Though  there  are  few  so  brawny  and  big,  my 

dear. 
Or  far  better  at  dancing  a  jig,  my  dear, 
Close  down  yourwindowswhenhe  comes  caper- 
ing. 
Shut   both   your  doors  and  your  ears  to  his 

vapouring, 
Mind  not  the  songs  or  sighs  of  this  Hannibal, 
But,  looking  at  him,  cross  as  a  cannibal, 
Cry,  "  Come,  be  off  as  light  as  a  tailor,  man, 
I  will  be  true  to  my  own  dear  sailor-man." 


men  conspicuous  for  respect  for  the  Scriptures.  Nobody  understands 
profaneness  better  than  they. — P.  F. 

*  The  clear  shown  bay  of  Dingle  rises  on  my  soul  with  springy  freshness 
from  this  circumstance.  Mrs.  Gallagher  made  the  use  I  intended  of  my  poem. 
A  rational  piety  and  a  manly  patriotism  should  prompt  a  writer  to  excite 
those  passions  which  nature  has  given  us,  and  which  tend  to  increase  the 
population  of  the  country.  By  smutty  is  meant  that  I  resemble  Rembrandt 
in  being  dark,  gloomy,  and  grand  ;  it  is  a  dear  coming-round  metaphorical 
expression,  quite  feet-on-the-fenderish,  and  reminds  one  of  a  poker  in  the 
fire,  and  a  chimney-corner. — Leigh  Hunt. 

f  Deaf  as  a  battery  is  not  the  proper  phrase  :  it  must  have  been  put  in 
rythmi gratia.     I  suggest  the  following  ; — 

"  But  he's  as  deaf — as  deaf  as  the  postesses 
To  the  designs  and  the  arts  of  his  hostess's." 

—John  Keats. 

Postesses,  in  the  Cockney  tongue,  signifies  Posts. — P.  F. 

+  There  is  no  such  sergeant  or  rough-rider  in  the  i8th  Hussars. — H. 
DuPERiER,  Lieutenant  and  Adjutant. 

There  must  then  be  some  mistake  in  the  business,  which  I  cannot  account 
for. -P.  F. 

§  The  most  noble  Charles,  Marquis  of  Drogheda,  K.S.  P.,  is  colonel  of 
the  i8th  Hussars. — H.  D.,  Lieutenant  and  Adjutant. 


®&e  to  /llbarsbal  Groucb^  on  bis  IReturn. 

BV  AN  IRISH  GENTLEMAN,  LATELY  DECEASED. 

Sir, — I  send  another  specimen  of  my  deceased  friend's 
poetry,  and,  mirabile  dictu,  it,  as  well  as  the  former,  bears  a 
similitude  to  an  Ode  in  Horace.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  wrote 
a  set  of  parallel  Carmina  to  the  Horatian,  and  if  Archdeacon 
Wrangham  were  to  see  them,  I  think  he  would  give  up  for 
ever  the  idea  of  attempting  to  lay  his  versions  before  the 
public,  for  which  reason  I  hope  he  never  will  see  them. 

I  am  working  away  arranging  the  papers,  and  in  a  month 
or  so  they  will  be  prepared  finally.  Another  month  will  be 
occupied  in  writing  my  friend's  life,  so  that  I  shall  be  ready 
to  face  the  booksellers  by  next  October. 

I  should  say  more,  but  that  I  am  in  a  hurry,  being  called 
away  to  attend  a  coroner's  inquest  over  the  body  of  one 
Timothy  Regan  alias  Tighe  a  Breeshtha,  who  was  killed 
yesterday,  fighting  at  a  fair  in  a  feud,  a  bellum  infesfinum, 
between  the  Shanavests  and  Caravats.  I  can  only  add  that 
I  have  procured  fewer  notes  for  this  than  for  the  former  Ode. 
I  remain,  sir,  your  humble  servant,         Philip  Forager. 

Drummanigillibeg,  Augttst  6,  1820. 

HOR.  Od.  7,  Lib.  ii.  MSS.  No.  II. 

Ad  POMPEIUM.  To  Marshal on  his  Return  ; 

Felicem  ex  infelici  viilitiA  reditian           or.  Congratulatory  Address  by. 
gratulatur.  Alans.  . 

I. 
O  saspe  mecum  tempus  in  ultimum      O  welcome  home,  my  marshal,  my 
Deducte,  Bruto  militias  duce,  colleague  true  and  good, 

Quis  te  redonavit  Quiritem  When    under    brave    Napoleon    we 

Dis  patriis,  Italoque  cceIo,  dabbled  long  in  blood  ; 


ODE  TO  MARSHAL  GROUCHY  ON  HIS  RETURN.  109 

Pompei,  meorum  prime  sodalium?      Who  brought  you  back  to  Paris  in 
Cum  quo  morantem  saep^  diem  mero  Bourbon's  royal  days  ? 

Fregi,  coronatus  nitentes  Was  it  Madame  Bonaparte's  man.  our 

Malobathro  Syrio  capillos.  own  Monsieur  De  Gazes?* 


Tecum  Philippos  et  celerem  fugam 
Sensi,  relict^  non  bene  parmula  ; 
Cum  fracta  virtus,  et  minaces 
Turpe  solum  tetigere  mento. 


2. 

With  thee  I  robbed  through  Prussia, 

through  Portugal  and  Spain  ; 
With  thee  I  marched  to  Russia,  and 

then — marched  back  again  ; 
With  thee  I  faced  the  red-coats  awhile 

at  Waterloo  ; 
And  with  thee  I  raised  the  war-song 

of  jolly  t  sauve  qui  peut. 


Sed  me  per  hostes  Mercurius  celer 
Denso  paventem  sustulit  aere  : 
Te  rursus  in  bellum  resorbens 
Unda  fretis  tulit  sestuosis. 


I  took  the  oaths  to  Louis,  and  now, 

with  face  of  brass, 
I  bawl  against  the  royalists  all  in  the 

Chambre  Basse  ; 
But    you,    my    lad,    were   exiled ;   a 

mighty  cruel  thing, 
For  you  did  nothing  surely  but  fight 

against  your  king. 


Ergo  obligatam  redde  Jovi  dapem, 
Longaque  fessum  militia  latus 
Depone  sub  lauru  meii,  nee 
Parce  cadis  tibi  destinatis. 


Then  drink  a  health  to  the  Emperor, 

and  curse  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  ;  X 
And  decorate  with  stolen  plate  your 

honest-earned  chateau  ; 
And   merrily,  my  marshal,  we  shall 

the  goblet  drain  : 
'Tis  a  chalice  §  that  I  robbed  oneday 

out  of  a  church  in  Spain. 


*  Hodie  Due  de  Cazes,  olim  secretary  to  Madame  Mere,  the  imperial 
mother  of  all  the  Bonapartes. — P.  F. 

f  Jolly  !  Quoi?  Jolly  !  Ma  foi,  voila  une  epithete  assez  mal  applique. — 
Marshal  Grouchy. 

+  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  is  a  very  bad  man  in  not  letting  the  Emperor  escape. 
— Las  Cases.  He  is  a  man  of  no  soul.  The  world  cannot  decide  whether 
Bonaparte  or  Wellington  is  the  greater  general — I  am  sure  the  former  is, 
without  a  second  battle  of  Waterloo ;  and  here  we  have  a  simple  knight 
preventing  the  solution  of  the  question.  He  is  an  imbecile.  I  am  sure  he 
never  had  the  taste  to  read  my  Amyntas. — Leigh  Hunt. 

§  It  was  an  instrument  of  superstition  ;  and  I,  therefore,  although  a 
water-drinker,  approve  of  its  being  turned  to  any  other  use,  just  as  I 
approved   of  the  enlightened  revolutionists  of  France  turning  the  super- 


no  ODE  TO  MARSHAL  GROUCHY  ON  HIS  RETURN. 


Oblivioso  levia  Massico 
Ciboria  exple  :  funde  capacibns 
Unguenta  de  concbis.     Quis  udo 
Deproperare  apio  coronas 


Fill,  fill  the  bumper  fairly  ;  'tis  Cham- 

bertin,*  you  see, 
The  Emperor's  favourite  liquor,  and 

chant  in  pious  glee 
A  song  of  Monsieur  Parny's.f  Miladi 

Morgan's  bard, 
And  curse  the  tasteless  Bourbons  who 

won't  his  muse  reward. 

6, 


Curatve  mvrto?  quem  Venusarbitrum   Then,  with  ourwigs  all  perfumed,  and 


Dicet  bibendi?  Non  ego  sanius 
Bacchabor  Edonis  :  recepto 
Dulce  niihi  furere  est  amico 


our  beavers  cocked  so  fierce. 
We'll  throw  a  main  together,  or  troll 

the  amorous  verse  ; 
And  I'll  get  as  drunk  as  Irishmen,  as 

Irishmen  morhleii, 
After    six -and -thirty  tumblers  J    in 

drinking  healths  to  you. 


stitious  bells  of  Paris  into  cannon,  although,  on  principle,  a  declared  enemy 
of  war.— Sir  R.  Phillips. 
*  Bonaparte   was  fond  of  Chambertin.— Teste  Tom  Moore.     I  prefer 

whisky. — P.  F. 

+  A  pet  poet  of  Lady  Morgan's.—  Vide  her  France.  I  wonder  what  the 
medical  Knight,  her  caro  sposo,  says,  when  he  catches  her  reading  "  La 
Guerre  des  Dieux." — P.  F. 

+  On  this  I  must  remark,  that  six-and-thirty  tumblers  is  rather  hard 
drinking.  My  friend,  Rice  Hussey,  swears  only  to  six-and-twenty,  though 
he  owns  he  has  heard  he  drank  two-and-thirty,  but  could  not  with  i)ropriety 
give  his  oath  to  it,  as  he  was  somewhat  disordered  by  the  liquor.  There  is 
not  a  Frenchman  in  France  would  drink  it :  I  will  lay  any  wager  on  that. 
In  fact,  I  back  Ireland  against  the  world.  A  few  years  ago  the  North- 
umberland, a  very  pretty  English  militia  regiment,  commanded  by  Lord 
Loraine,  who  endeared  himself  wherever  he  went  in  Ireland  by  his  affable 
and  social  manners,  arrived  in  the  city  of  Cork.  His  lordship  gave  a  dinner 
to  thirtv  officers  of  his  regiment,  who  each  drank  his  bottle.  When  the  bill 
was  called  for,  he  observed  to  the  waiter  with  a  smile  that  the  English 
gentlemen  could  drink  as  well  as  the  Irish.  "  Lord  help  your  head,  sir," 
said  the  waiter,  "is  that  all  you  know  about  it?  Why,  there's  five  gentle- 
men next  room  who  have  drank  one  bottle  more  than  the  whole  of  yees,  and 

don't  you  hear  them  bawling  like  five  devils  for  the  other  cooper? coming, 

gentlemen  !  "—P.  F.  In  Horace  it  is  Edoni,  not  Irishmen;  but  that  is 
quite  correct.  The  Irish  are  of  Scythian  descent,  so  were  the  Thracians. — 
Thos.  Wood,  M.D. 


Extracts  from  a  Xost  (an^  f  ounb) 
/IDcmoratiMim  1Boo\{, 

To  Christopher  North,  £s^. 

Sir, — While  lately  travelling  through  part  of  England,  a 
thing  which  is  customary  with  me  twice  a  year  for  the 
transaction  of  business,  I  happened,  in  the  stage  between 

Bath  and ,  to  meet  with  a  circumstance  which  is  the 

occasion  of  my  now  addressing  you. 

As  I  do  not  happen  to  be  of  the  melancholic  temperament, 
and  am  rather  fond  than  otherwise  of  society,  it  is  not 
unusual  for  me,  as  I  am  a  bachelor,  and  have  the  happiness 
or  misery  of  traveUing  alone,  when  I  fall  in  with  a  landlord 
of  genteelish  manners  and  good  nature,  to  ask  him  to  a 
participation  of  my  supper.  By  good  luck  it  fell  out  that  I 
here  found  a  man  to  my  mind.  After  supper  was  discussed, 
and  our  rummers  charged  for  the  second  time,  the  spirit  of 
my  host  began  to  expand ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  his  hilarity, 
he  let  me  in  to  numerous  anecdotes  of  his  own ;  some  of 
which  might  have  been  spared,  and  many  of  which  were 
entertaining  enough.  I  shall  confine  myself  to  that  which 
is  the  subject  of  my  present  epistle. 

About  two  years  ago,  a  military  gentleman,  of  what  rank 
he  could  not  learn,  except  that  his  companions  sometimes 
called  him  General,  took  up  abode  with  him  for  eight  days  ; 
and  lived,  during  the  whole  of  that  time,  to  use  a  proverbial 
expression,  "at  rack  and  manger."  Every  stranger  that 
arrived  within  that  time,  at  the  inn,  seemed  to  be  of  his 
acquaintance  ;  or,  if  they  were  unknown  to  him,  a  friendship 
was  soon  begun  and  cemented ;  and  ere  they  were  a  couple 
of  hours  together,  one  could  have  sworn  that  they  had  been 


112  EXTRACTS  FROM 

born  in  the  same  village,  educated  at  the  same  school ;  or, 
to  bring  forward  a  still  stronger  link  of  association,  which 
the  author  of  "  Rob  Roy  "  has  mentioned,  "  had  read  from  the 
same  Bible  at  church."  Whoever  was  with  him,  whether 
the  social  or  the  serious,  he  regularly  obliged  them  to  sit 
till  three  in  the  morning,  when  he  sent  them,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  led  them,  to  their  bed-rooms. 

At  length,  having  ordered  breakfast  one  morning,  he 
disappeared,  and  the  landlord  could  never  afterwards  find 
one  token  or  trace  of  him.  He  left  behind  him  a  green-net 
purse  (containing  more  than  the  amount  of  his  bill),  and 
the  chambermaid  drowned  in  tears.  He  was  remarkably 
tall,  of  rather  a  spare  habit  of  body,  wore  neatly-curled 
brown  whiskers,  a  grey  surtout,  Wellington  boots  with  spurs, 
and  a  South-Sea  cap  with  a  gold  band.  He  had  no  baggage 
with  him  ;  and  the  only  relique  of  his  visit  was  a  little  book, 
which  he  had  inadvertently  left  in  his  bed-room. 

I  begged  a  sight  of  this  relique  from  my  host,  and  was 
not  a  little  struck  with  its  contents.  It  is  a  small  volume, 
in  red  binding,  fastened  with  tape.  On  the  back,  in  gilt 
letters,  is  marked  "  Memorandum  Book."  After  looking 
over  a  few  pages,  I  was  highly  amused  with  its  contents,  and 
expressed  myself  so  to  my  host,  who  obligingly  told  me  it 
was  of  no  use  to  him,  and  that  I  was  most  welcome  to  it. 
Its  contents  are  of  a  most  miscellaneous  nature,  and  written, 
in  some  parts,  in  a  rather  illegible  hand.  I  have  made  one 
of  my  young  men  transcribe  a  piece  from  it,  here  and  there, 
which  you  will  receive  along  with  this,  and  which  you  may 
make  public  if  you  please.  Should  I  observe  this  to  be  the 
case,  I  may  transmit  you  a  few  further  extracts  from  time  to 
time. — I  remain,  yours,  &c., 

J T N. 

Febmary  lO,  1821. 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.      113 

EXTRACTS. 

No.   I. 

STRICTURES    ON    POLITICAL    ECONOMY,   WHEREIN   A   REMEDY 
FOR   THE    POOR   LAWS    IS    DIVULGED. 

Insula,  sole  occidente,  viridi,  seculis  plurimis  elapsis,  prasclarus  vir  mili- 
taris  apparebitque  florebit.  Ille  non  modo  omni  sapientiae  re,  sed  omni 
philosophiae  discet  et  docebit ;  poeta  etiamque  Celebris. 

— Frag.  MS.   Vet.  apud  Vatican. 

It  is  only  of  late  years  that  political  economy  has  raised 
itself  to  the  dignity  of  a  science.  Doctrines  that  men 
believed  to  be  as  true  as  Father  Paul's  history  of  the  Council 
of  Trent  were  nevertheless  neglected  ;  and  other  theories,  as 
unsubstantial  as  the  morning  mist,  though  known  and 
acknowledged  to  be  false,  substituted  in  their  stead,  and 
acted  on.  As  Jefifreysaid  of  Wordsworth's  "  Excursion,"  "  this 
would  never  do."  The  chaff  has  been  sifted  from  the  wheat 
— the  truth  has  been  purified  from  the  error — and  the  facts 
that  before  were  scattered,  like  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel, 
over  the  face  of  society,  have  been  brought  together,  and 
cemented  into  a  regular  and  almost  complete  fabric,  under 
the  auspices  of  Malthus,  Godwin,  Weyland,  Say,  James 
Graham,  M'CuUoch,  Jeremy  Bentham,  and  the  writer  of 
the  present  article. 

But  what  is  the  rising  of  the  stocks  to  him  who  has  no 
capital  ?  What  is  the  question  about  the  balance  of  trade  to 
him  who  has  no  merchandise?  And  what  is  the  worth  of 
our  knowing  the  right  principles,  if  we  find  it  impossible  to 
act  on  them  ?  It  is  of  no  use  to  know  the  nature  of  the 
disease,  if  we  have  not  a  plaster  to  apply,  or  a  remedy  to 
prescribe. 

We  cannot  make  as  good  silks  in  England  as  we  can  get 
from  India,  nor  can  we  afford  to  sell  them  as  cheap  ;  we 
want  materiel.  But  then  it  would  overpower  the  feelings  of 
our  humanity  to  ruin  the  40,000  families  that  are  employed 
in    that   branch   of  manufacture.     The   silk   spun  in   this 

VOL.  I.  H 


114  EXTRACTS  FROM 

country  is  by  no  means  so  good  ;  whether  it  be  the  case 
that  the  silk-worm  does  not  keep  its  health  in  our  northern 
latitudes,  or  not,  I  have  too  little  confidence  in  my  own 
opinion  to  say :  but  this  I  can  tell  from  experience,  that  we 
are  more  apt  to  be  mistaken  as  to  the  animal  itself,  thereby 
rendering  all  our  labour  fruitless  and  our  efforts  abortive. 
The  writer  of  this  article  bought  several  papers  full  of  the 
embryos  of  the  silk-worm,  but,  after  waiting  in  eager  expec- 
tation for  a  twelvemonth,  to  his  utter  consternation  and 
astonishment  they  turned  out  to  be  nought  else  but  common 
maggots. 

The  poor-rates  are  a  great  bore  in  this  country,  but  it  is 
all  owing  to  the  excess  of  population,  and  for  this  I  have 
before  suggested  a  remedy.  If  the  overplus  of  the  popula- 
tion were  to  be  called  together,  and  some  able  speaker,  say 
one  of  the  advocates  of  the  Scottish  bar,  selected  to  address 
them,  and  lay  down  to  them  in  a  placid  and  precise  manner 
the  hardships  they  entail  on  society,  and  the  impropriety  of 
their  ever  having  been  born,  unquestionably  then  the  over- 
plus of  population,  provided  they  consisted  of  well-educated, 
decent,  and  sensible  people,  could  have  no  objection  either 
to  be  transported  beyond  seas,  or  despatched  in  as  gentle  a 
manner  as  could  be  devised.  Until  a  great  national  meet- 
ing is  called  for  the  purpose,  we  must  be  content  to  put  up 
with  many  evils.  Mendicity  is  not  the  least  of  these,  and 
to  the  public  in  general  we  recommend  the  following  plan, 
which  is  as  yet  in  private  circulation,  and  does  not  seem  to 
have  reached  the  ear  of  the  Society  for  the  Suppression  of 
Begging.  It  originated  from  the  ingenuity  of  one  of  that 
useful  class  of  the  community,  a  French  cook ;  but  as  he 
had  been  for  several  years  domesticated  in  this  country,  no 
other  realm  can  presume  to  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
honour,  which  is  purely  national.  It  is  said  that  M.  Say, 
Benjamin  Constant,  and  Carnot  claim  it  for  France ;  but 
this  is  only  a  report. 

The  house  in  which  this  ingenious  French  cook  served 
was  infested   from  morning  to  night,   and  the  court-yard 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.      115 

literally  swarming  with  beggars,  as  "  thick  as  the  motes  that 
people  the  sunbeams."  The  proprietor  was  dunned  with 
petitions,  and  the  watch-dog,  which  was  chained  at  the 
outer  gate,  had  actually  worn  down  his  teeth  to  the  stumps 
in  biting  the  intruders.  No  further  service  could  thus  be 
expected  from  him.  Long  did  the  French  cook  ponder, 
during  his  evening  reveries  over  his  tumbler  by  the  kitchen 
fire,  what  could  be  done  in  the  present  unfortunate  dilemma. 
For  a  long  series  of  evenings  he  beat  his  brains  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  at  length,  after  a  long  hour's  silence,  he  one  night 
started  up,  and  almost  severed,  with  his  heel,  the  butler's 
gouty  toe  from  his  body,  exclaiming  "  Eureka !  I  have 
found  it ! " 

He  set  about  preparing  a  most  hellish  decoction,  which  he 
seasoned  with  cayenne  pepper  (the  Capsicum  Annuum  of 
Linnaeus),  until  it  was  enough,  without  a  metaphor,  to  set 
the  stomach  on  fire,  and  cause  an  "  interna  conflagratio." 

Next  morning  he  set  about  putting  his  project  in  practice, 
and  the  first  beggar  that  approached  he  beckoned  him  to 
come  in,  shut  the  kitchen  door,  and,  having  filled  out  a 
bumper,  bade  him  whip  it  off,  and  be  gone,  lest  his  master 
should  appear.  The  mendicant,  glad  of  the  treat,  turned 
up  his  little  finger  in  a  twinkling,  and  retreated  as  fast  as 
his  legs  could  carry  him,  but  not  far ;  for  his  eyes  threatened 
to  start  from  his  head,  and  the  saliva  ran  from  the  corners 
of  his  mouth,  after  the  fashion  of  a  waterspout.  Thus  was 
one  despatched  ;  he  came  no  more.  Again — again— a  hun- 
dred times  was  the  project  tried,  and  uniformly  with  the 
same  success ;  till  in  less  than  three  weeks  not  one  beggar 
was  to  be  seen  in  that  country  side.  The  French  cook  is, 
we  understand,  at  present  putting  in  for  a  patent,  which  we 
have  no  doubt  will  be  granted. 

By  this  time  the  public  may  observe  that  the  way  to  get 
quit  of  beggars  is  by  the  immediate  use  of  the  hellish  de- 
coction, and  not  by  following  the  vain,  void,  visionary, 
childish,  and  nugatory  schemes  at  present  inculcated  by 
the  writers  on  political  economy.  M.  O. 


ii6  EXTRACTS  FROM 

July  loth. — Settled  with  Bullock  and  Badcoclc  for  the 
"  Poems  by  a  Militar)'  Amateur."  Balance  in  my  favour  of 
^3,  15s.  II  ^d.  Very  bad  concern.  Cost  me  three  months' 
severe  composition.  Cannot  fathom  what  the  reading  public 
of  this  age  would  swallow  :  what  I  write  most  carelessly  they 
relish  best.  Hope  I  shall  succeed  better  with  my  "Treatise 
on  the  Education  of  Young  Ladies." 

July  \2th. — Went  to  Newmarket.  Bet  three  to  one,  at 
starting,  on  the  blue  body  and  buff  sleeves ;  fairly  taken  in, 
as  he  came  last ;  or  rather  never  came  in,  being  distanced. 
Gulled  out  of  a  guinea  and  half,  and  got  very  angry.  Run, 
after  the  race,  a  foot  match  with  Lieutenant  Finch  ;  shammed 
lameness  at  first,  and  then  beat  him  hollow,  running  the 
last  fifty  yards  backwards.  Out  of  pocket  by  this  excursion, 
I  OS.  6d. 

\2>th. — Played  three  hours  at  billiards  with  a  knowing  one, 
who  took  me  in.  Proposed  whist,  at  which  I  am  a  dead 
hand,  and  fairly  came  paddy  over  him.  Rose  in  a  passion, 
and  broke  off  farther  connection  with  me,  swearing  there 
was  foul  play.  Gained  by  my  acquaintance  with  him 
;^2,  I  OS.  3d.     Got  drunk. 

\dfth. — Headache  in  the  morning.  Wrote  sonnet  to 
Despondency,  ditto  to  Despair.  Got  up  and  shaved,  felt 
better :  went  out  at  twelve  to  a  match  at  cricket,  returned 
successful ;  a  dinner  and  drink  at  stake,  dressed  at  five, 
excellent  claret,  got  drunk.  Returned  home,  and  read 
Rogers'  Human  Life — did  not  much  like  it — too  wirewove. 
Took  up  Story  of  Rimini — thought  more  highly  of  it — last 
book  admirable. 

15///. — Dreamt  all  night  of  Cockaigne — terrible  jargon 
these  fellows  speak.  Felt  squeamish  ;  but  after  despatching 
a  bottle  of  soda-water,  sate  down  and  composed  the  follow- 
ing letter  and  love-song. 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.      117 

LOVE  SONG, 

By  a  yutiior  Member  of  the  Cockney  School. 

TO    THE    EDITOR    OF     LA    BELLE    ASSEMBL£E. 

(This  letter  is  private,  so  you  must  not  print  it.) 

Sir, — As  I  am  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  strain  of  senti- 
ment and  affectation  that  disfigures  and  runs  through  the 
love  poems  of  Burns  and  Byron,  I  have  endeavoured  to  hit 
on  a  key  somewhat  nearer  to  the  well-head  of  the  human 
heart,  and  somewhat  truer  to  the  feelings  of  domestic  nature, 
mutual  endearment,  and  connubial  felicity.  Descriptions  of 
simple  life  and  rural  nature  are  very  well  to  those  who 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  them ;  but  to  me,  and 
the  multitudes  like  me  who  live  in  the  great  city,  it  is  but 
just  that  the  writers  of  the  present  age  should  adopt  some- 
thing that  would  come  home  to  our  feelings  and  businesses. 
A  friend  of  mine,  that  came  off"  a  far  journey  last  week, 
very  jauntily  told  me  that  cabbages  grew  on  fir  trees,  that 
cows  can  eat  potatoes,  and  that  they  feed  sheep  on  cider  in 
Kent ;  but  I  was  not  such  a  spoony  as  to  believe  him.  If 
the  accompanying  poem  be  adapted  to  your  miscellany, 
please  insert  it,  and  beheve  me, 

Your  most  obliged  Friend, 

Wm.  Tims  Goodenough. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage, 

Oh  !  charming  Polly  Savage, 
Your  eye  beats  Day  and  Martin, 

Your  cheek  is  like  red  cabbage. 

As  I  was  going  down  the  Strand, 

It  smote  my  heart  with  wonder 
To  see  the  lovely  damsel, 

A  sitting  at  a  vinder. 

Oh !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 

Oh  !  once  I  loved  another  girl. 

Her  name  it  was  Maria  ; 
But,  Polly  dear,  my  love  for  you 

Is  forty-five  times  higher. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 


iiS  EXTRACTS  FROM 

We'll  take  a  shop  in  Chicken  Lane. 

And  I  will  stand  prepared 
To  sell  fat  bacon  by  the  pound, 

And  butter  by  the  yard. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 

And  when  at  five  o'clock,  my  love. 

We  sit  us  down  to  dine. 
How  I  will  toast  your  darling  health. 

In  draughts  of  currant  wne. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 

Oh,  then  our  little  son  shall  be 

As  wanton  as  a  spaniel, 
Him  that  we  mean  to  christened  be 

Jacques  Timothy  Nathaniel. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  <S:c. 

And  if  we  have  a  little  girl, 

Fm  sure  you  won't  be  sorry 
To  hear  me  call  the  pretty  elf, 

Euphemiar  Helen  Laurar. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 

Then  fare-thee-well  a  little  space. 

My  heart  can  never  falter. 
And  next  time  when  I  see  your  face, 

'Twill  be  at  Hymen's  /zaltar. 

Oh  !  lovely  Polly  Savage,  &c. 

iSfh.  Wet  morning  ;  could  not  venture  to  stir  abroad  ;  just 
shows  us  how  much  men  alter.  A  few  years  ago,  when  my 
countr>'  demanded  my  services,  I  braved  the  dangers  of 
every  clime,  the  torrid  heats  of  a  Spanish  summer,  and  the 
damp  atmosphere  of  the  United  States.  Dare  say,  however, 
that  I  could  do  so  again,  if  occasion  required.  Took  a 
chair  by  the  fire,  and  read  over  again  Crabbe's  Borough. 
Think  the  reverend  gentleman  shows  pluck,  but  do  not 
remember,  in  all  his  pictures  of  human  life,  ever  observing 
the  portrait  of  one  butcher  introduced.  Pondered  whether 
I  might  venture  to  remedy  this  defect,  and  send  him  my 
delineation  to  be  hung  up  in  the  Gallery  of  Portraits  in  the 
next  edition  of  his  admirable  work. 

Wrote  what  follows  in  twenty  minutes  and  copied  it 
verbatim  as  under : 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.       119 

THE  SOMN AMBULATORY  BUTCHER. 

An  Episode. 

Reflections — birth — parentage — boyish  tricks  —  education  —  change  of 
dress — apprenticeship — bladders  and  Dr.  Lavement — bad  habits — ditto 
cured  by  his  mother — caution — and  moral. 

Men's  legs,  if  man  may  trust  in  common  talk, 
Are  engines  put  in  motion  when  men  walk  ; 
But  when  we  cross  our  knees,  and  take  a  chair 
Beside  the  fire,  they're  not  in  motion  there  : 
So  this  we  learn  by  wisdom,  art,  and  skill, 
That  legs  are  made  to  stir,  or  to  sit  still. 
Yet  sometimes  I  have  heard  that,  when  the  head 
In  woollen  cap  lay  snoring  on  the  bed. 
The  legs,  without  the  sanction  of  the  brain. 
Were  fond  to  wander  on  the  midnight  plain, 
Pursue,  mid  darkness,  tasks  of  common  day. 
Yet  come,  as  willed  caprice,  unharmed  away  ; 
Which  to  illustrate,  let  the  reader  bend 
A  willing  ear,  and  list  his  warning  friend. 

James  Neckum  Theodore  Emmanuel  Reid 
Was  meanly  born,  and  was  ignobly  bred. 
Lived  upon  pottage,  slept  within  a  shed  ; 
His  mother, — but  it  were  in  vain  to  look — 
"     Hers  was  no  marriage  by  the  Session  book  ; 
His  mother,  fool,  had  never  taken  pains 
To  gird  her  neck  with  matrimonial  chains. 
And  he,  her  leman,  seeing  what  would  be, 
Turned  a  blue-necked  marine,  and  crossed  the  sea ; 
So  in  neglect  and  wrath  the  child  was  born, 
While  neighbours  chuckled  with  their  looks  of  scorn  ; 
But  fast  he  throve,  and  fat  he  grew,  and  that 
Was  felt  most  keenly  by  the  tortured  cat. 
Whose  ears  he  pinched,  whose  tail  he  drew,  until 
'Twas  forced,  when  fairly  vanquished,  to  lie  still ; 
The  chickens,  too,  no  sinecure  of  life 
Had  with  the  boy,  who  pulled  their  necks  in  strife. 
Till  from  the  sockets  started  their  black  eyes, 
And  died  their  vanished  voice  in  feeble  cries. 

At  length  a  cap  upon  his  head  was  braced. 
Shoes  shod  his  feet,  and  breeches  girt  his  waist ; 
Tall  as  a  leek  he  grew,  his  hair  was  long, 
And  through  its  folds  the  wild  winds  sang  a  song  ; 
From  mother's  clutches  oft  would  he  elope. 
And  little  knew  his  morning  face  of  soap  ; 


I20  EXTRACTS  FROM 

Till,  having  spent  tlie  morn  in  game  and  play 

With  comrades  dirty,  frolicsome,  and  gay, 

As  duly  as  the  village  clock  struck  two, 

As  duly  parted  he  from  ragged  crew. 

And  homewards  wended  fast,  and  nothing  loth 

To  dip  his  whispers  in  his  mother's  broth. 

The  boy  grew  strong  ;  the  master  of  the  school 
Took  him  in  charge,  and  with  aiirch  did  rule  ; 
Full  long  and  oft  he  blubbered  ;  but  at  length, 
Within  a  week,  he  learned  to  letter  tenth  ; 
And  ere  six  moons  had  waxed  and  waned  and  set, 
He  had  reached  z,  and  knew  his  alphabet. 

His  education  finished,  choice  he  made 
Of  a  most  lucrative  and  wholesome  trade  ; 
The  leathern  cap  was  now  dismissed  ;  and  red, 
Yea  fiery,  glowed  the  cowl  upon  his  head  ; 
And,  like  a  cherry  dangling  from  the  crown, 
A  neat  wool  tassel  in  the  midst  hung  down  ; 
Around  his  waist,  with  black  tape  girded  tight. 
Was  tied  a  worsted  apron,  blue  and  white  ; 
His  Shetland  stockings,  mocking  winter's  cold, 
Despising  garters,  up  his  thighs  were  rolled. 
And,  by  his  side,  horn-handled  steels,  and  knives. 
Gleamed  from  his  pouch,  and  thirsted  for  sheep's  lives. 
For,  dextrous,  he  could  split  dead  cows  in  halves, 
And,  though  a  calf  himself,  he  slaughtered  calves. 
But  brisker  looked  the  youth,  and  nothing  sadder, 
For  of  each  mother's  son  he  got  the  bladder, 
And  straight  to  Galen's-head  in  joy  he  bore  it, 
Where  Dr.  Lavement  gave  a  penny  for  it. 


:} 


But  he  had  failings,  as  I  said  before ; 
So,  duly  as  his  nose  began  to  snore. 
His  legs  ran  with  his  body  to  the  door  ; 
And  forth  he  used  to  roam,  with  sidelong  neck, 
To — as  the  Scots  folks  term  it — lift  the  sneck. 
All  in  his  shirt  and  woollen  cap  he  strayed, 
Silent,  though  dreaming ;  cold,  but  undismayed. 
The  moon  was  shining  'mid  the  depth  of  heaven, 
And  from  the  chill  north  fleecy  clouds  were  driven 
Athwart  its  silver  aspect,  till  they  grew 
Dimmer  and  dimmer  in  the  distant  blue  ; 
The  trees  were  rustling  loud  ;  nor  moon,  nor  trees, 
Nor  cloud  could  on  his  dreaming  frenzy  seize, 
But,  walking  with  closed  eyes  across  the  street. 
He  lifted  handsomely  his  unshod  feet, 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.      121 

Till  nought,  at  length,  his  wandering  ankles  propt, 
And  head  and  heels  into  the  pond  he  dropt. 

Then  rose  the  loud  lament  ;  the  earth  and  skies 
Rung  with  his  shouts  and  echoed  with  his  cries  ; 
The  neighbours,  in  their  night-caps,  thronged  around, 
Called  forth  in  marching  order  at  the  sound  ; 
They  haled  young  Neckum  out,  a  blanket  rolled 
Around  his  limbs  with  comfortable  fold. 
Hurried  him  home,  and  told  him,  cursing  deep, 
"  That  if  again  with  cries  he  broke  their  sleep. 
Him  they  would  change  into  a  wandering  ghost. 
Draw  from  the  pond,  but  hang  him  on  a  post." 

Oh  !  reader,  learn  this  truth  most  firm  and  sure, 
That  vicious  practices  are  hard  to  cure  ; 
That  error  girds  up  with  a  serpent  fold, 
Hangs  on  the  youth,  but  clings  about  the  old. — 
Night  after  night,  if  rainy,  cold,  or  fair, 
Forth  went  our  hero,  just  to  take  the  air  ; 
Ladies  were  terrified,  and,  fainting,  cried, 
A  ghost  in  white  had  wandered  by  their  side ! 
The  soldier  home  his  quaking  path  pursued, 
With  hair  on  end,  gun  cocked,  and  bayonet  screwed, 
And  frightful  children  run  to  bed  in  fear. 
When  mothers  said  the  ghost  in  white  was  near ! 

'Twas  a  hard  case,  but  Theodore's  mother  quick 
Fell  on  a  scheme  to  cure  him  of  the  trick. 
Hard  by  his  bed  a  washing-tub  she  placed, 
So,  when  he  rose,  it  washed  him  to  the  waist  ; 
And  loud  he  roared  while,  startled  at  the  sound, 
Old  women  bolted  from  their  beds  around— 
"  Save,  save  a  wandering  sinner,  or  he's  drowned  !  ! !  " 

He  rose  no  more,  as  I'm  informed,  in  sleep, 
But  duly  felled  down  cows,  and  slaughtered  sheep, 
Took  to  himself  a  wife,  a  pretty  wench, 
.Sold  beef  by  pounds,  and  cow-heel  on  a  bench  ; 
In  ten  years  had  seven  boys  and  five  fair  girls. 
With  cheeks  like  roses  and  with  teeth  like  pearls  ; 
Lay  still  in  bed  like  any  decent  man, 
Pursued  through  life  a  staid  and  honest  plan, 
And  lived  beloved,  while  honours  thickened  o'er  him, 
Justice  of  Peace  and  Gustos  Rotulorum. 

So  all  my  readers  from  this  tale  may  learn 
The  right  way  from  the  wrong  way  to  discern  ; 
Never  by  dreams  and  nonsense  to  be  led, 
Walk  when  they  wake,  and  slumber  when  in  bed ! 


122  EXTRACTS  FROM 

-Read  last  night  a  volume  of  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian. 


The  author's  name  as  well  known  to  me  as  if  he  had  put  it 
on  the  title-page.  "  None  but  himself  can  be  his  parallel." 
Well  may  we  say,  as  my  friend  Ovid  said  of  Telamon  Ajax, 

"  None  but  himself,  himself  could  overthrow." 

This  book  knits  my  heart  more  firmly  than  ever  to  the 
"  land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood."  When  sitting  in  my 
chamber,  I  am  transported  there  in  a  twinkling ;  the  scenes 
rise  before  me  in  all  their  native  majesty,  the  Castle,  the 
High  Street,  and  the  Porteous  mob.  Am  most  pleased  with 
the  scenes  at  Davie  Deans'  cottage,  Leonard's  Hill,  and 
Arthur's  Seat.  Many  a  time  have  I,  reclining  among  the  ruins 
of  St.  Anthony's  Chapel,  surveyed,  in  ecstatic  admiration, 
the  magnificent  prospect  around  ;  the  blue  and  castellated 
majesty  of  Dunedin,  "  throwing  its  white  arms  to  the  sea  ; " 
the  variegated  succession  of  woodlands,  and  pasture,  and 
green  fields ;  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Forth,  with  its  multi- 
tude of  gliding  sails ;  and,  far  in  the  north,  the  pale  green, 
or  the  remoter  hazy  blue,  mountains  of  Fife  and  Stirling- 
shire. At  my  feet,  the  palace  of  Holyrood,  the  habitation 
of  kings,  the  mansion  of  the  Stuarts,  with  the  Gothic  ruins 
of  its  chapel,  its  grey  towers,  and  its  desolate  garden,  spotted 
with  dark  green  shrubs  and  melancholy  flowers;  and, 
stretching  around  me  in  emerald  smoothness,  the  far-extend- 
ing park,  with  its  well-trodden  pathway.  Often  have  I, 
returning  half  cut  from  dining  at  the  mess  of  my  fellow- 
soldiers  at  Piershill,  felt  an  inward  trepidation  in  entering 
that  park,  and  instinctively  grasped  my  sword  when  I  thought 
on  the  ghost  of  Ailie  Mushat,  who  is  said  yet  to 

"  Visit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon, 
Making  night  hideous." 

N.B. — A  good  subject  for  poetry;  to  remember  it  the 
first  idle  hour. 

(After  a  few  pages  commemorative  of  a  battle  between 
two  of  the  Fancy,  written  in  the  cant  style,  the  review  of  a 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.      123 

corps  of  sharpshooters,  with  whose  manoeuvres  the  writer  finds 
great  fault,  and  an  elaborate  criticism  on  a  charity  sermon 
which  had  been  recently  preached,  we  find  this  promise  ful- 
filled to  the  letter  as  follows): — 


AILIE    MUSHATS   CAIRN. 

A  Vision-like  remembrance  of  a  Vision. 

The  night  was  dark  ;  not  a  star  was  viewed 
'Mid  the  dim  and  cloudy  solitude  ; 
I  listened  to  the  watchman's  cry, 

And  to  the  midnight  breeze,  that  sung 
Round  the  ruins  of  St.  Anthony, 

With  dismal  and  unearthly  tongue  : 
I  scarcely  felt  the  path  I  trode  ; 

And  I  durst  not  linger  to  look  behind, 
Fori  knew  that  spirits  were  abroad, 

And  heard  their  shrieks  on  the  passing  wind  ; 
When  lo  !  a  spectacle  of  dread  and  awe 
With  trembUng  knees  and  stiffening  hair  I  saw  ! 

A  grave-light  spread  its  flames  of  blue, 

Its  flames  of  blue  and  lurid  red. 
And  in  the  midst  a  hellish  crew 

Were  seated  round  the  stony  bed 
Of  one  whom  murder  robbed  of  life ! 
I  saw  the  hand  that  held  the  knife, 
It  was  her  husband's  hand,  and  yet 
Witli  the  life-gore  the  blade  was  wet. 
Dripping  like  a  fiery  sheath, 
On  the  mossy  cairn  beneath  ! 
The  vision  changed  ;  and  on  the  stones. 

With  visage  savage,  fierce,  and  wild. 
Above  the  grave  that  held  lier  bones, 

The  ghost  of  Ailie  Mushat  smiled  : 
It  was  a  sight  of  dread  and  fear — 

A  chequered  napkin  bound  her  head. 
Her  throat  was  cut  from  ear  to  ear. 

Her  hands  and  breast  were  spotted  red  ; 
She  strove  to  speak,  but  from  the  wound 
Her  breath  came  out  with  a  broken  sound  ! 

I  started  !  for  she  strove  to  rise, 
And  pierced  me  with  her  bloodshot  eyes  ; 
She  strove  to  rise,  but  fast  I  drew 
Upon  the  grass  a  circle  round  ; 


124 


EXTRACTS  FROM 


I  said  a  prayer,  and  she  withdrew 

Slowly  within  the  stony  mound — 
And  trembling  and  alone  I  stood 
In  the  depth  of  the  midnight  solitude. 

Aug.  4. — Am  glad  to  observe  from  the  philosophical 
journals,  the  newspapers,  and  other  authentic  sources,  that 
several  of  the  barbarous  tribes  are  paying  attention  to  litera- 
ture and  the  fine  arts.  The  Japanese  poem  I  have  seen 
pleases  me  extremely,  though  the  subject  can  scarcely  be 
said  to  be  well  adapted  for  poetry.  My  translation  is  not 
so  bad.  M.  Titsingh's  Latin  paraphrase  is  also  very  good. 
The  English  is  literal. 


HORyE   SINIC^.       NO.    II. 


ODE   ON   THE   DEATH  OF  YAHMAHSSEERO,   COUNCILLOR   OF  STATE. 


Japanese. 

Kee  rah  ray  tah  vah 
Bah  kah  to  see  yo  ree  to 
Kee  koo  tah  fah  yah 
Yah  mah  mo  o  see  ro  mo 
Sah  vah  goo  sin  bahn. 

English. 

I  have  just  learned  that  one  of  the 
new  guards  has  excited  a  tumult  in 
the  castle,  by  assassinating  a  coun- 
cillor in  his  folly. 


Latin. 

Praecidisse 

Consiliarium  minorem 

Nuper  audivi, 

In  montis  castello 

Turbas  excitantem,  novum  custodem. 

Free  Translation. 
Pray,  have  you  heard  the  news? 

One  of  the  footguards  drew 
His  cutlass  ;  in  a  rage 
His  anger  to  assuage, 

A  councillor  he  slew  ! 


n. 

Yah  mah  see  ro  no 
Ser  ro  no  o  ko  so  day 
Tshay  mee  so  mee  tay 
Ah  kah  do  see  yo  ree  to 
Fee  to  vah  yoo  nahr. 

The  white  robe  of  Yahmahsseero  is 
stained  with  blood,  and  all  call  him 
the  red  councillor. 


II. 

Yahmahsseero 
Candidam  togam 
Cruore  tinctam 
Rubentemque  consiliarium 
Omnes  viderunt. 

Yahmahsseero's  robe 

Is  stained  with  fiery  gore, 
And  each  that  doth  him  meet 
Calls  him  upon  the  street. 
The  crimson  councillor. 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.       125 


III. 

Ah  soo  mah  see  no 

Sahn  no  no  vah  tahree  nee 

Mee  soo  mah  see  tay 

Tah  no  mah  mo  kee  ray  tay 

O  tsoo  too  yah  mah  see  ro. 

The  current  which,  on  the  eastern 
road,  crosses  the  village  Sahnno,  has 
swelled,  and  penetrated  the  dyke 
round  the  fen,  and  the  high  castle 
of  the  mountain  has  fallen. 


III. 
In  via  orientali 
Per  vicum  Salmno  irruentes, 
Aquae  profluentes, 
Terram  lacunae  perfosserunt 
Ruitque  montis  castellum. 

The  current  to  the  east 

By  Sahnno,  little  town, 
Hath  overflown,  and  burst  the  dyke 
With  fury,  and  the  castle,  like 

A  fool,  hath  fallen  down. 


IV. 

Fah  tsee  00  yay  tay 

Go  may  gah  sah  koo  rah  ta 

Sah  koo  fahn  mah  vo 

Tah  ray  tah  kee  tsoo  kay  tay 

Sahn  no  mee  kee  ray  say  tah. 

Who  has  cast  into  the  fire  the  plum 
and  cherry  trees  ? — valuable  trees, 
which  are  planted  in  boxes,  for  the 
sake  of  their  agreeable  flowers  ? 
Sahn?io  has  cut  them  down. 


IV. 

Pretiosas  in  vasis  arbores, 
Prunos  et  cerasos 
P'loribus  amcenas 
Quis  in  ignem  projecit  ? 
Sahnno  quidem  eas  praecidit. 

Who  has  felled  the  cherry  trees? 

And  who  has  felled  the  plum  ? 
Trees  planted  in  neat  boxes, , 
And  anything  but  hoaxes 

For  odoriferous  gum. 


V. 

Kee  rah  ray  tah  vah 

Bah  kah  do  see  yo  ree  to 

Yoo  oobay  kay  mee 

Sahn  no  sin  sah  yay  mee  moo 

Ho  ray  gah  ten  mei. 

A  councillor  in  his  madness  hath 
been  overthrown  ;  if  ever  such  an 
event  was  heard  of,  it  may  be  said 
to  be  a  judgment  from  heaven. 


Praecidit  (consiliarium) 

Vesanus  consiliarius. 

Dicere  possumus, 

Si  prius  talia  unquam  audiverimus. 

Hoc  fuisse  CcbH  Mandatum. 

A  councillor  hath  been  knocked 
From  off  his  legs, — most  true  ; 
If  ever  such  a  thing  was  heard. 
It  may  most  safely  be  averred 
That  it  hath  been— adieu  ! 


Aug.  8. —  Blue-stockings  are  not  to  my  taste,  unless  their 
attention  be  only  paid  to  polite  literature — the  play  that  is 
just  to  come  out,  or  the  last  new  poem. 

Last  night's  party,  however,  the  most  agreeable  of  the  kind 
that  I  have  met,  if  the  young  lady  with  the  blue  eyes  could 
have  been  contented  with  only  smiling  and  showing  us  her 
fine  teeth,  and  not  disturbed  herself  about  the  alteration  in 


126  EXTRACTS  FROM 

the  criminal  laws,  and  the  effects  which  the  Corn  Bill  might 
have  had.     Rather  too  theatrical  in  the  other  young  lady, 

Miss ,  to  recite  Coleridge's  Ode  to  the  Departing  Year 

with  such  emphatic  pith  and  such  vehemence  of  gesticula- 
tion. The  MS.  poems  handed  round  insufferably  bad. 
Elegies  in  the  measure  of  "Oh,  Miss  Bailey,  unfortunate 
Miss  Bailey,"  and  odes  in  which  sound  gave  sense  no 
opportunity  of  coming  forward  in  self-defence.  Must  learn 
the  particulars  of  that  sweet,  modest,  and  melancholy  young 
creature  who  sate  on  the  end  of  the  sofa  nearest  the  door. 
Am  certain  that  I  caught  her  sighing  several  times.  Must 
be  at  the  bottom,  having  been  teazing  myself  whether  the 
unfortunate  passion,  the  theme  of  the  stanzas  which  she 
handed  about  as  her  picnic  share  of  the  literary  banquet, 
can  be  only  an  effusion  of  sentiment,  or  whether  they  have 
originated  in  dread  reality.  At  all  events,  she  may  wait  long 
enough  till  her  verses  come  round  to  her  again,  as,  in  the 
heat  of  conversation,  I  stowed  them  along  with  my  snuff-box 
into  my  waistcoat-pocket.     They  are  not  amiss. 

STANZAS. 
Oh  mine  be  the  shade,  dy^c. 

Oh  mine  be  the  shade  where  no  eye  may  discover 

Where  in  silence  and  sorrow  alone  I  may  dwell ; 
Give  scorn  to  the  maid  who  is  false  to  her  lover  ; 

A  tear  unto  her  who  has  loved  but  too  well ! 
Alas  for  the  heart,  when  affection  forsaking 

The  vows  it  hath  pledged  and  has  cherished  through  years  ; 
For  no  refuge  remains  to  that  lone  heart  but  breaking, 

The  silence  of  grief,  and  the  solace  of  tears  ! 

Farewell  the  bright  prospects  that  once  could  allure  me 

Vo  think  this  poor  earth  was  a  promise  of  Heaven  ; 
Since  he,  who  once  doated,  no  more  can  endure  me, 

Too  much  with  the  darkness  of  fate  I  have  striven  ; 
The  flowers  with  their  odours,  the  birds  with  their  singing, 

The  beauties  of  earth,  and  the  glories  of  sky, 
Dear,  sad  recollections  are  constantly  bringing, 

And  all  that  remains  upon  earth  is — to  die  ! 

To  die — or  to  be  married.     It  is  a  lottery  indeed  ;  but  still 


A  LOST  (AND  FOUND)  MEMORANDUM  BOOK.       127 

"  I  have  stout  notions  on  the  marrying  score,"  to  use  the 
words  of  an  eminent  poet.  Truly  I  am  not  a  httle  taken 
with  this  sweet  young  creature  ;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  this 

"  Was  not  taught  her  by  the  dove, 
To  die,  and  know  no  second  love." 

If  I  thought  SO,  I  do  not  know  but  that  I  might  make 
proposals ;  if  she  has  any  rhino,  so  much  the  better ;  let  her 
put  it  in  her  pocket,  and  it  will  prevent  the  wind  from 
blowing  her  away.  But  the  deuce  is,  I  am  afraid  of  that  evil 
genius  of  mine,  Mrs.  M'Whirter.  What  misery  a  rash  step 
entails  upon  us  !  I  wish  a  hurricano  would  blow  her  and  the 
lecturer  to  the  river  of  the  Amazons  for  ever  and  a  day. 


jfamiliar  Xcttcr  from  tbe  BMutant, 

CONTAINING    PROJECTS,    PROMISES,    AND    IMITATIONS. 

Dear  Kit, — I  write  this  in  the  earnest  hope  of  its  finding 
you  less  molested  by  your  inveterate  enemy  in  the  great 
toe,  and  brimful  of  the  delight  which  your  modesty  and 
diffidence  cannot  prevent  you  feeling,  in  hearing  it  acknow- 
ledged from  all  quarters  that  yours  is  the  most  excellent 
work  of  its  kind  which  has  appeared  in  any  country  since 
the  invention  of  printing.  Do  let  me  know  what  the 
Edinburgh  Review  people  are  saying  about  it,  or  if  they  are 
at  last  fairly  beat  to  a  standstill,  and  seriously  thinking  of 
giving  up  the  concern.  I  heard,  indeed,  that  a  meeting  of 
their  contributors  has  been  lately  convened,  either  for  that 
purpose,  or  perhaps  for  petitioning  you  to  make  your 
journal  a  general  receptacle  for  speculations  of  all  kinds  ; 
and  that  thus  such  of  them  as  were  capable  might  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  legion  of  Blackivood,  and  not  utterly  cast  desti- 
tute. But  this  is  a  matter,  friend  North,  on  which  I  would 
advise  you  to  proceed  with  cautious  circumspection — it 
might  prove  like  marriage — alas  !  the  day — a  step  not  easy 
to  be  remedied.  Many  of  your  supporters  would  find  a 
delicacy  in  making  common  cause  with  the  generality  of 
these  folks,  as  they  have  uttered  such  a  quantity  of  unsound 
and  unsatisfactory  stuff  in  every  branch  and  department 
of  human  knowledge,  and  ridiculed  everything  worthy  of 
respect  and  veneration.  Exempli  gratia,  but  that's  a  trifle, 
there  is  your  humble  servant,  who  could  not,  with  any  degree 
of  honour,  act  in  concert  with  men  who  depreciated  the 
late  glorious  war,  and  every  battle  in  it,  mid  whose  blood- 
shed and  under  whose  "  sulphrous  canopy  "  he  plucked  a 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.        129 

leaf  of  laurel  for  his  brow.  But  we  shall  drop  the  subject 
as  not  worth  speaking  about,  conscious  that  where  the 
glory  of  his  country  and  the  reputation  of  his  work  are  con- 
cerned, no  man  will  direct  the  helm  with  a  more  intrepid 
spirit,  or  maul  the  invaders  with  a  more  unerring  hand,  than 
yourself,  the  redoubted  Christopher  North,  Esquire. 

You  asked  me  in  your  last,  if  I  ever  now-a-days  read  any  ; 
and,  if  so,  what  books  occupy  my  attention  and  time  ?  A 
question  with  a  vengeance.  Do  you  think  that  my  know- 
ledge comes  to  me  by  intuition?  After  having  written 
above  half  a  hundred  articles  to  you,  in  every  department  of 
human  knowledge,  you  ask  me  if  ever  I  read  any.  That 
reminds  me  of  the"  tower  of  Babel — you  might  as  well  ask  it 
if  it  reared  itself.  But,  in  writing  so,  I  doubt  not  you  have 
only  made  a  lapsus  linguce,  or  at  any  rate  a  joke  on  my 
multitudinous  researches.  All  kinds  of  books  come  welcome 
enough  to  me.  I  have  a  capacity  of  digestion  rather  ostrich- 
like, and  capable  of  managing  a  great  farrago,  and  assimi- 
lating the  same  into  solid  nourishment.  I  like  the  drama 
very  much  ;  and  Alexander  Macpherson,  being  now  in  the 
middle  of  the  fifth  act,  will  soon  show  whether  or  not  the 
genius  of  the  drama  loves  me.  Novels  are  "  an  appetite  and 
a  feeling  "  which  I  cannot  resist.  Political  economy  I  like 
better  than  I  do  some  of  its  professors.  Metaphysics  are 
excellent  food  for  me,  and  over  a  ten-hours'  mathematical 
proposition  I  am  as  cool  as  a  cucumber;  but  entre  nous, 
theological  controversy  is  my  favourite  study,  but  don't 
mention  this,  as  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  like  nothing 
better  than  to  have  a  bull-baiting  with  me ;  and  in  spite  of 
all  my  asseverations  and  protestations  to  the  contrary,  they 
will  insist  that  I  am  a  little  loose  both  in  my  moral  and 
religious  principles,  but  I  am  thoroughly  convinced  that 
they  are  wrong. 

When  you  see  Wastle,  tell  him  I  have  found  it  quite  out 
of  my  power  to  be  over,  according  to  promise,  at  the  walk- 
ing of  the  Commissioner  \  but  hope  yet  to  have  that  honour 
al  ong  with  him.     At  all  events,  I  am  determined  to  be  over 

VOL.  I.  1 


130       FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

at  the  Edinburgh  races,  as  I  have  got  possession  of  as  fine 
a  bit  of  horse-flesh  as  ever  put  hoof  to  turf;  and  I  would 
hkc  to  know  what  success  Salamanca  would  have  in  taking 
a  few  rounds  for  the  Hunter's  Plate.  If  he  be  successful,  it 
will  be  a  good  speculation ;  if  not,  I  will  sell  him  the  next 
day  at  Wordsworth's  out  of  pure  vexation,  although  I  had 
him  as  a  present  from  a  military  friend  of  mine,  who  rode 
him  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  He  has  not  yet  lost  tooth- 
mark,  and  gallops  like  a  fury.  The  best  of  it  is,  that  the 
longer  he  runs  he  continues  to  improve ;  and,  if  there  be 
above  three  four-mile  heats,  I  never  saw  the  horse,  mare,  or 
gelding  that  I  would  not  back  him  against  at  considerable 
odds.  He  is  a  little  stiff  for  the  first  mile  or  so  after  starting; 
but,  when  he  begins  to  warm,  you  never  beheld  a  finer 
personification  of  the  fine  idea  which  Lord  Byron  has 
applied  to  denote  the  beauty  and  swiftness  of  Mazeppa's 
charger, 

"  Who  looked  as  though  the  speed  of  thought 
Were  in  his  Hmbs." 

I  have  him  in  training  already,  and  hope  to  show  him  off  in 
style  to  you  in  July.  If  I  was  not  so  lengthened  in  the 
nether  extremities,  I  would  not  care  much  to  jockey  him 
myself;  but  that,  to  be  sure,  is  an  after  consideration. 

Do  give  us  a  paper  from  your  editorial  pen  on  the  Pope 
and  Bowles  controversy.  I  cannot  fathom  what  Campbell 
and  Byron  would  be  at.  Lord  Byron  compares  the  poetry 
of  Pope  to  a  Grecian  temple,  and  the  poetry  written  by 
Campbell,  Scott,  Wastle,  Southey,  Wordsworth,  Hogg,  Cole- 
ridge, himself,  myself,  &c.,  to  the  tower  of  Babel.  A  pretty 
comparison  of  a  surety  ;  but  it  is  all  in  my  eye,  Betty  Martin, 
that  men  like  Campbell  and  Byron  should  imagine  that  the 
essence  of  poetry  consisted  in  the  manners  and  morals  of 
society ;  in  drawing  pictures  of  merchants  with  spectacles, 
and  goose  quills  stuck  behind  their  ears,  pondering  over 
their  ledgers ;  of  awfully  ancient  spinsters,  leering  from 
behind  their  fans,  and  looking  unutterable  things ;  of  grocers' 
apprentices  sanding  the  sugar,  watering  the  tobacco,  and 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         131 

then  walking  aloft  to  prayers;  of  the  lackadaisical  ex- 
clamations of  boarding-school  misses,  and  the  pettifogging 
dandyism  of  lawyers'  clerks ;  and  yet,  that  these  poets,  in 
hostility  to  their  own  doctrines,  should  write  of  such  natural 
personages  as  a  Corsair  with  "  one  virtue,  and  a  thousand 
crimes ; "  of  a  Lord  Lara,  who,  seeing  a  ghost,  broke  out 
into  a  perspiration,  and  then  spoke  Gaelic  or  some  other 
outlandish  tongue;  of  Count  Manfred,  ahas  Dr.  Faustus, 
jun.,  who 

"  Saw  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold, 
The  madman  ; " 

of  the  Giaour,  who  turned  an  infidel  monk  because  he  ran 
away  with  another  man's  wife,  who  was  sewed  up  in  a  sack 
and  thrown  into  the  sea;  or  of  such  a  true  and  natural 
person  as  Andes,  "  Giant  of  the  western  star,"  sitting  with 
his  cheek  reclined  on  his  dexter  hand,  and  a  flambeau  in 
his  left  fist,  looking  over  in  the  dark  from  America  to 
Europe ;  or  of  a  gentleman  of  the  second  sight,  begging  his 
master  not  to  go  to  battle,  as  he  had  a  presentiment  that  he 
would  be  much  safer  at  home ;  and  a  thousand  other  things, 
well  enough  adapted  to  poetry,  in  my  humble  opinion,  but 
having  as  slight  an  application  to  the  practice  of  life  as  can 
well  be  imagined.  .Sir  Walter  Scott  must  immediately  send 
Lord  Cranstoun's  goblin  page  an  errand  to  the  Red  Sea,  and 
let  him  be  for  ever  "  lost !  lost !  lost ! "  And  as  for  his 
redoubted  namesake,  Michael,  the  flag-stone  must  be  no 
more  lifted  from  his  grave;  Coleridge  must  tie  the 
Auncient  Marinere  to  a  stake,  and  have  a  shot  at  him  with 
the  cross-bow,  as  he  so  treated  the  "harmless  Albatross  ;"  and 
as  for  the  Lady  Christabel,  he  must,  without  delay,  scribble 
four  dozen  of  letters,  inviting  his  friends  to  her  funeral— let 
him  employ  a  patent  coffin,  as  she  is  rather  a  restless  and 
unruly  subject.  Wordsworth  must  despatch  the  Danish  Boy 
to  the  land  of  shadow  ;  and  Hogg  should  purchase  a  penny- 
worth of  saddle-tacks,  and  with  a  trusty  hammer  nail  the 
ears  of  the  Gude  Grey  Catte  to  his  stable-door  to  frighten 


132       FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

away  the  rats,  as  she  will  no  longer  be  able  to  act  as  gover- 
ness to  the  seven  daughters  of  the  laird  of  Blair.  As  for 
Miss  Kilmeny,  when  she  comes  back  at  the  end  of  the  next 
seven  years,  let  him  give  her  a  furlough,  specifying  perpetual 
leave  of  absence.  Dr.  Southey  ought  to  send  a  specimen  of 
a  petrified  Glendoveer  to  the  College  Museum,  ere  the 
species  becomes  utterly  extinct,  that  future  antiquaries  may 
not  be  completely  puzzled  if  their  bones  be  found,  like 
those  of  the  mammoth,  in  a  fossil  state ;  and  he  ought  to 
give  the  witch  Maimuna  in  Thalaba,  that  was  perpetually 
singing,  a  half-crown's  worth  of  the  most  choice  ballads,  to 
set  her  up  in  a  decent  line  of  trade,  and  have  done  with  her. 
Thomas  Moore's  Veiled  Prophet,  without  the  nose,  should 
get  a  proper  certificate,  and  be  sent  to  the  Chelsea  Hospital ; 
and,  on  proper  representation  being  made,  the  Peri,  who 
had  neither  house  nor  hold,  may  be  received  into  the  Charity- 
Workhouse.  Do,  North,  convince  both  Mr.  Campbell  and 
his  lordship  that  the  world  is  tolerably  well  contented  with 
the  poetry  they  have  foolishly  thought  proper  to  give  it ; 
that  though  Mr.  Campbell's  criticism  is  sometimes  a  little 
vapid,  yet  that  his  verses  are  generally  excellent ;  and  that, 
if  Lord  Byron's  system  of  moral  and  ethical  poetry  be  after 
his  old  way,  that  is,  if  Beppo  and  Don  Juan,  like  the  brick 
of  the  pedant  in  Hierocles,  are  specimens  of  the  materials 
of  which  it  is  to  be  composed,  we  should  think  that  the 
world  will  be  contented  with  the  specimens  it  has  already 
enjoyed.  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast;  "where  ignorance 
is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise ; "  and,  as  I  am  tired  of  it,  I  will 
drop  the  subject. 

Friend  North,  I  have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  you.  You  are 
as  strange  a  fellow  as  ever  fell  within  the  circle  of  my 
acquaintance,  always  excepting  Mrs.  M'Whirter,  for  she  beats 
cockfighting.  You  will  pretend,  now,  that  you  did  not  know 
to  whom  the  memorandum-book  belonged  out  of  which  you 
treated  your  readers,  or  rather  the  world,  for  all  the  world 
are  your  readers,  a  month  or  two  ago.  Really  this  is  pro- 
voking, and  I  do  not  take  it  altogether  well  at  your  hands. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         133 

Would  it  not  have  been  more  creditable  to  you,  instead  of 
creating  a  few  smiles  at  my  expense,  to  have  written  to  the 
wandering  sinner  of  a  bagman  into  whose  hands  my  book 
fell,  that  you  knew  the  proprietor ;  and  that  you  would  thank 
him  to  transmit  it  to  you,  that  you  might  transmit  it  to  the 
proper  owner  ?  It  would  not  surprise  me  much,  though  you 
were  yet  to  write  me  a  letter  professing  your  entire  ignorance 
of  the  whole  transaction ;  and  that  you  are  free  to  give  your 
oath  that  you  had  not  so  much  as  the  smallest  suspicion 
that  the  memorandum-book  could  possibly  belong  to  me. 
Do  you  think  me  innocent  enough  to  believe  any  stuff  of 
this  sort .''  Though  I  am  not  a  Highlander,  I  have  enough 
of  the  second  sight  to  see  clearly  through  trifles  of  this  kind. 
But  I  will  waste  no  more  words  on  the  subject ;  and,  though 
we  are  hundreds  of  miles  apart,  our  hearts  are  always  together. 
I  can  take  a  joke,  and  can  give  one  ;  so  we  will  shake  hands 
and  forget  the  whole  matter.  Indeed  I  am  almost  sorry 
that  I  mentioned  it ;  but  don't  give  any  more  extracts  with- 
out my  consent. 

Tell  our  divan,  the  first  time  you  all  meet  in  Ambrose's, 
to  remember  me  in  their  prayers ;  as  I  am  sure  that  I  never 
empty  a  tumbler  or  two,  solus,  without  toasting  them  all 
alternately ;  and,  as  I  allow  each  a  bumper,  it  sometimes 
obliges  me  to  have  a  third  brewing.  Let  them  know  that 
I  will  see  them  all  in  July,  and  that  I  have  a  budget  of 
famous  anecdotes  and  rencontres  to  entertain  them  with  ; 
some  of  them  out-hector  Hector,  and  they  are  all  personal, 
i;pso  teste,  as  Maturin  says.  But  I  shall  drop  the  subject,  as 
I  do  not  wish  to  promise.  "There's  a  braw  time  coming," 
as  the  deacon's  son  observes. 

What  would  you  think  of  it  ?  I  have  been  amusing  myself 
with  some  imitations  of  the  living  authors.  It  was  during  the 
time  I  was  confined  to  my  room,  from  having  sprained  my 
left  ankle  in  leaping  over  a  five-bar  gate  for  a  wager,  and  I 
intend  to  make  a  complete  cabinet  of  them.  I  have  already 
allowed  Hazlitt  a  complete  ration  of  epigram,  antithesis,  and 
paradox.     Godwin  sails  in  a  parachute  of  theory,  suspended 


134       FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

to  a  balloon  inflated  with  sulphuretted  hydrogen  ;  Cobbett 
writes  an  official  document,  currente  calamo,  with  all  the 
courtier-like  dignity  becoming  a  secretary  to  her  Majesty ; 
and  Charley  Phillips,  with  his  fists  tied  into  large  bladders, 
knocks  arguments  from  off  their  feet  by  repeated  douces  on 
either  side  of  the  chops,  with  his  unceasing  one,  twos.  I 
have,  likewise,  a  complete  set  of  the  poets,  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent.  The  Cockneys  I  found  it  desperately  hard  to 
imitate,  as  I  could  not  make  my  genius  to  descend  so  low. 
I  do  not  know  but  that  I  have  caricatured  some  of  them  a 
little ;  but  this  was  unintentional,  as  they  have  fairly  baffled 
me  in  many  particulars. 

As  you  seem  interested  in  my  literary  doings,  I  will  treat 
you  with  two  or  three  short  specimens,  as  I  see  you  are 
already  in  for  a  double  postage.  To  begin  with  the 
mightiest  man  of  our  age,  do  you  think  that  in  the  following 
I  have  caught  the  chivalrous  flow,  the  tone  of  the  olden  time 
— the  grace,  and  the  harmony,  and  the  strength,  that  charac- 
terise the  poetry  of  the  Ariosto  of  the  North  ?  The  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel  and  Marmion  form  eras  in  the  mind  of 
every  true  living  admirer  of  poetical  excellence. 


The  hounds  in  the  kennel  are  yelling  loud, 

The  hawks  are  bound  for  flight ; 
For  the  sun  hath  burst  from  his  eastern  shroud, 
And  the  sky  is  clear,  without  a  cloud, 

And  the  steed  for  the  chase  is  dight : 
The  merry  huntsmen,  up  in  the  morn, 
Crack  the  long  whip  and  wind  the  horn. 

Lord  Timothy  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  rose 

When  he  heard  the  merry  crew ; 
He  scarce  took  space  to  don  his  clothes, 

And  his  night-cap  quick  he  threw 
Back  on  the  pillow,  and  down  the  stair, 
Disdaining  brush  or  comb  for  hair. 

With  lightning  speed  he  flew  ; 
And,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  fan. 
With  frock  and  cap,  the  gallant  man, 
Caparisoned  all  spick  and  span, 

Was  with  the  waiting  crew. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         135 

Sir  Abraham  rode  his  bonny  grey  ; 

Sir  Anthony  his  black  ; 
Lord  Hector  hath  mounted  his  sprightly  bay  ; 
Lord  Tom,  Lord  Jack,  and  all  are  away ; 
Curvet,  and  demivolte,  and  neigh, 
Mark  out  their  bold  and  brisk  array, 
With  buckskins  bright,  and  bonnets  gay, 

And  bugles  at  each  back. 

They  had  hardly  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 

A  mile  but  barely  ten. 
As  each  after  each  they  leaped  a  stile. 
When  their  heart  played  pit-a-pat  the  while, 

To  see  a  troop  of  armed  men, 
A  troop  of  gallant  men  at  drill, 
With  well-soaked  locks  and  stiffened  frill  ; 
Each  in  his  grasp  held  spear  or  sword. 
Ready  to  murder  at  a  word, 
And  ghastly  was  each  warriors  smile. 
Beneath  his  barred  aventayle  ; 
Buff  belts  were  girt  around  each  waist  ; 
Steel  cuisses  round  each  thigh  were  braced  ; 
Around  each  knee  were  brazen  buckles  ; 
And  iron  greaves  to  save  their  knuckles  ; 
High  o'er  each  tin-bright  helmet  shone 
The  casque,  and  dancing  morion, 
Which  reached  to  where  the  tailor  sets, 
On  shoulder,  woollen  epaulettes  ; 
Their  blades  were  of  Toledo  steel, 
Ferrara,  or  Damascus  real ; 

Yea  !  human  eye  did  never  see, 

Through  all  the  days  of  chivalry, 
Men  more  bedight  from  head  to  heel,  &c. 

Lady  Ahce  she  sits  in  the  turret  tower, 

A-combing  her  raven  hair  ; 
The  clock  hath  tolled  the  vesper  hour, 
Already  the  shadows  of  evening  lower 

To  veil  the  landscape  fair. 
To  the  jetty  fringe  of  her  piercing  eye 
She  raised  lier  opera-glass, 
For  she  was  anxious  to  espy 

If  her  worthy  knight  should  pass. 
"  Lo  !  yonder  he  comes,"  she  sighed  and  said. 
Then  with  a  rueful  shake  of  head — 
"  Shall  I  my  husband  ne'er  discover? 
'Tis  but  the  white  cow  eating  clover!  " 
She  looked  again,  "  Sure  yon  is  he. 
That  gallops  so  fast  along  the  lea ! 


136  .      FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

Alas  !  'tis  only  a  chestnut  tree  ! ! 

Standing  as  still  as  still  can  be  ! ! !  " 

"Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

And  dance  my  anguish  to  assuage  ; 

And  be  it  jig,  or  waltz,  or  reel, 

I  care  not,  so  it  doth  conceal 

The  ghosts  that  of  a  thousand  dyes 

Float  evermore  before  mine  eyes  : 

And  I,  to  make  thee  foot  it  gay, 

With  nimble  finger,  by  my  fay. 

Upon  the  tambourine  will  play  !  "  &c. 

But  I  must  not  give  you  too  much  of  it,  as  it  will  spoil 
the  interest  of  the  work,  which  will  shortly  appear  in  three 
octavo  volumes,  printed  uniformly,  and  with  portraits  ;  some- 
thins  like  Peter's  Letters.  The  imitation  extends  to  three 
cantos,  together  with  an  introductory  epistle  to  my  friend 
Dr.  Scott.  Under  the  head  of  Coleridge  you  will  find  the 
continuation  of  Christabel,  and  the  Auncient  Waggonere ; 
both  of  which  were  ushered  into  public  notice  by  your 
delightful  and  discriminating  work,  together  with  the 
following 

FRAGMENT  OF  A  VISION. 

A  dandy  on  a  velocipede 

I  saw  in  a  vision  sweet, 
Along  the  highway  making  speed. 

With  his  alternate  feet. 
Of  a  bright  and  celestial  hue 
Gleamed  beauteously  his  blue  surtout ; 
While  ivory  buttons,  in  a  row. 
Showed  like  the  winter's  caverned  snow, 
Which  the  breezy  North 
Drives  sweeping  forth 
To  lodge  in  the  cave  below  : 
Ontario's  beaver,  without  demur. 
To  form  his  hat  did  lend  its  fur  : 
His  frill  was  of  the  cambric  fine, 
And  his  neckcloth  starched  and  aquiline  ; 
And  oh,  the  eye  with  pleasure  dwells 
On  his  white  jean  indescribables  ; 
And  he  throws  the  locks  from  his  forehead  fair, 
And  he  pants,  and  papts,  and  pants  for  air  ; 
What  is  the  reason  I  cannot  tell. 
There  is  a  cause — I  know  it  well ; 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         137 

Too  firmly  bound,  too  tightly  braced, 

The  corsets  grasp  his  spider  waist, 

Till  his  coat-tails  are  made  to  fly 

Even  from  the  back  they  glorify. 

Look  again,  he  is  not  there — 

Vanished  into  the  misty  air  ! 

Look  again  !  do  you  see  him  yet 

Ah  no  !  the  bailiff  hath  seized  him  for  debt 

And  to  and  fro,  like  a  restless  ghost. 

When  peace  within  the  grave  is  lost. 

He  paces  as  far,  as  far  he  should. 

Within  the  bounds  of  Holyrood  ! 

His  lordship  of  Byron  I  have  not  handled  roughly 
enough  ;  I  cannot  yet  forget  the  tower  of  Babel.  What  a 
speech !  as  if  we  were  a  parcel  of  jackasses  !  '  I  shall  yet 
have  at  him  for  it.  What  do  you  think  of  The  Galiongee  : 
a  fragment  of  a  Turkish  Tale  ? 


THE  GALIONGEE  : 

A  Fragment  of  a  Ttirkish  Tale. 

Advertisement. — The  author  of  this  tale  begs  to  inform  the  public  that 
the  scattered  fragments  which  it  presents  were  collected  fromanimprovisatore 
who  recited  during  the  time  that  the  author  drank  his  fifth  cup  of  Mocha 
with  that  civillest  of  all  gentlemen,  AH  Pacha. 

The  Pasha  sat  in  his  divan, 
With  silver-sheathed  ataghan  ; 
And  called  to  him  a  Galiongee, 
Come  lately  from  the  Euxine  Sea 
To  Stamboul ;  chains  were  on  his  feet. 

And  fetters  on  his  hands  were  seen, 

Because  he  was  a  Nazarene  : 
When,  duly  making  reverence  meet, 
With  haughty  glance  on  that  divan. 
And  curling  lip  he  thus  began  : 

"  By  broad  Phingari's  silver  light, 
When  sailing  at  the  noon  of  night, 
Bismillah  !  whom  did  we  descry 

But  dark  corsairs,  who,  bent  on  spoil. 

Athwart  the  deep  sea  ever  toil ! 
We  knew  their  blood-red  flags  on  high  : 
The  Capitan  he  called,  belike, 
With  gesture  proud,  to  bid  us  strike, 


13S        FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

And  told  his  Sonbachis  to  spare 

Of  not  one  scalp  a  single  hair, 

Though  garbs  of  green  showed  Emirs  there ! 

It  boots  not,  Pacha,  to  relate 

What  souls  were  sent  to  Eblis  throne, 
How  Azrael's  arrows  scattered  fate. 

How  wild,  wet,  wearied,  and  alone, 
When  all  my  crew  were  drenched  in  blood, 
Or  floated  lifeless  on  the  flood, 
I  fought  unawed,  nor  e'er  thought  I 
To  shout  '  Amaun ! '  the  craven's  cry. 

I  took  my  handkerchief  to  wipe 

My  burning  brow,  and  then  I  took, 
With  placid  hand,  my  long  chibouque. 
That  is  to  say,  my  Turkish  pipe. 
And  having  clapped  it  in  my  cheek, 
Disdaining  e'er  a  word  to  speak, 
I  shouted  to  the  pirate,  '  Now, 
You've  fairly  beat  me,  I  allow,' "  &c. 

Perhaps,  as  I  know  that  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  is 
one  of  your  first  favourites,  you  will  find  an  account  of  his 
step-brother,  Childe  Paddy's  *  banishment  to  New  Holland, 
more  to  your  taste.     This  is  the  commencement : 

Oh  !  mortal  man,  how  varied  is  thy  lot. 

Thy  ecstasies  of  joy  and  sorrow  ;  how 
Chilled,  sunk,  and  servile  art  thou,  or  how  hot 

Flashes  indignant  beauty  from  thy  brow  ! 

Times  change,  and  empires  fall ;  the  gods  allow 
Brief  space  for  human  contemplation,  and 

Above  all  partial  dictates  disavow 
Unequal  love  ;  how  can  we,  at  their  hand. 
For  individual  fate  a  gentler  boon  demand  ? 

Childe  Paddy  parted  from  his  father's  cot. 

It  was  not  castle  proud,  nor  palace  high, 
Extraneous  symmetry  here  glittered  not, 

But  turf-built  walls  and  filth  did  meet  the  eye  ; 

Loud  was  the  grumph  and  grumble  from  hog-stye  ; 
Swans  gleamed  not  here,  as  on  the  Leman  lake, 

But  goose  and  ducklings,  famed  for  gabbling  cry. 
With  quack,  quack,  quack,  did  make  the  roofs  to  shake. 
Till  in  their  utmost  holes  the  wondering  rats  did  quake  ! 


*  It  was  first  written  "  Childe  Raddy,"  but  I  was  afraid  of  angering  the 
Scotsman.— U.  OD. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         139 

He  thought  of  father,  whom  he  loved  and  left  ; 

He  thought  of  mother  at  her  booming  wheel ; 
He  thought  of  sister,  of  his  care  bereft ; 

He  thought  of  brethren  dear  ;  and,  to  conceal 

The  endless  pangs  that  o'er  his  brain  did  reel, 
As  through  the  vale  his  pensive  way  he  took, 

For  fear  his  onward  purpose  would  congeal. 
He  sung,  while  pacing  with  right-forward  look, 
"  Sweet  Kitty  of  Coleraine,"  and  "  Fair  of  Donabrooke  !  " 

I  rejoice  that  your  prophecy  as  to  the  popularity  of  Hogg's 
Tales  has  been  abundantly  verified.  Natural  power  and 
genius  will  fight  their  way  in  spite  of  opposition,  and  "  dis- 
dainful of  help  or  hindrance."  I  doubt  not  that  his  better 
half  has  had  a  hand  in  the  purgation  of  the  new  edition. 
Give  my  compliments  to  him ;  tell  him  I  shall  never  forget 
the  kindness  I  experienced  at  Eltrive  Lake ;  and,  above  all, 
ask  him  how  he  likes  the  following  stanzas,  the  opening  of  a 
ballad  as  long  as  "  Kirkmabreck,"  that  celebrated  modern 
Timon,  or  rather  she-Timon,  or  woman-hater  : 

Theyre  wals  ane  Brounie  offe  mucle  faime 

Thatte  ussit  too  cumme  too  ane  aulde  fairme  housse, 

Ande  evir  the  maydes  fro  theyre  beddes  came, 
AUe  theyre  werke  wals  dune,  soo  cannye  and  douce. 

The  cauppis  wure  cleanit ;  the  yerne  wals  spunne, 

Ande  the  parritche  aye  maide  forre  the  oulde  guidman. 

The  kye  wure  milkit,  the  yill  wals  runne, 

Ande  shininge  lyke  goude  wals  the  ould  brasse  pan. 

Ande  mickle  they  wonderit,  and  mair  theye  thocht, 
But  neivir  ane  wurde  too  theyre  minny  spake  theye, 

Theye  lukit  aye  too  the  braas  theye  hadde  cofft. 
Too  buske  theyre  hayre,  and  to  maike  theme  gaye. 

Then  outte  spake  Jennye,  the  youngeste  ane, 
"  I'm  shure  to  mye  Jocke  itte  wull  gie  delyghte, 

Ande  maike  the  laddye  a'  fidginge  faine, 

Too  see  the  luffes  offe  mye  handes  soe  whyte." 

Thenne  outte  spake  Kirstene,  as  doune  she  satte 

Before  the  glasse  toe  kaim  herre  hayre, 
"  Oh  !  luke,"  quoth  she,  "  I  amme  gettinge  soe  fatte, 

Thatte  I  offe  idlesse  muste  beware. 


140       FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

"  The  neiburs  theye  willc  kenne  noe  mee, 
Forre  I'm  scrimply  aible  to  gaung  aboutte, 

Iffe  I  gette  on  soe,  ye  wuUe  brieflye  see 
A  hurlye  cofft  toe  carrye  mee  outte,"  &c. 

Speaking  of  Wordsworth,  what  is  he  dreaming  about  ? 
The  pubhshed  part  of  the  Excursion  does  not  extend  to  a 
week,  and  we  have  had  no  more  of  it  for  the  last  seven  years. 
If  the  poet's  life  and  peregrinations  are  to  occupy  an  equally 
proportionate  space,  published  at  the  same  distance  of  time, 
the  world  may  expect  to  see  the  conclusion  of  the  work  at 
much  about  the  same  time  when  Blackwood's  Magazine 
intends  retiring  from  public  notice,  that  is  to  say,  somewhere 
about  the  year  3000.  The  following  is  a  small  portion  of  a 
fifty-page  episode.     It  is  entitled 

THE  KAIL  POT. 

If  e'er,  in  pensive  guise,  thy  steps  have  strayed 
At  eve  or  morn  along  that  lofty  street 
Yclept  the  Canongate,  exalt  thine  eyes, 
And  lo  !  between  thee  and  the  azure  sky. 
Dangling  in  negro  blackness  beautiful, 
A  kail  pot  hangs,  upon  an  iron  bar 
Suspended,  and  by  iron  chains  hung  down. 
Beneath  it  yawns  a  threshold,  like  the  den 
Of  Cacus,  giant  old,  or  like  the  caves 
Of  sylvan  satyrs  in  the  forest  green  ; 
There  enter,  and,  amid  his  porter  butts, 
In  conscious  wisdom  bold,  sits  Nathan  Goose, 
Worshipping  the  Muses  and  a  mug  of  ale  ! 

Sweet  are  the  songs  of  Nathan  Goose,  and  strong, 

Yea,  potent  is  the  liquor  that  he  sells  ; 

On  many  a  cold  and  icy  winter  night, 

When  stars  were  sparkling  in  the  deep-blue  sky. 

Have,  circling  round  his  board,  a  jovial  throng 

Tippled  until  the  drowsy  chime  of  twelve. 

Strange  has  it  seemed  to  me  that  we,  who  breathe 

Vapours  as  watery  as  the  cooling  drops 

Of  Rydal  Mere,  should  drink  combustibles, 

And  perish  not  ;  yet,  thereby,  of  the  soul 

The  cogitations  are  disturbed  ;  its  dreams 

Are  hollows  by  reality  and  time 

Fulfilled  not,  and  the  waking  spirit  mourns. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         141 

When  shines  the  sun  above  the  eastern  sea, — 

The  ocean  seen  from  Black  Comb's  summit  high, 

And  throws  his  yellow  light  against  the  pane 

Of  chamber  window, — window  deep  embowered 

With  honeysuckle  blossoms  ; — o'er  the  wrecks 

Of  such  fantastical  and  inane  stuff, 

Shadows,  and  dreams,  and  visions  of  the  night. 

Then  follow  headaches  dreadful,  vomitings 

Of  undigested  biscuit,  mingled  with 

The  sour  and  miserable  commixture  of 

Hot  aqua  vitae  with  the  mountain  lymph, — 

If  city  water  haply  be  so  called, — 

The  lymph  of  Fountain-well  hard  by  the  shop 

Where  seeds  and  roots  are  sold,  above  whose  door 

The  black-eyed  eagle  spreads  his  golden  wings. 

Hard  is  the  lot  of  him  whom  evil  fates 
Have  destined  to  a  way  of  life  unmeet ; 
Whose  genius  and  internal  strength  are  clogged 
By  drudgery,  and  the  rubs  of  common  men. 
But  I  have  gazed  upon  thee,  Nathan  Goose, 
Gazed  on  the  workings  of  thy  inward  soul — 
Hailed  with  delight  thy  planet  in  the  sky, 
And  mid  the  constellations  planted  thee  !  &c. 

As  you  are  one  of  the  prime  admirers  of  the  Lyrical 
Ballads — as  who,  with  the  smallest  pretensions  to  poetical 
taste,  does  not  acknowledge  most  of  them  to  be  extremely 
fine,  and  studded  over  with  the  very  pearls  of  poetry  ? — I 
have  copied  over  for  you  a  lyrical  ballad  of  the  true  breed. 
I  do  not  know  but  that  you  will  like  it  almost  as  well  as  the 
Waggoner,  or  Peter  Bell  : 

BILLY    BLINN. 

I  knew  a  man  that  died  for  love, 

His  name,  I  ween,  was  Billy  Blinn  ; 
His  back  was  humped,  his  hair  was  grey. 
And  on  a  sultry  summer  day 

We  found  him  floating  in  the  linn. 

Once  as  he  stood  before  his  door 

Smoking,  and  wondering  who  should  pass, 

Then  trundling  past  him  in  a  cart 

Came  Susan  Foy  ;  she  won  his  heart, 
She  was  a  gallant  lass. 


142        FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT. 

And  Billy  Blinn  concealed  the  flame 

That  burned  and  scorched  his  very  blood  ; 
But  often  was  he  heard  to  sigh, 
And  with  his  sleeve  he  wiped  his  eye, 
In  a  dejected  mood. 

A  party  of  recruiters  came 

To  wile  our  cottars,  man  and  boy  ; 

Their  coats  were  red,  their  cuffs  were  blue, 

And  boldly,  without  more  ado, 

Off  with  the  troop  went  Susan  Foy  ! 

When  poor  old  Billy  heard  the  news. 
He  tore  his  hair  so  thin  and  grey  ; 

He  beat  the  hump  upon  his  back, 

And  ever  did  he  cry,  "  Alack, 

Ohon,  oh  me ! — alas  a-day  ! " 

His  nights  were  spent  in  sleeplessness, 
His  days  in  sorrow  and  despair  : 

It  could  not  last — this  inward  strife  ; 

The  lover  he  grew  tired  of  life. 
And  sauntered  here  and  there. 

At  length,  'twas  on  a  moonlight  eve, 

The  skies  were  blue,  the  winds  were  still ; 
He  wandered  from  his  wretched  hut. 
And,  though  he  left  the  door  unshut, 
He  sought  the  lonely  hill. 

He  looked  upon  the  lovely  moon, 

He  looked  upon  the  twinkling  stars  ; 

"  How  peaceful  all  is  there,"  he  said, 

"  No  noisy  tumult  there  is  bred, 
And  no  intestine  wars." 

But  misery  overcame  his  heart, 

For  all  was  waste  and  war  within  ; 
And  rushing  forward  with  a  leap, 
O'er  crags  a  hundred  fathoms  steep. 
He  plunged  into  the  linn. 

We  found  him  when  the  morning  sun 
Shone  brightly  from  the  eastern  sky  ; 

Upon  his  back  he  was  afloat — 

His  hat  was  sailing  like  a  boat — 
His  staff  was  found  on  high. 

Oh  reckless  woman,  Susan  Foy, 

To  leave  the  poor,  old,  loving  man, 

And  with  a  soldier,  young  and  gay, 

Thus  harlot-like  to  run  away 
To  India  or  Japan. 


FAMILIAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  ADJUTANT.         143 

Poor  Billy  Blinn,  with  hair  so  white, 

Poor  Billy  Blinn  was  stiff  and  cold  ; 
Will  Adze  he  made  a  coffin  neat, 
We  placed  him  in  it  head  and  feet, 

And  laid  him  in  the  mould  ! 

I  dare  say  you  will  suppose  that  there  is  no  end  to  my 
prosing.  But  hold,  my  pen  !  For  the  present  I  am  determined 
to  have  done.  As  to  Southey,  Lamb,  Milman,  Croly, 
Shelley,  Wastle,  Wilson,  Campbell,  Hunt,  Montgomery, 
Bowles,  Dr.  Scott,  Frere,  Rogers,  Bloomfield,  Herbert, 
Thurlow,  Willison  Glass,  &c.,  you  shall  have  more  of  them 
in  my  next ;  and  meantime  believe  me,  more  than  ever  has 
been  yet  professed  by 

Yours,  &c., 

Morgan  Odohertv. 

CoLEKAiNE,  Red  Cow  Inn,  April  ^p. 


U\K  /IDan  in  tbe  Bell. 

In  my  younger  days  bell-ringing  was  much  more  in  fashion 

among  the  young  men  of than  it  is  now.     Nobody, 

I  believe,  practises  it  there  at  present  except  the  servants  of 
the  church,  and  the  melody  has  been  much  injured  in  con- 
sequence. Some  fifty  years  ago,  about  twenty  of  us  who 
dwelt  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cathedral  formed  a  club,  which 
used  to  ring  every  peal  that  was  called  for ;  and,  from  con- 
tinual practice  and  a  rivalry  which  arose  between  us  and  a 
club  attached  to  another  steeple,  and  which  tended  consider- 
ably to  sharpen  our  zeal,  we  became  very  Mozarts  on  our 
favourite  instruments.  But  my  bell-ringing  practice  was 
shortened  by  a  singular  accident,  which  not  only  stopped 
my  performance,  but  made  even  the  sound  of  a  bell  terrible 
to  my  ears. 

One  Sunday  I  went  with  another  into  the  belfry  to  ring 
for  noon  prayers,  but  the  second  stroke  we  had  pulled 
showed  us  that  the  clapper  of  the  bell  we  were  at  was  muffled. 
Some  one  had  been  buried  that  morning,  and  it  had  been 
prepared,  of  course,  to  ring  a  mournful  note.  We  did  not 
know  of  this,  but  the  remedy  was  easy.  "  Jack,"  said  my 
companion,  "  step  up  to  the  loft,  and  cut  off  the  hat ; "  for 
the  way  we  had  of  muffling  was  by  tying  a  piece  of  an  old 
hat  or  of  cloth  (the  former  was  preferred)  to  one  side  of  the 
clapper,  which  deadened  every  second  toll.  I  complied 
and,  mounting  into  the  belfry,  crept  as  usual  into  the  bell, 
where  I  began  to  cut  away.  The  hat  had  been  tied  on  in 
some  more  complicated  manner  than  usual,  and  I  was 
perhaps  three  or  four  minutes  in  getting  it  off;  .during  which 
time  my  companion  below  was  hastily  called  away,  by  a 
message  from  his   sweetheart,   I  believe;  but  that  is  not 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL.  145 

material  to  my  story.  The  person  who  called  him  was  a 
brother  of  the  club,  who,  knowing  that  the  time  had  come 
for  ringing  for  service,  and  not  thinking  that  any  one  was 
above,  began  to  pull.  At  this  moment  I  was  just  getting 
out,  when  I  felt  the  bell  moving ;  I  guessed  the  reason  at 
once — it  was  a  moment  of  terror ;  but  by  a  hasty,  and  almost 
convulsive,  effort  I  succeeded  in  jumping  down,  and  throw- 
ing myself  on  the  flat  of  my  back  under  the  bell. 

The  room  in  which  it  was,  was  little  more  than  sufficient 
to  contain  it,  the  botton  of  the  bell  coming  within  a  couple 
of  feet  of  the  floor  of  lath.  At  that  time  I  certainly  was  not 
so  bulky  as  I  am  now,  but  as  I  lay  it  was  within  an  inch  of 
my  face.  I  had  not  laid  myself  down  a  second  when  the 
ringing  began.  It  was  a  dreadful  situation.  Over  me  swung 
an  immense  mass  of  metal,  one  touch  of  which  would  have 
crushed  me  to  pieces ;  the  floor  under  me  was  principally 
composed  of  crazy  laths ;  and  if  they  gave  way,  I  was  pre- 
cipitated to  the  distance  of  about  fifty  feet  upon  a  loft,  which 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  sunk  under  the  impulse  of 
my  fall,  and  sent  me  to  be  dashed  to  atoms  upon  the  marble 
floor  of  the  chancel,  an  hundred  feet  below.  I  remembered, 
for  fear  is  quick  in  recollection,  how  a  common  clock-wright, 
about  a  month  before,  had  fallen  and,  bursting  through  the 
floors  of  the  steeple,  driven  in  the  ceilings  of  the  porch,  and 
even  broken  into  the  marble  tombstone  of  a  bishop  who 
slept  beneath.  This  was  my  first  terror,  but  the  ringing 
had  not  continued  a  minute  before  a  more  awful  and 
immediate  dread  came  on  me.  The  deafening  sound  of 
the  bell  smote  into  my  ears  with  a  thunder  which  made  me 
fear  their  drums  would  crack.  There  was  not  a  fibre  of  my 
body  it  did  not  thrill  through  :  it  entered  my  very  soul ; 
thought  and  reflection  were  almost  utterly  banished ;  I  only 
retained  the  sensation  of  agonising  terror.  Every  moment 
I  saw  the  bell  sweej)  within  an  inch  of  my  foce ;  and  my 
eyes — I  could  not  close  them,  though  to  look  at  the  object 
was  bitter  as  death — followed  it  instinctively  in  its  oscillating 
]jrogress  until  it  came  back  again.     It  was  in  vain  I  said  to 

VOL.  I.  K 


146  THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL. 

myself  that  it  could  come  no  nearer  at  any  future  swing  than 
it  did  at  first ;  every  time  it  descended,  I  endeavoured  to 
shrink  into  the  very  floor  to  avoid  being  buried  under  the 
down-sweeping  mass ;  and  then,  reflecting  on  the  danger  of 
pressing  too  weightily  on  my  frail  support,  would  cower  up 
again  as  far  as  I  dared. 

At  first  my  fears  were  mere  matter  of  fact.  I  was  afraid 
the  pulleys  above  would  give  way,  and  let  the  bell  plunge  on 
me.  At  another  time,  the  possibility  of  the  clapper  being 
shot  out  in  some  sweep,  and  dashing  through  my  body,  as 
I  had  seen  a  ramrod  glide  through  a  door,  flitted  across  my 
mind.  The  dread  also,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  of 
the  crazy  floor  tormented  me ;  but  these  soon  gave  way  to 
fears  not  more  unfounded,  but  more  visionary,  and  of  course 
more  tremendous.  The  roaring  of  the  bell  confused  my 
>^  intellect,  and  my  fancy  soon  began  to  teem  with  all  sorts  of 
strange  and  terrifying  ideas.  The  bell  pealing  above,  and 
opening  its  jaws  with  a  hideous  clamour,  seemed  to  me  at 
one  time  a  ravening  monster,  raging  to  devour  me  :  at  another, 
a  whirlpool  ready  to  suck  me  into  its  bellowing  abyss.  As 
I  gazed  on  it,  it  assumed  all  shapes ;  it  was  a  flying  eagle, 
or  rather  a  roc  of  the  Arabian  story-tellers,  clapping  its  wings 
and  screaming  over  me.  As  I  looked  upward  into  it,  it 
would  appear  sometimes  to  lengthen  into  indefinite  extent, 
or  to  be  twisted  at  the  end  into  the  spiral  folds  of  the  tail 
of  a  flying-dragon.  Nor  was  the  flaming  breath  or  fiery 
glance  of  that  fabled  animal  wanting  to  complete  the  picture. 
My  eyes,  inflamed,  bloodshot,  and  glaring,  invested  the  sup- 
posed monster  with  a  full  proportion  of  unholy  light. 

It  would  be  endless  were  I  to  merely  hint  at  all  the 
fancies  that  possessed  my  mind.  Every  object  that  was 
hideous  and  roaring  presented  itself  to  my  imagination.  I 
often  thought  that  I  was  in  a  hurricane  at  sea,  and  that  the 
vessel  in  which  I  was  embarked  tossed  under  me  with  the 
most  furious  vehemence.  The  air,  set  in  motion  by  the 
swinging  of  the  bell,  blew  over  me  nearly  with  the  violence 
and  more  than  the  thunder  of  a  tempest;  and  the  floor 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL.  147 

seemed  to  reel  under  me  as  under  a  drunken  man.  But 
the  most  awful  of  all  the  ideas  that  seized  on  me  were  drawn 
from  the  supernatural.  In  the  vast  cavern  of  the  bell 
hideous  faces  appeared,  and  glared  down  on  me  with 
terrifying  frowns,  or  with  grinning  mockery,  still  more  appall- 
ing. At  last  the  Devil  himself,  accoutred,  as  in  the  common 
description  of  the  evil  spirit,  with  hoof,  horn,  and  tail,  and 
eyes  of  infernal  lustre,  made  his  appearance,  and  called  on 
me  to  curse  God  and  worship  him,  who  was  powerful  to  save 
me.  This  dread  suggestion  he  uttered  with  the  full-toned 
clangour  of  the  bell.  I  had  him  within  an  inch  of  me,  and  I 
thought  on  the  fate  of  the  Santon  Barsisa.  Strenuously  and 
desperately  I  defied  him,  and  bade  him  be  gone.  Reason, 
then,  for  a  moment  resumed  her  sway,  but  it  was  only  to 
fill  me  with  fresh  terror,  just  as  the  lightning  dispels  the 
gloom  that  surrounds  the  benighted  mariner,  but  to  show 
him  that  his  vessel  is  driving  on  a  rock,  where  she  must 
inevitably  be  dashed  to  pieces.  I  found  I  was  becoming 
delirious,  and  trembled  lest  reason  should  utterly  desert  me. 
This  is  at  all  times  an  agonizing  thought,  but  it  smote  me 
then  with  tenfold  agony.  I  feared  lest,  when  utterly  deprived 
of  my  senses,  I  should  rise ;  to  do  which  I  was  every  moment 
tempted  by  that  strange  feeling  which  calls  on  a  man,  whose 
head  is  dizzy  from  standing  on  the  battlement  of  a  lofty 
castle,  to  precipitate  himself  from  it ;  and  then  death  would 
be  instant  and  tremendous.  When  I  thought  of  this  I 
became  desperate ; — I  caught  the  floor  with  a  grasp  which 
drove  the  blood  from  my  nails  ;  and  I  yelled  with  the  cry 
of  despair.  I  called  for  help,  I  prayed,  I  shouted  :  but  all 
the  efforts  of  my  voice  were,  of  course,  drowned  in  the  bell. 
As  it  i)assed  over  my  mouth,  it  occasionally  echoed  my  cries, 
which  mixed  not  with  its  own  sound,  but  preserved  their 
distinct  character.  Perhaps  this  was  but  fancy.  To  me,  I 
know,  they  then  sounded  as  if  they  were  the  shouting,  howl- 
ing, or  laughing  of  the  fiends  with  which  my  imagination 
had  peopled  the  gloomy  cave  which  swung  over  me. 

You  may  accuse  me  of  exaggerating  my  feelings ;  but  1 


148  THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL. 

am  not.  Many  a  scene  of  dread  have  I  since  passed  through, 
but  they  are  nothing  to  the  self-inflicted  terrors  of  this  half 
hour.  The  ancients  have  doomed  one  of  the  damned,  in 
their  Tartarus,  to  lie  under  a  rock  which  every  moment  seems 
to  be  descending  to  annihilate  him;  and  an  awful  punishment 
it  would  be.  But  if  to  this  you  add  a  clamour  as  loud  as  if 
ten  thousand  Furies  were  howling  about  you,  a  deafening 
uproar  banishing  reason  and  driving  you  to  madness,  you 
must  allow  that  the  bitterness  of  the  pang  was  rendered  more 
terrible.  There  is  no  man,  firm  as  his  nerves  may  be,  who 
could  retain  his  courage  in  this  situation. 

In  twenty  minutes  the  ringing  was  done.  Half  of  that 
time  passed  over  me  without  power  of  computation,  the  other 
half  appeared  an  age.  When  it  ceased  I  became  gradually 
more  quiet ;  but  a  new  fear  retained  me.  I  knew  that  five 
minutes  would  elapse  without  ringing ;  but  at  the  end  of 
that  short  time  the  bell  would  be  rung  a  second  time  for 
five  minutes  more.  I  could  not  calculate  time.  A  minute 
and  an  hour  were  of  equal  duration.  I  feared  to  rise,  lest 
the  five  minutes  should  have  elapsed,  and  the  ringing  be 
again  commenced;  in  which  case  I  should  be  crushed,  before 
I  could  escape,  against  the  walls  or  framework  of  the  bell. 
I  therefore  still  continued  to  lie  down,  cautiously  shifting 
myself,  however,  with  a  careful  gliding,  so  that  my  eye  no 
longer  looked  into  the  hollow.  This  was  of  itself  a  consider- 
able relief  The  cessation  of  the  noise  had,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  effect  of  stupefying  me,  for  my  attention,  being 
no  longer  occupied  by  the  chimeras  I  had  conjured  up,  began 
to  flag.  All  that  now  distressed  me  was  the  constant 
expectation  of  the  second  ringing,  for  which,  however,  I 
settled  myself  with  a  kind  of  stupid  resolution.  I  closed 
my  eyes,  and  clenched  my  teeth  as  firmly  as  if  they  were 
screwed  in  a  vice.  At  last  the  dreaded  moment  came,  and 
the  first  swing  of  the  bell  extorted  a  groan  from  me,  as  they 
say  the  most  resolute  victim  screams  at  the  sight  of  the  rack, 
to  which  he  is  for  a  second  time  destined.  After  this,  how- 
ever, I  lay  silent  and  lethargic,  without  a  thought.     Wrapt 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL.  149 

in  the  defensive  armour  of  stupidity,  I  defied  the  bell  and 
its  intonations.  When  it  ceased,  I  was  roused  a  little  by  the 
hope  of  escape.  I  did  not,  however,  decide  on  this  step 
hastily ;  but,  putting  up  my  hand  with  the  utmost  caution, 
I  touched  the  rim.  Though  the  ringing  had  ceased,  it  still 
was  tremulous  from  the  sound,  and  shook  under  my  hand, 
which  instantly  recoiled  as  from  an  electric  jar.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  probably  elapsed  before  I  again  dared  to  make 
the  experiment,  and  then  I  found  it  at  rest.  I  determined 
to  lose  no  time,  fearing  that  I  might  have  lain  then  already 
too  long,  and  that  the  bell  for  evening  service  would  catch 
me.  This  dread  stimulated  me,  and  I  slipped  out  with  the 
utmost  rapidity,  and  arose.  I  stood,  I  suppose,  for  a  minute, 
looking  with  silly  wonder  on  the  place  of  my  imprisonment, 
penetrated  with  joy  at  escaping,  but  then  rushed  down  the 
stony  and  irregular  stair  with  the  velocity  of  lightning,  and 
arrived  in  the  bell-ringer's  room.  This  was  the  last  act  I 
had  power  to  accomplish.  I  leant  against  the  wall,  motion- 
less and  deprived  of  thought;  in  which  posture  my  companions 
found  me,  when,  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  hours,  they 
returned  to  their  occupation. 

They  were  shocked,  as  well  they  might  be,  at  the  figure 
before  them.  The  wind  of  the  bell  had  excoriated  my  face, 
and  my  dim  and  stupefied  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  lack-lustre 
gaze  in  my  raw  eyelids.  My  hands  were  torn  and  bleeding, 
my  hair  dishevelled,  and  my  clothes  tattered.  They  spoke 
to  me,  but  I  gave  no  answer.  They  shook  me,  but  I  re- 
mained insensible.  They  then  became  alarmed,  and 
hastened  to  remove  me.  He  who  had  first  gone  up  with 
me  in  the  forenoon  met  them  as  they  carried  me  through 
the  churchyard,  and  through  him,  who  was  shocked  at 
having,  in  some  measure,  occasioned  the  accident,  the  cause 
of  my  misfortune  was  discovered.  I  was  put  to  bed  at  home, 
and  remained  for  three  days  delirious,  but  gradually  recovered 
my  senses.  You  may  be  sure  the  bell  formed  a  prominent 
topic  of  my  ravings;  and,  if  I  heard  a  peal,  they  were  instantly 
increased  to  the  utmost  violence.     Even  when  the  delirium 


150  THE  MAN  IN  THE  BELL. 

abated,  my  sleep  was  continually  disturbed  by  imagined 
ringings,  and  my  dreams  were  haunted  by  the  fancies  which 
almost  maddened  me  while  in  the  steeple.  My  friends 
removed  me  to  a  house  in  the  country,  which  was  sufficiently 
distant  from  any  place  of  worship  to  save  me  from  the 
apprehensions  of  hearing  the  church-going  bell ;  for  what 
Alexander  Selkirk,  in  Cowper's  poem,  complained  of  as  a 
misfortune  was  then  to  me  as  a  blessing.  Here  I  recovered; 
but  even  long  after  recovery,  if  a  gale  wafted  the  notes  of  a 
peal  towards  me,  I  started  with  nervous  apprehension.  I 
felt  a  Mahometan  hatred  to  all  the  bell  tribe,  and  envied  the 
subjects  of  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  the  sonorous 
voice  of  their  Muezzin.  Time  cured  this,  as  it  cures  the 
most  of  our  follies  ;  but  even  at  the  present  day,  if  by  chance 
my  nerves  be  unstrung,  some  particular  tones  of  the  cathedral 
bell  have  power  to  surprise  me  into  a  momentary  start. 


xrbe  Bmbalmcr. 

No.  I. 

Pero  contodo  esto  me  parece,  que  el  traducir  de  una  lengua  en  otra,  como 
no  sea  de  las  Reynas  de  las  lenguas,  Griega  y  Latina,  as  como  quien  mira 
los  tapices  Flamencos  por  el  rev6s  que  aunque  se  ve6n  las  figuras  son  llenas 
de  hilos  que  las  obscurecen,  y  no  se  ven  con  la  lisura  y  tez  de  la  haz ;  y  el 
traducir  de  lenguas  faciles  ni  arguye  ingenio,  iiielocucion,  como  nolearguye 
el  que  traslada  ni  el  que  copia  un  papel  de  otro  papel ;  y  no  por  esto  quiero 
inferir  que  no  sea  loable  este  exercicio  del  traducir  porque  en  otras  cosas 
peores  se  podria  occupar  el  hombre,  y  que  menos  provecho  le  truxessen. 

Don  Quixote^  p.  2,  c.  62. 

Dear  Christopher, — In  spite  of  the  angry  motto  against 
translators  which  I  have  prefixed  to  my  letter,  I  yet  must  say 
that  I  look  upon  them  as  a  very  valuable  body  of  men  ;  and 
you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  that  my  respect  for  the  corps  is 
not  at  all  diminished  by  the  circumstance  of  my  having 
occasionally  figured  in  it  myself.  But  I  do  not  much  value 
those  of  our  brotherhood  who  are  contented  with  oversetting, 
as  the  Germans  phrase  it,  works  into  the  mere  vernacular. 
They  are  only  writers  for  a  day — nothing  but  ephemerals. 
No7i  sic  ititr  ad  astra.  If  the  original  be  worth  knowing, 
people  will  read  it  in  its  native  tongue,  so  that  there  is  no 
good  done  for  any  but  the  ignorant  or  lazy  part  of  mankind. 
My  department,  I  flatter  myself,  is  rather  higher.  It  has 
been  long  complained  that  all  living  languages  are  in  a  state 
of  such  continual  flux  that  it  is  almost  wasting  a  man's 
talents  to  write  in  them.  Geoffry  Crayon,  if  I  do  not 
mistake,  most  pathetically  laments  this  affair  in  his  Sketch 
Book.  Chaucer  strikes  us  as  more  antique  reading  than 
Homer ;  and  a  man  finds  more  difficulty  in  getting  through 
Gawain  Douglas  than  through  Virgil.     It  is  a  melancholy 


152  THE  EMBALMER. 

reflection  for  the  thousand-and-one  writers  of  the  present  day, 
that  even  such  of  them  as  have  the  good  luck  to  survive  half 
a  dozen  centuries  must  submit  to  the  misfortune  of  being 
read  through  the  musty  medium  of  comments  and  glossaries. 

I  have  often  turned  my  thoughts  towards  the  prevention 
of  this  calamitous  event,  but,  until  a  few  days  ago,  in  vain. 
An  idea  then  suddenly  struck  me,  as  I  lay  in  bed  one 
morning,  so  felicitous  that  I  instantly  jumped  up,  and  set 
about  ])utting  it  into  execution.  My  project  is,  to  translate 
all  works  of  modern  tongues  at  once  into  ancient ;  a  dead 
language,  as  my  Lord  Byron  very  properly  remarks  in  his 
late  gossiping  pamphlet,  being  the  only  immortal  thing  in 
this  world.  By  this  means  we  should  embalm  our  authors ; 
and  I  intend  to  take  upon  me  at  once  the  office  of 
Embalm ER  General,  in  which  capacity  I  may  perhaps 
appear  at  the  coronation,  and  offer  the  king  a  mummy  case, 
as  an  appropriate  homage  fee.  The  works  of  our  poets — for 
our  prose  writers  I  leave  to  Dr.  Bellendus — will,  I  trust,  be 
preserved  by  my  preparations,  at  least  as  effectually  as  bodies 
are  by  the  antiseptic  drugs  or  gross  unguents  of  Sir  Everard 
Home,  or  that  most  magnificent  personage  William  Thomas 
Brande,  Esquire,  Secretary  to  the  Royal  Institution,  and 
chief  concocter  of  that  highly  amusing  and  agreeably 
authentic  miscellany,  the  Quarterly  Journal  of  Science. 

It  may  be  said  that  translations  always  fall  far  short  of 
the  original,  and  sacrifice  numberless  graces.  Perhaps  this 
is  true  of  all  other  translators  now  extant ;  but,  in  my 
particular  case,  all  that  I  am  afraid  of  is  that  I  may  beautify 
the  original  too  much,  and  that  the  charms  of  my  style  and 
composition  may  make  the  readers  of  my  translations  apt 
to  value  inferior  productions  too  highly,  from  the  beauty  of 
the  amber  in  which  I  shall  enwrap  them.  For  instance,  I 
translated  a  song  by  Willison  Glass  the  other  day,  and  I 
passed  it  on  the  Bailie,  a  man  of  letters,  you  know,  for 
Tibullus.  However,  as  in  such  cases  the  originals  will 
perish,  the  world  will  be  the  better  for  having  my  versions 
in  their  place ;  and  a  regard  to  the  general  interest  of  man- 


THE  EMBALMER.  153 

kind   ought   to   pervade   the   breast   of  every    good    and 
benevolent  person. 

I  had  some  doubt  as  to  what  language  I  should  patronise. 
Hebrew  is  by  far  too  crabbed  to  write,  and  is,  besides,  lying 
under  high  professorial  censure.     I  understand,  indeed,  that 
a  gentleman  in  Italy  has  translated  the  Satires  of  Horace 
successfully  into  the  language  of  Zion  ;  and  that  it  is  capable 
of  beautiful  and  harmonious  melody,  everybody  who  has 
read  the  pathetic  dirge  in  your  thirty-eighth  Number,  by  the 
vice-provpst  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  must  acknowledge. 
But,  in  spite  of  all  this,  a  man's  fingers  get  horribly  cramped 
in  jotting  and  dotting.     It  is  tiresome  work  to  be  meddling 
with  the  kings  and  emperors  of  Hebrew  accentuation — with 
Zakeph-Katons,  Telisha  Gedolas,  Schalschelets,  and  other 
grim-titled  little  flourishes.     And  if  the  thing  were  to  be 
done  at  all,  it  should  be  done  Masoretically ;  for  I  look  on 
the  Anti-Masorites   to  be   complete   Whigs  {i.e.  very  con- 
temptible persons)  in  literature.     With  respect  to  Greek,  it 
is  a  very  fit  language.     We  all  remember  Porson's  elegant 
translation  of  Three  Children  Sliding  on  the  Ice  ;  and  I  have 
read  two  or  three  neat  versions  of  Shakespeare,  done  by 
Cambridge  men  for  the  prize  founded  by  him.     God  save 
the  King,   too,   has  been  done  for   the  Classical  Journal 
passably ;  and  Mr  Caecilius  Metellus  has  given  the  commence- 
ment of  John  Gilpin  so  well,  in  the  same  periodical,  that  I 
wish  he  would  finish  it ;  after  which  he  might  try  his  hand 
at  the  celebrated  imitation  of  Cowper's  philosophical  poem. 
Lord  Byron's   Mazeppa.     I  was  inclined  to   follow   these 
examples,  but  it  most  unluckily  happened  that,  in  the  very 
first  poem  I  took  up,  I  had  occasion  to  look  for  the  precise 
signification  of  a  word  beginning  with  omega,  which  I  wanted 
to   use ;  and    not    being   quite   satisfied   with   Stephanus's 
interpretation,  I  am  obliged  to  wait  until  I  see  the  opinion  of 
the  new  Thes.  on  the  point,  which  will  delay  my  Grcekish 
intentions  until  somewhere  in  the  year  1835.     Latin,  then, 
being  all  that  remained,  I  have  commenced  operations  on  a 
grand  scale.     Vincent  Bourne,  honest  dear  fellow,  has  done 


154  THE  EMBALMER. 

a  great  deal  already  in  that  way,  but  I  shall  soon  surpass  his 
labours. 

I  was  dubious,  too,  with  respect  to  the  metres, -whether  I 
should  only  use  those  of  ancient  Rome,  or  conform  myself 
to  the  modern  versification.  There  are  great  authorities  on 
both  sides.     Dr  Aldrich  translated 

' '  A  soldier  and  a  sailor, 
A  tinker  and  a  tailor,"  &c. 

into  Latin  of  similar  structure  with  the  English,  and  Dr.  Petre 
has  done  Chevy-Chace  in  the  same  way.  Many  inferior 
names  might  be  also  adduced.  The  objection  to  it  is,  that 
Latin  lines  to  English  tunes  are  as  much  out  of  place  as 
English  lines  of  Latin  form.  But  that  objection,  not  more 
than  bare  assertion  at  best,  whatever  might  have  been  its 
weight  formerly,  is  of  no  avail  now,  since  the  splendid 
success  of  the  Laureate,  and  the  much  grander  effort  of  the 
great  poet  who  addressed  you,  Mr.  North,  in  that  divine 
hymn,  have  proved  that  the  hexameter  may  be  naturalised 
in  our  language.  By  a  parity  of  reasoning  our  verses  might 
be  naturalised  in  Latin — at  least  the  experiment  is  worth 
trying. 

I  send  a  few  fragments,  sweepings  of  my  portfolios,  as 
samples.  The  great  works  I  am  employed  in  I  shall  keep 
for  your  private  inspection.  Below  are  a  part  of  "  Take  thy 
old  cloak  about  thee,"  of  "July  the  First,"  of  "The  Groves 
of  Blarney,"  of  "  Mary  Ambree,"  of  "  Sir  Tristrem,"  and  the 
epitaphs  on  Sir  Patrick  Sarsfield,  John,  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
Henry,  Duke  of  Grafton,  Robin  Hood,  Earl  of  Huntingdon, 
and  Sir  Daniel  Donnelly,  champion  of  Ireland.  I  have  used 
both  Latin  and  English  metres. 


THE  EMBALMER.  155 


VERSE  OF    "  TAKE  THY  OLD  CLOAK  ABOUT  THEE."  * 
Sung  by  lago  in  the  Second  Act  of  Othello. 

King  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peer. 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crown, 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  dear, 

And  so  he  called  the  tailor  loon. 
He  was  a  king,  and  wore  a  crown, 

Thou  art  a  squire  of  low  degree  ; 
'Tis  pride  that  pulls  the  country  down, 

So  take  thy  old  cloak  about  thee. 

Rex  Stephanus  princeps  fuit  illustrissimus  olim, 

Sexque  decern  braccse  constiterunt  obolis. 
Assibus  hoc  pretium  reputans  sex  charius  aequo, 

Sartorem  jurgat  nomine  furciferi. 
lUe  fuit  dominus  celso  diademate  cinctus, 

Et  tu  demissi  nil  nisi  verna  loci ; 
Eheu !  sternit  humi  nunc  nostra  superbia  regnum  : 

Veste  igitur  trita  contege  terga,  precor. 


IL 

VERSES    OF   JULY    THE    FIRST,    THE   GREAT   ORANGE   SONG    IN 

IRELAND. 

July  the  first,  in  old  Bridge  town, 

There  was  a  grievous  battle, 
Where  many  a  man  lay  on  the  ground, 

And  the  cannon  they  did  rattle. 
King  James,  he  pitched  his  tents  between, 

His  lines  for  to  retire,t 
Hut  William  threw  his  bomb-balls  in. 

And  set  them  all  on  fire.f 

«  *  *  * 

The  horse  and  cannon  crossed  the  stream. 
And  the  foot  came  following  a'ter. 


*  After  a  diligent  collation  of  MSS.  I  have  fixed  on  readings  which  differ 
somewhat  from  the  received  text  of  this  poem. — M.  OD. 
f  To  be  pronounced — more  Hibernico — reti-er,  fi-er. — M.  OD. 


IS6  THE  EMBALMER. 

But  brave  Duke  Schomberg  lost  his  life 
In  crossing  the  Boyne  Water. 


A  bullet  from  the  Irish  came, 

And  grazed  King  William's  arm — 

They  thought  his  majesty  was  slain, 
But  it  did  him  little  harm.f 


The  Protestants  of  Drogheda 
Have  reason  to  be  thankful, 

That  they  were  all  preserved  that  day, 
Though  they  were  but  a  handful. 


In  veteris  pontis  vico,  Julique  calendis 
Atrox  pugna  fuit,  morientia  millia  campum 
Sternebant  :  Sonitum  horribilem  tormenta  dedere. 
In  medio  spatio  tendebat  rex  lacobus, 
Posset  ut  ex  acie  subducere  longius,f  autem 
Igniferos  jecit  glandes  Gulielmus  in  hostem, 
Exussitque  statim  flammis  tentoria  cuncta. 


Flumen  transivere  equites  tormentaque  primum, 
His  instant  pedites  ;  Dux  Schonenbergius  acer, 
Dum  transit,  vitam  deperdit  in  amne  Bubinda. 


Strinxit  mox  humerum  Gulielmi  glans  ab  Hibernis  ; 
Nil  nocuit,  quanquam  de  regis  morte  timerent. 


Sint  Protestantes  Drohedas  super  omnia  Iseti, 
Quod  parvi  numero,  salvi  tunc  Marte  fuerunt. 

*  To  be  pronounced — more  Hibernico — ar-nim,  har-rum. — M.  OD. 
+  I  fear  I  may  have  misunderstood  this  line,    the  original  being  rather 
obscure — something  like  Sir  R.  Phillips's  common  sense. — M.  OD. 


THE  EMBALMER.  157 

III. 

GROVES    OF    BLARNEY.* 

The  groves  of  Blarney  they  are  most  charming 

Blarnaei  nemoraf  sunt  jucundissima  visu. 

But  I  prefer  the  next  verse  : 

'Tis  Lady  Jeffries  that  owns  this  station, 

Like  Alexander  or  Helen  fair  ; 
There  is  no  lady  in  all  the  nation 

For  emulation  can  with  her  compare. 
She  has  castles  round  her,  that  no  nine-pounder 

Can  dare  to  plunder  her  place  of  strength  ; 
But  Oliver  Cromwell  he  did  her  pummel, 

And  made  a  hole  in  her  battlement. 


Jeffrisa  castellum  regit,  perpulchra  virago, 
Par  et  Alexandro  pulchrre  Helenasque  simul, 

Cui  cunctas  inter  peperit  quas  dulcis  lerne 
Dicere  se  similem  fsemina  nuUa  potest. 


*  Blarney  certainly  is  a  most  interesting  part  of  the  world.  Its  famous 
old  castle— "the  statues  gracing  this  noble  place  in" — its  Charles  the 
Twelfth,  &c.  —  the  various  stories  connected  with  it— but,  above  all,  its 
celebrated  stone,  render  it  highly  worthy  of  public  attention.  The  stone  is 
on  the  top  of  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  and  is  bound  with  iron  ;  being 
struck,  as  it  is  mentioned  in  the  above  quoted  verse,  by  a  cannon  shot  when 
Oliver  Cromwell  attacked  the  place  ;  but  we  believe  the  story  of  his  being 
there  rests  on  rather  weak  foundations.  Any  person  who  kisses  that  stone 
is  privileged  to  talk  blarney  all  his  life ;  and  many  a  gentleman  we  have 
seen  from  Ireland  who  has  proved  the  efficacy  of  the  ceremony.  It  is  said, 
but  the  doctrine  is  not  quite  so  authentic,  that  a  dip  in  the  Shannon  gives 
the  privilege  of  never  blushing  while  in  the  act  of  committing  blarney. 
Certain  specimens,  however,  have  come  under  our  notice  of  ingenious  Irish- 
men who,  all  unbaptized,  were  quite  free  from  the  sin  of  changing  com- 
7;lexion.  Blarney  (not  the  place,  but  the  thing)  is  quite  a  distinct  affair 
from  humbug,  as  lexicographers  must  well  know.  Its  fame  is  widely 
extended  all  over  the  world,  as  it  was  the  only  English  word  that  the  King 
of  Abyssinia  was  acquainted  with,  as  you  may  see  by  Salt's  Travels.  Would 
Mr.  O'Fogarty,  on  his  recovery,  favour  us  with  an  article  on  the  place  of 
his  nativity  ?— M.  OD. 
f  Nemora — a  long  by  caesura.— See  Dr.  Carey. — M.  OD. 


158  THE  EMBALMER. 

Hrec  castella  tenet  qu3e  non  tormenta  timerent, 
Qujc  ter  tres  libras  horrida  ferre  solent. 

Sed  Cromwellus  earn  graviter  concussit,  hiatum 
In  nido  patulum  conficiens  dominge. 


IV. 

VERSE    OF    MARY   AMBREE.* 

When  our  brave  commanders,  whom  death  could  not  daunt, 
Marched  off  to  the  siege  of  the  city  of  Gaunt ; 
They  counted  their  forces  by  two  and  by  three, 
But  the  foremost  in  battle  was  Mary  Ambree. 


Cum  nostri  ductores  qui  mortem  spernebant 
Ad  Gantii  turres  cingendas  pergebant, 
Et  copias  legebant  per  duos  et  tres, 
Fuit  prima  in  pugna  Maria  Ambres, 


VERSE    OF    SIR   TRISTREM. 
[7  have  translated  the  entire  poem.'\ 

Geten  and  born  was  so 

The  child  was  fair  and  white, 
Nas  never  Rohand  so  wo, 

He  wist  not  what  to  wite  ; 
To  childbed  ded  he  go, 

His  owhen  wiif  al  so  tite, 
Said  he  had  children  to, , 

On  hem  was  his  delite. 
Bi  Crist, 
In  court  men  cleped  him  so, 
Tho  Tram  bifor  the  Trist. . 


Sic  genitus  et  satus, 
In  mundum  infans  it ; 

Rohantius  contristatus 
Quid  facere  non  scit. 


*  In  Percy's  Reliques.     The  lady  is  mentioned  also  by  Ben  Jonson,  as 
Mary  Ambree,  who  marched  so  free,  «Scc. — M.  OD. 


THE  IJMBALMER.  159 


In  lecto  qui  fuit  stratus. 

Partus  uxoris  fit, 
Quasi  filius  fuit  natus 
Quern  multum  dilexit. 
Per  Christum 
Et  fuit  appellatus 
Cum  Tramo  ante  Tristum. 

VI. 
ON    SIR    P.    SARSFIELD.* 

Oh  !  Patrick  Sarsfield,  Ireland's  wonder. 
Who  fought  in  field  like  any  thunder, 
One  of  King  James's  chief  commanders, 
Now  lies  the  food  of  crows  in  Flanders. 

Ohone ! 


O  !  Patrici  Sarsfield,  decus  mirantis  lernes, 
Cui  tonitru  simili  cernere  usus  erat : 

Jacobi  heroas  quo  non  praestantior  inter, 
Belgarum  corvis  mortuus  esca  jaces. 

Eheu  ! 

VII. 
ON    JOHN,    DUKE   OF   MARLBOROUGH. 

By  Doctor  Evans. 

Here  lies  John,  Duke  of  Marlborough, 

Who  ran  the  Frenchmen  thorough  and  thorough  ; 

Married  Sarah  Jennings,  spinster, 

Died  in  Saint  James's,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster. 


Hie  jacet  Dux  Marleburiensis, 
Qui  Gallos  secuit  tanquam  ensis  ; 
Virginem  duxit  Jenningiam  Saram  ; 
Mortuus  Jacobi  ad  regiam  claram, 
Sepultus  ad  Stephani  Martyris  aram  ! 


*  Under  a  very  fine  print  of  Sir  Patrick — engraved,  if  I  do  not  mistake, 
by  Lady  Bingbam,  his  daughter.  If  she  also  wrote  the  epitaph,  it  reflects 
great  credit  on  her  poetical  powers.  Sir  Patrick  fought  gallantly  for  James 
II,  in  Ireland,  and  left  it  on  the  overthrow  of  his  party.  On  the  Continent 
he  continued  his  aversion  to  William  III.,  and  was  killed  in  the  battle  of 
l-anden,  in  which  that  monarch  was  defeated.  He  was  a  brave  man. — 
M.  OU. 


i6o  THE  EMBALMER. 

I  must  apologise  for  introducing  a  supernumerary  line, 
and  also  for  bringing  "  regiam  claram  "  rhythmi  gratia.  Both 
practices,  however,  are  justifiable  by  high  poetic  authority 
in  this  and  other  countries. 


VIII. 

CONCLUSION  OF  THE  EPITAPH  ON  HENRY,  DUKE  OF  GRAF- 
TON, SON  OF  CHARLES  II.,  KILLED  AT  THE  SIEGE  OF 
CORK,    1690.* 

Yet  a  bullet  of  Cork 
It  did  his  work, 
Unhappy  pellet ! 
"With  grief  I  tell  it, 
It  has  undone 
Great  Caesar's  son  ! 
A  statesman's  spoiled ; 
A  soldier  foiled  ; 
God  rot  him 
Who  shot  him, — 

A  son  of  a ,f 

I  say  no  more, 
Here  lies  Henry,  the  Duke  of  Grafton  ! 


Sed  glans  Corcensis  stravit,  miserabile  telum, 
Heu  !  natum  rapuit  Cassaris  egregii, 

Excelsum  pariter  vel  bello  consiliisve  : — 
Csedentis  manus  occupet  atra  lues  ! 

Dispereat  scorti  soboles. — Nil  amplius  addam. 
Hie  sunt  Henrici  Graftonis  ossa  Ducis. 


*  Shot  by  a  blacksmith,  who  turned  out,  quoth  the  Cork  Remembrancer, 
from  a  forge  in  the  Old  Post  Office  lane,  as  he  was  crossing  the  river  Lee. 
The  place  where  he  fell  is  called  Grafton's  Alley.  The  epitaph  is  taken  from 
a  book  published  in  1702,  called  Poems  on  Affairs  of  State,  &c,  2  vols.  It  is 
written  by  Sir  F.  S d.— M.  OD. 

f  There  is  a  pleasant  equivoque  here.  We  are  left  in  the  dark  whether 
this  opprobrious  name  is  applied  to  the  blacksmith,  or  the  Duke,  of  whom 
we  know  it  was  quite  true.  Verbruggen,  the  comedian,  cracked  a  similar 
joke  on  the  Duke  of  Saint  Albans,  which  I  believe  is  in  Joe  MiUer.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  preserve  the  equivoque. — M,  OD. 


THE  EMBALMER.  i6i 

IX. 

ON   ROBIN    HOOD.* 

Underneath  this  little  stone 
Lies  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntingdon  ; 
He  was  in  truth  an  archer  good, 
And  people  called  him  Robin  Hood. 
Such  outlaws  as  he  and  his  men 
England  never  will  see  again. 

[Alcaiis.l 
Parvo  Robertas  hie  situs  est  comes 
Huntingdonensis  sub  lapide  obrutus  ; 
Nemo  negabit  quain  peritus 

Missilibus  fuerit  sagittis. 
Vulgo  vocatus  Robin  a  Hoodius, 
Exlex  in  agris  vivere  maluit ; 

In  Anglia  nunquam  Roberto 

Vel  sociis  similes  videbis. 

X. 

ON    SIR   DANIEL   DONNELLY,    C.    I.t 

Underneath  this  pillar  high 

Lies  Sir  Daniel  Donnelly  ; 

He  was  a  stout  and  handy  man, 

And  people  called  him  buffing  Dan. 

Knighthood  he  took  from  George's  sword. 

And  well  he  wore  it  by  my  word  ! 

He  died  at  last,  from  forty-seven 

Tumblers  of  punch  he  drank  one  even. 

O'erthrown  by  punch,  unharmed  by  fist, 

He  died  unbeaten  pugilist. 

Such  a  buffer  as  Donnelly 

Ireland  never  again  will  see. 


Hie  jacet,  sub  columna  stratus, 
Daniel  Donnellius  eques  auratus  ; 
Fortis  et  acer  ab  omnibus  ratus, 
Plagosus  Daniel  cognominatus, 


*  In  Percy's  Reliques. 

t  From  that  great  work,  Blackwood's  Magazme,  No.  XXXVIII.— M.  OD, 
VOL.  I.  L 


1 62  THE  EMBALMER. 

Eques  a  Georgio  fuit  creatiis, 
Ornavitqiie  ordinem  equitatns  ; 
Quadraginta  septem  trucidatus, 
Cantharis  punchi  hie  est  allatus  ; 
Potu,  non  pugno,  ita  domatus,* 
Cecidit  heros  nunquam  cequatus  ; 
Hiberninj  insulre  cjuA  fuit  natus 
Vir  talis  non  erit  posthac  datus, 

Enough  of  these.     Mamim  quod  aiunt  de  tahila. 

I  strongly  recommend  any  poet  who  wishes  for  immor- 
tahty  to  take  advantage  of  my  recipe.  I  am  ready  to 
translate  for  any  gentleman  at  a  fair  and  reasonable  rate. 
Nor  shall  I  be  over  hard  in  requiring  any  conditions  from 
him,  except  that  there  be  a  slight  degree  of  intelligibility  in 
what  he  writes,  say  about  four  degrees  above  Maturin's 
Universe ;  which,  I  hope,  is  not  too  much. 

*  More  antique  for  domitus. — M.  OD. 


Sono  in  praise  of  Mastic  an&  IRortb. 

Where'er  Odoherty  with  casual  foot 

Winds  through  this  weary  world  his  varied  way, 

Still  be  it  his  with  vigour  to  recruit 

His  toil-worn  frame,  and  moistify  his  clay 
With — any  potent  dram  his  taste  will  suit, 

To  toast  the  health  of  friends  beside  the  Forth — 

The  dauntless  Wastle  and  the  peerless  North ! 

Let  Southey  sing  of  Thalaba  and  Roderick, 
And  Scott  chaunt  forth  his  epic  strains,  to  tell 

How  Bruce's  vessel  left  the  Bay  of  Broderick, 
And  how,  at  Flodden,  Scotland's  ensign  fell ; 
Let  simple  Wordsworth  tune  on  Peter  Bell ; 

And  Coleridge  curdle  blood,  and  stiffen  hair, 

TeUing  how  spirits  plagued  the  Mariner. 

L,et  Crabbe  rhyme  on  'bout  vagabonds  and  flunkeys. 
Tailors  and  cobblers,  gipsies  and  their  brats. 

Riding  on  wicker  creels  or  half-starved  donkeys. 
Their  black  eyes  glancing  'neath  their  bits  of  hats  ; 
Let  Wilson  roam  to  Fairyland  :  but  that's 

An  oldish  story ;  I'll  lay  half  a  crown 

The  tiny  elves  are  smothered  by  his  gown. 

Let  missions  go  to  Greenland  with  Montgomery ; 

Let  green-sick  ladies  sonnetize  wnth  Bowles ; 
Let  Leigh  Hunt  sing  of  cabbages  and  flummery. 

And  currant-bushes  blooming  on  green  knowls  ; 

Let  Keats  draw  out  his  whinings  into  growls ; 


i64        SONG  IN  PRAISE  OF  WASTLE  AND  NORTH. 

Let  Corney  Webbe  write  sonnets  by  the  score, 
"  And  trample  wounded  Time  upon  the  floor." 

Let  Shelley  sing  of  darknesses  and  devilry, 
Till  earth  grows  Pandemonium  at  his  touch ; 

Let  Tommy  Moore,  that  son  and  soul  of  revilry, 
Praise  Indians  and  fire-worshippers,  and  such  : 
To  stretch  our  thoughts  so  far  is  rather  much  ; 

Although  to  spend  an  hour  we  do  not  grudge 

With  Twopenny  Post-bags,  Crib,  and  Betty  Fudge. 

Let  Mrs.  Hemans  chaunt  historic  tales 
Till  Cader  Idris  echoes  back  the  strain ; 

Let  Missy  Mitford  spread  adventurous  sails 
Far  south,  and  sing  Cristina  of  the  Main  ; 
Miss  Horford  now  may  visit  Falkirk  plain 

In  safety ;  as  the  only  danger  there 

Is  meeting  with  wild  cattle  at  the  fair. 

Let  Mrs.  Opie  sing  of  orphan  boys, 

Whose  sires  were  shot  with  slug  at  Trafalgar ; 

Let  Lady  Morgan  cant,  and  make  a  noise, 
With  Lindley  Murray  and  good  sense  at  war ; 
Miss  Baillie  no  doubt  is  a  shining  star : 

But  unto  none  I  will  attend,  unless — 

What  is  the  si/ie  qua  non  ?     Only  guess. 

Unless  in  Blackwoodh  pine-tree  grove  he  flourish, 

Writing  an  article  for  every  number, 
With  fun  and  frolic.     These  are  things  that  nourish 

The  heart  of  man,  and  keep  his  eyes  from  slumber. 

I  like  none  of  your  melancholy  lumber. 
Your  sonnets  and  your  sentimental  tales, 
As  tardy  of  digestion  as  brass  nails. 

You  see  I'm  tainted  with  the  metromanie. 
And  not  a  little  proud  of  innovation  : 


SONG  IN  PRAISE  OF  WASTLE  AND  NORTH.        165 

I'll  have  original  verse  as  well  as  any, 
And  not  think  there's  any  great  occasion 
To  write  like  Frere  and  Byron.     When  the  nation 

Talks  of  the  seven-line  stanza,  they  shall  cry — 

Aye  !  that's  the  stanza  of  Odoherty  ! 


On  being  asked  who  7uroie  "  Tlie  Groves  of  Blarney ^^ 

"  Who," — ask  ye  !     No  matter. — This  tongue  shall  not  tell 
O'er  the  board  of  oblivion  the  name  of  the  bard  ; 

Nor  shall  it  be  uttered  but  with  the  proud  spell 
That  sheds  on  the  perished  their  only  reward. 

No,  no  !  look  abroad,  sir,  the  last  of  October, 

In  the  pages  of  Blackwood  that  name  shall  be  writ, 

For  Christopher's  self,  be  he  tipsy  or  sober, 

Was  not  more  than  his  match,  in  wine,  wisdom,  or  wit. 

Ye  Dowdens  and  Jenningses,  wits  of  Cork  city. 

Though  mighty  the  heroes  that  chime  in  your  song, 

Effervescing  and  eloquent,  more  is  the  pity 
Ye  forget  the  great  poet  of  Blarney  so  long. 

I  mean  not  the  second,  O'Fogarty  hight. 

Who  can  speak  for  himself,  from  his  own  native  Helicon ; 
I  sing  of  an  elder,  in  birth  and  in  might, 

(Be  it  said  with  true  deference) — honest  Dick  Millikin. 

Then  fill  up,  to  his  mem'ry,  a  bumper,  my  boys  : 
'Twill  cheer  his  sad  ghost,  as  it  toddles  along 

I'hrough  Pluto's  dark  alleys,  in  search  of  the  joys 
That  were  dear  upon  earth  to  this  step-son  of  song. 

And  this  be  the  rule  of  the  banquet  for  aye, 

When  the  goblets  all  ring  with  "  Och  hone,  Ullagone  ! " 

Remember  this  pledge,  as  a  tribute  to  pay 

To  the  name  of  a  minstrel  so  sweet,  so  unknown. 

September  i,  1821. 


Specimens  ot  a  ifree  auD  Bas^  translation. 

In  which  Horace  is  done  (for)  into  English,  and  adapted  to  the  Taste 
of  the  Present  Gene7-ation. 

PRELIMINARY  LETTER.—  Private. 

Dear  North, — I  am  sorry  to  learn,  by  your  last,  that  you 
have  had  such  a  severe  twitch  this  time ;  keep  warm  in 
Welch  flannel,  live  soberly,  and  no  more  desperate  attempts 
with  the  Eau  Medicinale  d'Husson.  It  will  be  no  farce,  I 
assure  you,  if  the  gout  fly  bolt  into  your  stomach,  like  a 
Congreve  rocket  into  the  ditto  of  a  whale,  and  carry  you 
off  in  the  twinkling  of  a  walking-stick.  Then  there  would 
be  wiping  of  eyes,  and  blowing  of  noses ;  crape,  weepers, 
and  long  cravats,  throughout  the  land.  Then  there  would 
be  a  breaking  up  of  the  glorious  divan.  Wastle  would 
leave  his  High  Street  lodgings,  and  retire  to  his  "airy 
citadel ; "  Morris  would  sell  his  shandrydan,  and  keep  house 
at  Aberystwith  for  life ;  Kempferhausen  would  pack  up  for 
Allemagne ;  Eremus  would  commence  grinder  to  the  embryo 
divines  at  Aberdeen ;  the  Odontist  would  forswear  poetry, 
take  a  large  farm,  and  study  Malthus  on  Population ;  Delta 
would  take  parson's  orders ;  Paddy  from  Cork  would  fall 
into  "  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy,"  toss  the  remaining 
cantos  of  his  epic  to  Beelzebub,  and  button  his  coat  behind  ; 
MuUion  would  sell  butter  and  eggs  at  his  provision-ware- 
house, Grassmarket,  and  sedulously  look  forward  to  the 
provostship ;  while  poor  Odoherty  (alas,  poor  Yorick ! ) 
would  send  his  luggage  to  Dunleary  harbour,  and  away 
to  the  fighting  trade  in  South  America.  Then  would  there 
be   a   trumpeting   and    tantararaing   among   the   Whigs, — 


i6S  SPECIMENS  OF 

"  Quassha  ma  boo  !  Our  masters  are  no  more  ! "  would  be 
echoed  by  every  lip  among  them ;  and  then,  but  not  till 
then,  with  some  shadow  of  hope  might  they  look  forward 
to  their  holding  the  reins  of  government,  though,  after  all, 
most  of  them,  if  they  did  not  hold  well  by  the  mane,  would 
fall  off  the  steed's  back  into  the  mire,  they  are  such  shocking 
bad  riders ;  while  the  Radicals  would  press  forward,  and 
tread  on  their  ribs  in  turn ;  Glasgow  weavers  would  spin 
ropes  to  hang  up  whoever  was  obnoxious  to  them  ;  Sheffield 
cutlers  would  grind  razors  to  cut  throats ;  and  the  Ribbon- 
men  of  Erin,  and  all  "  the  ragged,  royal  race  of  Tara " 
would  look  forward  to  seats  in  the  Cabinet.  Then,  indeed, 
would  there  be  a  complete  revolution  in  Church  and 
State ;  churchmen  would  be  cut  shorter  by  the  head,  the 
national  debt  washed  out  with  a  dishclout,  and  taxes 
abolished ;  and  then,  instead  of  election  being  fettered,  and 
parliaments  septennial,  there  would  be  universal  suffrage,  and 
no  parliaments  at  all.  Then  would  the  Saturnian  age  return 
to  bless  the  world  ;  then  would  Lucifer  hawk  about  his  golden 
pippins,  and  find  abundant  sale  for  them ;  then  would  all 
property  be  common,  and  pickpockets  left  without  a  trade ; 
while  no  person  would  have  anything  to  do — at  least,  any 
right  to  do  anything,  except  smoking  his  pipe,  draining  his 
mug,  and  snoring  in  his  hammock. 

My  dear  North,  take  care  of  the  damp  weather,  and  I 
warrant  that,  for  many  a  long  year  to  come,  you  shall  keep 
death  and  the  doctor  at  complete  defiance  ;  behold  the  cause 
of  true  freedom  and  loyalty  prospering  around  you ;  and, 
were  it  not  that  you  are  a  bachelor,  rejoice  in  the  caresses  of 
your  children's  children. 

From  you,  my  revered  friend,  I  shall  descend  to  a  humbler 
topic;  "one  on  which,"  to  use  the  words  of  Byron,  "all  are 
supposed  to  be  fluent,  and  none  agreeable — self." 

istly,  With  regard  to  health,  I  find  myself  as  well  as  I  wish 
all  others  to  be.  My  sprained  ancle  is  now  quite  convalescent, 
poor  thing  ;  and,  by  persevering  in  rubbing  a  tea-spoonful  of 
opodeldoc  upon  it  every  morning,  it  will  soon  be  as  strong  as 


A  FREE  AND  EASY  TRANSLATION.  169 

a  bedpost.  I  occasionally  take  a  Seidlitz  powder  to  keep  my 
stomach  in  order;  for,  depend  upon  it,  the  stomach  of  a 
literary  man  is  almost  of  as  much  consequence  as  his  head. 
Talking  of  the  top-piece,  I  have  an  occasional  headache  ;  that 
is  to  say,  after  being  too  late  out  at  night ;  but  which  I  effec- 
tually remove  and  rectify  by  a  bottle  of  sodawater — our 
friend  Jennings'  if  possible  ;  for  it  excels  all  others  as  much 
as  his  poetry  the  common  run  of  verses,  and  stands,  in 
relation  to  every  other  compound  of  the  kind,  in  the  same 
degree  of  excellence  and  superiority  as  Day  and  Martin's 
patent  blacking  to  that  made  with  soot,  saliva,  and  small 
beer. 

2dly,  With  respect  to  my  intellectual  pursuits.  Pray, 
what  makes  you  so  earnest  to  learn  what  a  retired  and  obscure 
man  like  me  is  about,  and  whose  poor  contributions  to  litera- 
ture are  but  a  drop  in  the  bucket,  compared  with  what  you 
every  day  receive  from  the  bright  luminaries  of  the  age  ? 
But  I  value  your  partiality  as  I  ought ;  and,  though  I  am  to 
these  as  a  farthing  candle  to  a  six-in-the-pound,  you  gene- 
rously dip  my  wick  in  your  own  turpentine,  to  make  it  blaze 
brighter. 

I  blush  scarlet  (God  bless  the  army,  and  their  coats  of 
scarlet ! )  when  I  confess,  on  my  knees  (by  the  by,  there  is 
no  need  of  kneeling,  when  you  cannot  see  me),  that  I  have 
been  for  some  time  notoriously  idle.  Salamanca  is  such  a 
noble  beast  that  I  could  not  resist  taking  him  out  to  the 
hounds  (I  have  won  the  brush  thrice) ;  and  then  partridges 
were  so  plenty,  I  said  it  would  waste  little  powder  and  shot 
daily  to  fill  and  replenish  my  bag;  and  then  there  was 
sometimes  cricket  in  the  morning,  and  loo  in  the  afternoon, 
and  blows-out  at  night,  and  all  that.  Horresco  refere7is.  I 
have  been  shamefully  idle  ;  but  I  am  determined  to  stick  to  it 
like  rosin  this  winter ;  and  hang  me  if  I  do  not  astonish  the 
natives ;  I  shall  make  some  of  them  gaze  up  to  the  clouds 
in  wonder,  and  others  to  shake  in  their  shoes.  In  the  interim, 
I  enclose  specimens  of  a  new,  free,  and  easy  translation  (I 
should  .say,  imitation)  of  Horace.     I  have  got  finished  with 


I70 


SPECIMENS  OF 


the  Odes,  and  am  busy  with  the  Satires,  writing  at  the  rate 
of  four  hundred  hnes  a  day.  Let  me  know,  when  con- 
venient, what  you  think  of  them  ;  make  a  church  and  a  mill 
of  them  afterwards.  Give  my  best  respects  to  Mr.  Blackwood, 
when  you  see  him,  and  believe  me,  while  I  have  breath  in 
my  nostrils, 

Yours  devoutly, 

Morgan  Odoherty. 

Dublin,  2d  December  1821. 

HORACE,  BOOK  FIRST. 


ODE  I. 


To  Christopher  A'orth,  Esq. 


Ad  Maecenatejii. 

Maecenas,  atavis  edite  regi- 

bus, 
Oet  praesidiiim  et  dulcedecus 

meum  ! 

Sunt  quos  curriculo  pulverem 

Olympicum 
Collegisse  juvat,  metaque  fer- 

vidis 
Evitata  rotis,  palmaque  nobi- 

lis 
Terranim  dominos  evehit  ad 

deos : 


Hunc,  si  mobilium  turba Quir- 

itium 
Certat  tergeminis  tollere  hon- 

oribus : 


Hail  !  Christopher,  my  patron  dear, 

Descended  from  your  grandfather  ; 

To  thee,  my  bosom  friend,  I  fly, 

Brass  buckler  of  Odoherty  ! 

Some  are  who  all  their  hours  consume 

With  well-trained  horse  and  sweated  groom, 

Who,  if  the  Doncaster  they  gain, 

Or,  coming  first,  with  lightened  rein, 

At  the  St.  Leger,  bear  away 

Elate  the  honours  of  the  day. 

Pull  up  their  collars  to  their  ears, 

And  think  themselves  amid  the  spheres. 

Such  art  thou,  Lambton,  Kelburne,  Pierse, 

And  more  than  I  can  name  in  verse. 

Another  tries,  with  furious  speech, 

The  bottoms  of  the  mob  to  reach  : 

Here  on  the  hustings  stands  Biirdett, 

With  trope  and  start  their  zeal  to  whet  ; 

While  jackal  Hobhouse,  sure  to  tire  on 

Tracking  alway  the  steps  of  Byron, 

Stands  at  his  arm,  with  words  of  nectar, 

Determined  to  out-hector  Hector. 

Preston,  with  rosin  on  his  beard. 

Starts  up,  determined  to  be  heard. 

And  swears  destruction  to  the  bones 

Of  those  who  will  not  hear  Gale  Jones  ; 

While  Leigh  Hunt,  in  the  Exa7niner, 

About  them  tries  to  make  a  stir. 

And  says  (who  doubts  him  ?)  men  like  these 

Shame  TuUy  and  Demosthenes. 


A  FREE  AND  EASY  TRANSLATION. 


171 


Ilium,  si  proprio  condidit  hor- 

reo 
Quidquid  de  Libycis  verritur 

areis  : 
Gaudentem  patrios  findere  sar- 

culo 
Agros, 

Attalicis  conditionibus 
Nunquam  dimoveas,  ut  trabe 

Cypria 
Myrtoum  pavidus  nauta  secet 

mare. 


Luctantem    Icariis    fliictibus 

Africum 
Meicator   metuens,    otium  et 

oppidi 
Laudat  rura  sui  :  mox  reficit 

rates 
Quassas,  indocilis  pauperiem 

pati. 


Est    qui    nee   veteris  pocula 

Massici, 
Nee  partem  solido  demere  de 

die, 
Spernit, 


nunc  viridi  membra  sub 
arbuto 
Stratus,  nunc  ad  aquae  lene 
caput  sacrae. 

Multos  castra  juvant,  et  lituo 

tubae 
Permixtu^  sonitus, 


bellaque  matribus 


Detestata. 


Manet  sub  Jove  frigido 
Venator,  tenerae  conjugis  im- 

memor ; 
Seu    visa    est    catulis    cerva 

fidelibus, 
Seu  rupit  teretes  Marsus  aper 

plagas. 


A  third,  like  Sir  John  Sinclair,  tries 

To  hold  the  harrow  to  the  skies  ; 

And  thinks  there  is  no  nobler  work 

Than  scattering  manure  with  the  fork, 

Except  (as  Mr.  Coke  prefers) 

To  catch  the  sheep,  and  ply  the  shears  : 

Although  you'd  give,  in  guineas  round, 

A  plum  (i.e.,  one  hundred  thousand  pound), 

You  could  not  get  these  men,  I  know. 

Aboard  the  northern  ships  to  go, 

Through  frozen  latitudes  to  stroll, 

And  see  if  ice  surrounds  the  pole. 

They  wash  success  to  Captain  Parry, 

But  yet  at  home  would  rather  tarry. 

In  slippers  red,  before  the  fire. 

With  negus  to  his  heart's  desire. 

The  merchant  sits  ;  he  winks  and  snores, 

The  north  wind  in  the  chimney  roars ; 

Waking,  he  bawls  aloud — "  Od  rot  'em, 

I  fear  my  ships  are  at  the  bottom  ! 

The  crews  are  trifles  to  be  sure, 

But  then  the  cargoes  a'n't  secure  : 

'Change  will  be  changed  for  me  to-morrow. 

Alack  !  for  poverty  and  sorrow  !  " 

Men  are — I  know  them — let  that  pass. 

Who  crack  a  joke,  and  love  a  glass, 

Whether,  like  Falstaff,  it  be  sack, 

Champagne,  old  hock,  or  Frontiniac, 

Or  whisky-punch,  which,  jovial  dog. 

Is  true  heart'sbalsam  to  James  Hogg. 

Like  Wordsworth,  under  pleasant  trees 

Some  take  delight  to  catch  the  breeze  ; 

Or  lie  amid  the  pastoral  mountains. 

And  hsten  to  the  bubbling  fountains. 

Many  in  camps  delight  to  hear 

The  fife  and  bugle's  music  clear. 

While  hautboy  sweet,  and  kettle-drum. 

Upon  the  ear  like  thunder  come. 

Though  youngsters  love  a  battle  hot,  ■ 

Their  anxious  mothers  love  it  not : — 

While  in  the  fray  a  son  remains  out. 

Some  erring  ball  may  knock  his  brains  out. 

O'er  hedge  and  ditch,  through  field  and  thicket. 

With  buckskin  breeches  and  red  jacket, 

On  spanking  steed  the  huntsman  flies, 

Led  by  the  deep-mouthed  stag-hounds'  cries  : 

Meanwhile  his  spouse,  in  lonely  bed, 

Laments  that  she  was  ever  wed  ; 


172 


SPECIMEN'S  OF 


Medoctarumhederae  praemia 

frontium 
Dis  miscent  superis  ; 


me  gelidum  nemus, 
Nympharumqiie    leves     cum 

Satyris  cliori 
Secernunt  populo : 


SI  neque  tibias 
Euterpe   cohibet,    nee   Poly- 
hymnia 
Lesboum  refugit  tendere  bar- 
biton. 


Quod  si    me  lyricis    vatibus 

inseris, 
Sublimi  feriam  sidera  vertice. 


And,  tossed  on  wedlock's  stormy  billow, 
Like  the  M'Whirter,  clasps  her  pillow, 
And  sighs,  while  fondling  it  about, 
"  Thou  art  my  only  child,  I  doubt  ! " 
— For  me  a  laurel  crown,  like  that 
Used  for  a  band  to  Southey's  hat 
(Not  such  as  Cockney  Will  abuses, 
And  Leigh  Hunt  for  a  night-cap  uses), 
Would  make  me,  amid  wits,  appear 
A  Sampson  and  a  grenadier  ! 
Then  many  a  nymph,  with  sparkling  eye. 
Would  crowd  around  Odoherty  ; 
Swift  at  the  tune  which  Lady  Morgan 
Would  play  upon  the  barrel  organ  ; 
MacCraws,  and  all  my  second  cousins, 
And  light-heeled  blue-stockings  by  dozens, 
With  nimble  toe  would  touch  the  ground, 
And  form  a  choral  ring  around. 
Oh  that  James  Hogg,  my  chosen  friend, 
His  glowing  fancy  would  me  lend — 
His  restless  fancy,  wandering  still 
By  lonely  mount  and  fairy  rill  ! 
That  Dr.  Scott,  with  forceps  stout, 
Would  draw  my  stumps  of  dulness  out ; 
Exalt  my  heart  o'er  churlish  earth, 
And  fill  me  with  his  fun  and  mirth  ; 
Then,  Anak-like,  'mid  men  I'd  stray, 
Men  that  like  mice  would  throng  my  way, 
Rise  high  o'er  all  terrestrial  jars, 
And  singe  my  poll  against  the  stars. 


ODE    FIFTH,    BOOK    FIRST. 

A  d  Pyrrham.  ^^  ^olly  M '  Wh  irter. 

Quis  multa  gracilis  tepuer  in  What    exquisite,    tell    me,    besprinkled    with 

rosa         _  ■     J 

Perfusus  liquidis  urguet  odor-  ' 

ibus  With   bergamot,   and   I'hiiile   antique   a  la 

Grato,  Pyrrha,  subantro?  rose 

Cui  flavam  religas  co-  vt  '      ^t  ^i,   ^^      ,-,  .     ,. 

mam  ^°w  presses  thee,  Molly  (I  scarce  can  believe 

it), 
To    march   to    the    parson,   and    finish    his 
woes? 


Simplex    munditiis?     Heu!  For  whom  do  ye  comb,  brush,  and  fillet  your 

quoties  hdem  ■'                                                       /"". 

Mutatosque  deos  flebit,  et  as-  tresses  ? 

pera  Whoever  he  be  has  not  sorrows  to  seek  ; 


A  FREE  AND  EASY  TRANSLATION. 


17- 


Nigris  aequora  ventis 
Emirabitur  insolens. 


Thou   daily  shalt  bring  him   a   peck    of  dis- 
tresses ; 
Then  kick  him,  and  kiss  a  new  gallant  next 
week. 


Qui  nunc  te  fiuitur  credulus 

aurea  ; 
Qui  semper  vacuam,  semper 

amabilem, 
Sperat,  nescius  aurae 

Fallacis!  Miseri,  quibus 


He  trusts  that  you'll  love  him,  and  doat  on  him 
ever, 
And    thinks    you    a    goddess    reserved    for 
himself : 
But,  Molly,  there's  too  much  red  blood  in  your 
liver, 
And  antlers  shall  soon  grace  the  poor  silly  elf. 


Intentata  nites  !  Me  tabula 
sacer 

Votiva  paries  indicat  uvida 
Su«pendisse  potenti 
Vestimenta  maris  deo. 


To  some  Johnny  Raw  thou  wilt  shine  like    a 
planet, 
For  lecturing  Magnus  has  left  thee  behind  ; 
And  since  I  have  escaped  thee  (oh  !  blessings 
be  on  it), 
I  will  hang  up  an  old  coat  in  St.  Mary's  Wynd. 


ODE   NINTH,    BOOK    FIRST. 


Ad  Thaliarchum. 

Vides,  ut  alta  stet  nive  candi- 

dum 
Soracte,    nee  jam   sustineant 
onus 
Silvaelaborantes.geluque 
Flumina       constitcrint 
acuto. 

Dissolve    frigus,  ligna  super 

foco 
Large   reponens ;    atque   be- 
nignius 
Deprome  quadrimum  Sa- 
bina, 
O  Thaliarche  !  merum 
dioca. 

Permitte  divis  caetera  ;    qui 

simul 
Stravere  ventos  aequore  fer- 
vido 
Depraeliantes,   nee    eup- 
ressi 
Nee  veteres  agitantur 
orni. 

Quid  sit  futurum  eras,  fuge 

quaerere,  et, 
Quern  Fors  dierum  cumque 
dabit,  lucro 
Appone  ;  nee  dulces 

amores 
Spernt:  puer,  neque  tu 
choreas. 


To  Dr.  Scott. 

Look  out,  and  see  old  Arthur's  Seat 

Dressed  in  a  periwig  of  snow  : 
Cold  sweeps  the  blast  down  Niddry  Street, 

And  through  the  Netherbow. 

Sharp  frost,  begone  !  haste,  send  the  maid 
With  coals  two  shovelsful  and  more  ; 

Fill  up  your  rummers — why  afraid  ? — 
And  bolt  the  parlour  door. 


Leave  all  to  Fortune,  Dr.  Scott, 
Though  tempests  growl  amid  the  trees. 

While  we  have  rum-puncii  smoking  hot. 
We  sha'n't  most  likely  freeze. 


A  fig  about  to-morrow's  fare ! 

A  twenty  thousand  prize,  my  buck 
(Nay,  do  not  laugh),  may  be  my  share  ; 

Won't  that  be  rare  good-luck? 


1/4 


A  FREE  AND  EASY  TRANSLATION. 


Donee  virenti  canities  abest 
Morosa.    Nunc  et  campus,  et 
areae, 
Lenesque  sub  noctem  su- 
surri 
Composita  repetantur 
hora: 


Doctor,  I'm  sure  you'll  toast  the  fair ; 

Shnnie  to  the  tongue  would  say  nie  nay  ; 
You'll  toast  tliem,  till  the  very  hair 

Of  your  peruke  turn  grey. 

St.  Giles's  spire  with  snow  is  white, 
And  every  roof  seems  overgrown  ; 

Sharp  winds  that  come,  at  fall  of  night, 
Down  High  Street  closes  moan  ; 


Nunc  et  latentis  proditor  in- 

timo 
Gratus  puellae  risus  ab  angulo, 
Pignusque    dereptum   la- 
certis, 
Aut  digito  male   perti- 
naci. 


There,  battering  police  officers. 

Hark  how  the  mad  jades  curse  and  ban, 
While  Polly  cuffs  some  spoonie's  ears, 

And  cries,  "Sir,  I'm  your  man  ! ' 


^nisbowcn. 


I  CARE  not  a  fig  for  a  flagon  of  flip, 

Or  a  whistling  can  of  rumbo  ; 
But  my  tongue  through  whisky-punch  will  slip 

As  nimble  as  Hurlothrumbo. 
So  put  the  spirits  on  the  board, 

And  give  the  lemons  a  squeezer, 
And  we'll  mix  a  jorum,  by  the  Lord  ! 

That  will  make  your  worship  sneeze,  sir. 


The  French,  no  doubt,  are  famous  souls, 

I  love  them  for  their  brandy ; 
In  rum  and  sweet  tobacco-rolls 

Jamaica  men  are  handy. 
The  big-breeched  Dutch  in  juniper  gin, 

I  own,  are  very  knowing ; 
But  are  rum,  gin,  brandy,  worth  a  pin 

Compared  with  Inishowen  ? 

3- 

Though  here  with  a  lord  'tis  jolly  and  fine 

To  tumble  down  Lachryma  Christi, 
And  over  a  skin  of  Italy's  wine 

To  get  a  little  misty  ; 
Yet  not  the  blood  of  the  Bourdeaux  grape, 

The  finest  grape-juice  going. 
Nor  clammy  Constantia,  the  pride  of  the  Cape, 

Prefer  I  to  Inishowen. 


H  ^vvi5t*imoup  in  favour  of  Gin^twtst 

^/i  htimblc  irnitation  of  that  admirable  Poetn,  the  Ex-ale-tation  of  Ale, 
attributed  by  grave  atithors  to  Bishop  Andrews,  on  which  point  is  to 
be  consulted  Francis,  Lord  Verulam,  a  celebrated  Philosopher,  who  has 
been  lately  be-scoped-and  tendencied  by  Macvev  Napier,  Esq. 

Running 
I .  hidex  of 

Matters. 

At  one  in  the  morn,  as  I  went  staggering  home,      Proem. 

With  nothing  at  all  in  my  hand  but  my  fist. 
At  the  end  of  the  street  a  good  youth  I   did 
meet, 

Who  asked  me  to  join  in  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

2. 

"Though  'tis  late,"  I  replied,   "and  I'm  muggy   Gin-twist.' 
beside. 
Yet  an  offer  like  this  I  could  never  resist ; 
So  let's  waddle  away,  sans  a  moment's  delay. 
And  in  style  we'll  demolish  your  jug  of  gin- 
twist." 

3- 

The   friends   of    the   grape   may   boast   of    rich   Wines. 
Cape, 

Hock,  Claret,  Madeira,  or  Lachryma  Christ, 
But  this  muzzle  of  mine  was  never  so  fine 

As  to  value  them  more  than  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

4- 
The  people  of  Nantz,  in  the  kingdom  of  France,    Brandy. 
Bright   brandy   they    brew,    liquor   not   to  be 
hissed ; 


A  TWIST-IMONY  IN  FAVOUR  OF  GIN-TWIST.        177 

It  may  do  as  a  dram,  but  'tis  not  worth  a  damn, 
When  watered,  compared  with  a  jug  of  gin- 
twist. 

5- 

Antigua,  Jamaica,  they  certainly  make  a  Rum. 

Grand  species  of  rum,  which  should  ne'er  be 
dismissed ; 
It  is  splendid  as  grog,  but  never,  you  dog. 

Esteem  it  as  punch,  like  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

6. 

Ye  bailies  of  Glasgow  !  Wise  men  of  the  West !       Coid  Punch. 

Without  your  rum  bowls  you'd  look  certainly 
tristes  ; 
Yet  I  laugh  when  I'm  told  that  liquor  so  cold 

Is  as  good  as  a  foaming  hot  jug  of  gin-twist. 

7- 
The   bog-trotting   Teagues  in  clear    whisky  de-   Potsheen. 
light, 
Preferring  potsheen  to  all  drinks  that  exist ; 
I  grieve,  ne'ertheless,  that  it  does  not  possess 
The  juniper  smack  of  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

8. 

Farintosh  and  Glenlivet,  I  hear,  are  the  boast  Farintosh. 

Of  those  breechesless  heroes,  the  Sons  of  the 
Mist ; 
But  may  I  go  choke  if  that  villainous  smoke 

I'd  name  in  a  day  with  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

9- 

Yet  the  Celtic  I  love,  and  should  join  them,  by   The  Celtic. 

Jove! 
Though  Glengarry  should  vow  I'd  no  right  to 

enlist ; 
VOL.  I.  M 


178  A  TWIST-IMONY 

For  that  chief,  do  you  see,  I'd  not  care  a  bawbee, 
If  strongly  entrenched  o'er  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

lO. 

Kilts.  One  rule  they  lay  down  is  the  reason,  I  own. 

Why  from  joining  their  plaided  array  I  desist ; 
Because  they  declare  that  no  one  shall  wear 
Of  breeches  a  pair,  o'er  their  jugs  of  gin-twist. 

II. 

Breeches.       This  is  plainly  absurd,  I  give  you  my  word. 

Of  this  bare-rumped  reg'lation  I  ne'er  saw  the 
gist; 
In  my  gay  corduroys,  can't  these  philabeg  boys 
Suffer  me  to  get  drunk  o'er  my  jug  of  gin-twist  ? 


12. 


Rack.  In  India  they  smack  a  liquor  called  rack, 

Which  I  never  quaffed  (at  least  that  I  wist) ; 
I'm  told  'tis  like  tow  in  its  taste,  and,  if  so, 
Very  different  stuff  from  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

13- 

Porter  and    As  for  portcr  and  ale — 'fore  Gad,  I  turn  pale, 
^''^-  When  people  on  such  things  as  these  can  in- 

sist; 
They  may  do  for  dull  clods,  but,  by  all  of  the 
gods  ! 
They  are  hog-wash  when  matched  with  a  jug  of 
gin-twist. 

14. 

Tea.  Why  tea  we  import  I  could  never  conceive ; 

To  the  Mandarin  folk,  to  be  sure,  it  brings  grist ; 
But  in  our  western  soils  the  spirits  it  spoils, 
While  to  heaven  they  are  raised  by  a  jug  of  gin- 
twist. 


IN  FAVOUR  OF  GIN-TWIST.  179 

15- 


Look   at   Hazlitt   and    Hunt,    most    unfortunate   Hazii 


ttt, 


mir  I  Hunt, 

P^^^  •  Bohea.  Z. 

Black    and  blue    from  the    kicks  of   a    stern 

satirist ; 
But  would  Mynheer   Izzard   once   trouble  their 

gizzard, 
If  bohea  they  exchanged  for  a  jug  of  gin-twist  ? 

16. 

Leibnitz  held  that  this  earth  was  the  first  of  all   Leibnitz. 
worlds. 

And  no  wonder  the  buck  was  a  firm  optimist ; 
For  'twas  always  his  use,  as  a  proof  to  adduce 

Of  the  truth  of  his  doctrine,  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

17- 
It  cures  all  the  vapours  and  mulligrub  capers ;  Howard. 

It  makes  you  like  Howard,  the  philanthro-pist ; 
Woe,  trouble,  and  pain,  that  bother  your  brain, 

Are  banished  out  clean  by  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

18. 

You  turn  up  your  nose  at  all  of  your  foes.  Law  of  libel. 

Abuse  you,  traduce  you,  they  may  if  they  Hst ; 
The  lawyers,  I'm  sure,  would  look  very  poor, 

If  their  clients  would  stick  to  their  jugs  of  gin- 
twist. 

19. 

There's  Leslie,  my  friend,  who  went  ramstam  to   Mr.  Leslie 

I  and  Dr. 

law  Olinthus 

Because  Petre  had  styled  him  a  poor  Hebraist ;      '^'^"^' 
And  you  see  how  the  jury,  in  spite  of  his  fury, 
Gave  him  comfort  far  less  than  one  jug  of  gin- 
twist. 


I  So  A  TWIST-IMONY  ; 


Kit  North. 


20. 

Leslie  and      And  therefore,  I  guess,  sir,  the  celebre  Professor, 
Even  though  culpably  quizzed  as  a  mere  sciolist, 
Would  have  found  it  much  meeter  to  have  laughed 
at  old  Petre, 
And  got  drunk  with  Kit  North  o'er  a  jug  of  gin- 
twist. 


21. 

Stranguary.    j|;s  mcdical  virtues         * 


*  *  * 

******  •>■■ 
******* 
******* 

*         *         *         *     a  jug  of  gin-twist. 
22. 


Broci<den      By  its  magical  aid  a  toper  is  made, 
rown..  \j^Q,  Brockden  Brown's  hero,  a  ventriloquist ; 

For  my  belly  cries  out,  with  an  audible  shout, 
"  Fill  up  every  chink  with  a  jug  of  gin-twist." 

23- 
Cosmogony.    Gcologers  all,  great,  middling,  and  small, 

Whether  fiery  Plutonian  or  wet  Neptunist, 
Most  gladly,  it  seems,  seek  proofs  for  their  schemes 
In  the  water,  or  spirit,  of  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

24. 
Geology.        These   grubbers   of  ground    (whom    God    may 
confound  !), 
Forgetting  transition,  trap,  hornblende,  or  schist, 
And  all  other  sorts,  think  only  of  quartz — 
I  mean,  of  the  quarts  in  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

25. 
Parnassus.      Though  two    dozen    of  verse    I've  contrived    to 
rehearse. 
Yet  still  I  can  sing  like  a  true  melodist ; 


IN  FAVOUR  OF  GIN-TWIST. 


For  they  are  but  asses  who  think  that  Parnassus 
In  spirit  surpasses  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


i8i 


26. 

It  makes  you  to  speak  Dutch,  Latin,  or  Greek ; 

Even  learning  Chinese  very  much  'twould  assist : 
I'll  discourse  you  in  Hebrew,  provided  that  ye  brew 

A  most  Massorethical  jug  of  gin-twist. 


The 
Massora. 


27. 

When  its  amiable  stream,  all  enveloped  in  steam,    The 
Is  dashed  to  and  fro  by  a  vigorous  wrist,  icturesque. 

How  sweet  a  cascade  every  moment  is  made 
By  the  artist  who  fashions  a  jug  of  gin-twist ! 


28. 
Sweet  stream  !    There  is  none  but  delights  in  thy    whi, 
flow, 
Save  that  vagabond  villain,  the  Whig  atheist ; 
For  done  was  the  job  for  his  patron.  Sir  Bob,* 
When  he  dared  to  wage  war  'gainst  a  jug  of 
gin-twist. 


29. 

Don't  think  by  its  name,  from  Geneva  it  came. 
The  sour  little  source  of  the  Kirk  Calvinist — 

A  fig  for  Jack  Calvin  !     My  processes  alvine 
Are  much  more  rejoiced  by  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


?ery. 


John  Calvin. 


Let  the  Scotsman  delight  in  malice  and  spite,  Michael 

The  black-legs  at  Brooks's  in  hazard  or  whist ;  Tayfor/Esq. 

Tom  Dibdin  in  books,  Micky  Taylor  in  cooks  :  '^'  ^'^' 

My  pleasure  is  fixed  in  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 

*  Sir  R.  Walpole ;  justly  turned  out  for  taxing  gin.      He  was  the  last 
decent  man  who  committed  Whiggery,  nevertheless. — M.  OD. 


lS2 


A  TWIST-IMONY 


Precious 
stones. 


31 

Though  the  point  of  my  nose  grow  as  red  as  a  rose 

Or  rival  in  hue  a  superb  amethyst, 
Yet  no  matter  for  that,  I  tell  you  'tis  flat, 

I  shall  still  take  a  pull  at  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


32. 

Wise  men  of  There  was  old  Cleobulus,  who,  meaning  to  fool  us, 
Greece.  ^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^  j^j^  saying,  TO  MKTPON  APIST'; 

But  he'd  never  keep  measure,  if  he  had  but  the 
pleasure 
Of  washing  his  throat  with  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


33- 

Kisses.  There  are  dandies  and  blockheads,  who  vapour 

and  boast 
Of  the  favours  of  girls  they  never  have  kissed  ; 
That  is  not  the  thing,  and  therefore,  by  jing  ! 
I  kiss  while  I'm  praising  my  jug  of  gin-twist. 


Plato.  While  over  the  glass  I  should  be  an  ass 

To  make  moping  love  like  a  dull  Platonist ; 
That  ne'er  was  my  fashion  :  I  swear  that  my  passion 
Is  as  hot  as  itself  for  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


©oAaTTa 
6a\a.TTa. 


35- 
Although  it  is  time  to  finish  my  rhyme. 

Yet  the  subject's  so  sweet  I  can  scarcely  desist ; 
While  its  grateful  perfume  is  delighting  the  room. 

How  can  I  be  mute  o'er  a  jug  of  gin-twist  ? 


36. 


God  save      Yet  siuce  I've  made  out,  without  any  doubt, 
THE  King.         q^  -^^^  merits  and  glories  a  flourishing  list, 


IN  FAVOUR  OF  GIN-TWIST.  183 

Let  us  end  with  a  toast,  which  we  cherish  the  most : 
Here's  "  God  save  the  King  ! "  in  a  glass  of 
gin-twist. 

37- 

Then  I  bade  him  good-night  in  a  most  jolly  plight,   /IBoral. 

But  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  my  footing  I  missed ; 
All  the  stairs  I  fell  down,  so  I  battered  my  crown, 

And  got  two  black  eyes  from  a  jug  of  gin-twist. 


©&obert^  on  Meriier.* 

We  are  exceedingly  sorry  for  Mr.  John  Murray.  Time  was 
when  it  was  the  finest  thing  in  the  world  to  be  Lord  Byron's 
publisher.  The  whole  reading  population  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland  was  in  a  breathless  state — 

"  One  general  hush  expectant  reigned  from  shore  to  shore  "— 

when  a  new  work  of  the  gifted  peer  was  announced.  When 
it  appeared,  ten  or  twelve  thousand  copies  were  disposed  of 
in  a  week  or  ten  days ;  the  copy-money  was  thus  cleared  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  fine  pickings  remained  in  the 
subsequent  editions  for  the  worthy  bibliopolist's  own  private 
benefit  and  advantage.  Now,  alas  !  how  are  the  mighty 
fallen  !  A  new  tragedy  of  Lord  Byron's  is  degraded  ere  it 
comes  forth,  for  it  receives  as  many  preliminary  puffs,  in  the 
shape  of  advertisements,  as  even  a  new  "Voyage"  of  Mother 
Morgan's.  But  out  comes  the  production,  and  there  is  an 
end  of  even  this  little  buzz.  Very  few  copies  are  sold  at  the 
first  brush — not  a  great  many  more,  perhaps,  than  of  a  new 
book  by  Southey  or  Wordsworth.  Nobody  buys  the  pig  in 
a  poke, — that  is,  nobody  orders  the  tragedy  merely  because 
that  name  is  on  the  title-page.  In  short,  that  prestige  is 
among  the  things  that  have  gone  by.  Lord  Byron  is  no 
longer — we  do  not  say  the  author  of  the  day — he  is  no 
longer  among  the  first,  scarcely  even  among  the  second- 
rate  favourites. 

Meantime  (and  it  is  on  this  account  we  so  much  pity 
Murray)  the  noble  scribe  is  probably  by  no  means  convinced 
of  the  extent  to  which  his  reputation  has  "  progressed  "  the 
wrong  way.     His  demands  of  money,  for  he  is  well  known 

*  Werner  :  a  Tragedy.    By  Lord  Byron.     8vo.    Murray,  London. 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER.  185 

to  like  cash  almost  as  well  as  fame,  still  continue  to  be  on 
the  same  sort  of  scale ;  and  the  unfortunate  bookseller  must 
be  refunding,  in  the  shape  oi ho7iorariiims  for  bulky  tragedies, 
the  very  shiners  which  he  pocketed  years  ago  as  his  own  fair 
share  of  the  profits  arising  from  tales,  charming  little  tales, 
to  which  the  said  tragedies  bear  no  more  resemblance  than 
the  Newcastle-waggon  does  to  Lord  Fife's  phaeton  and  four. 

But  this  is  not  all  the  extent  of  the  evil.  Every  new 
affair  of  this  mediocre  and  unpopular  sort  acts  as  a  terrible 
drag  upon  the  sale  of  Lord  Byron's  works  as  collected  in 
volumes.  "No,"  says  the  hesitating  customer,  "no,  my 
good  friend,  I  won't  bite.  I  think  I  shall  wait  a  little,  and 
see  whether  he  mends  again.  If  it  were  only  Lara,  and  the 
Corsair,  and  so  forth,  I  would  have  bought  your  books ;  but. 
Lord  love  you !  have  not  I  got  Sardanapalus,  and  his 
brethren,  some  of  them  at  least — by  themselves  ?  and  do  you 
really  expect  me  to  buy  thei7i  over  again,  merely  because  you 
have  got  them  printed  on  a  smaller  type  ?  "  In  fact,  a  book, 
even  a  book  of  great  merit,  is  unsaleable  when  it  grows  too 
big.  What,  therefore,  must  be  the  fate  of  such  a  book  as 
the  "  Works  of  Lord  Byron  "  now  constitute  ?  The  book- 
sellers have  always  sold  Milton's  poetry  apart  from  Milton's 
prose ;  and  in  like  fashion  Mr  Murray  must  ere  long,  in 
common  prudence,  separate  Lord  Byron's  early  works  of 
genius  from  the  masses  of  Balaam  under  which  he  has  of 
late  been  doing  his  best  to  bury  all  our  recollections  of  their 
brightness. 

There  are  a  set  of  blockheads,  such  as  "  the  Council  of 
Ten  "  (who,  by  the  way,  are  the  gravest  asses  going),  who 
pretend  to  think  that  the  sale  of  Byron's  works  has  been 
knocked  down  merely  by  the  public  indignation  against  the 
immoralities  of  his  Don  Juan,  and  the  baseness  and  blas- 
phemy of  his  Pisan  production,  "  The  Liberal."  But  this  is 
mere  humbug.  The  public  curiosity  is  always  stimulated  to 
an  astonishing  degree  by  clever  blackguardism ;  and  a  book 
of  real  wickedness  and  real  talent,  although  it  may  not 
always  be  exhibited  in  the  boudoir,  is  pretty  sure  to  find  its 


l86  ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 

way  into  every  house  that  has  any  pretensions  to  be  "  comme 
il  fautr  The  book  that  cannot  "  be  passed  into  families  " 
is  your  stupid,  your  dull,  your  uninteresting  and  unreadable 
one — your  "  Hallam's  Middle  Ages,"  for  example,  your 
"  Southey's  History  of  the  Peninsular  War,"  your  "  Book  of 
the  Church,"  your  "  Doge  of  Venice,"  your  "  Pretyman's  Life 
of  Pitt,"  et  hoc  gemis  omne  quod  odi.  These,  indeed,  are 
works  which  the  most  hungry  reader  can  take  his  chance  of 
borrowing  from  the  circulating  library  the  next  time  he  is 
rheumatical  at  a  watering-place.  This  is  not  the  sort  of  thing 
that  turns  the  penny  in  a  moment.  It  is  precisely  that 
clumsy  kind  of  manufacture  that  breaks  the  back  of  the 
bookseller  with  its  leaden  weight.  Therefore,  look  sharp, 
Mr.  Murray,  and  don't  you  buy  your  pigs  in  the  poke  any 
more  than  other  people. 

This  bookseller  has  published  a  list  of  forthcoming  works 
just  now,  that  fills  us  with  many  and  grievous  apprehensions. 
The  "  Narrative  "  of  Captain  Franklin  will  do  very  well  in 
hotpressed,  to  a  moderate  extent.  The  second  series  of 
DTsraeli's  Curiosities,  if  it  be  as  good  a  book  as  the 
first,  will  answer  the  turn  to  a  hair ;  but  if,  like  most  second 
serieses,  it  is  inferior,  it  will  weigh  down  its  elder  brother, 
just  as  the  Marino  Falieros  have  oppressed  the  Giaour  and 
Parasina.  The  "  Suffolk  Papers  "  !  !  !  We  wonder,  after 
the  total  failure  of  the  "  Walpole  Memoirs,"  anybody  has 
ventured  on  them.  The  "  Connection  of  Christianity  with 
Human  Happiness  "  will  not  go  down.  The  "  Latin  Gram- 
mar of  Scheller  "  is  a  capital  book,  and,  if  it  is  well  translated, 
may  have  as  great  a  run  as  Mrs.  Rundle,  and  put  many  a 
cool  thousand  in  Mr.  Murray's  pocket.  The  "  Welsh  Scen- 
ery "  will  not  pass — remember  Boydell !  The  "  General 
Officer  "  is  a  fair  travelling  name  for  a  book.  "  Vestiges  of 
Ancient  Manners  and  Customs  discoverable  in  Italy  and 
Sicily,  by  the  Rev.  James  Blunt,  A.M.,  Fellow  of  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  and  late  one  of  the  Travelling  Bachelors 
of  that  University,"  is  another  smooth  title,  and  probably 
three  hundred  may  be  disposed  of     About  fifty  will  be  the 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER.  1S7 

Utmost  sale  of  the  "Expedition  to  Dongola."  The  "Abridg- 
ment of  Paradise  Lost,  by  Mrs.  Siddons  "  !  !  ! — What  shall 
we  say  of  such  a  notion  ?  The  next  thing,  no  doubt,  will 
be  an  abridgment  of  Pope's  Homer  by  Sam  Rogers. 
Really,  really,  these  literary  Christmas  boxes  should  be  left 
to  "  Family  Bowdler." 

But  enough  of  this.  The  plain  truth  of  the  matter  is, 
that  many  of  the  works  in  this  long  list  7>iay  turn  out  to  be 
very  good  ones,  in  their  several  ways,  and  we  hope  they  will 
do  so.  But  is  there  one  of  them  that  has  the  least  chance 
of  being  considered  an  addition  to  the  literature  of 
ENGLAND  ?  Certainly  not,  unless  indeed  it  be  "  Ada  Reis," 
which,  being  a  novel,  may  of  course,  for  aught  we  know,  be 
as  fine  as  "  Anastasius,"  or  as  poor  as  "  Grahame  Hamilton." 
With  this  exception,  and  surely  we  are  the  very  soul  of  can- 
dour in  considering  it  as  one,  Mr.  Murray  does  not  announce 
any  new  book  that  can  make  a  noise.  Now,  our  fear  is 
that,  hampered  as  he  is  with  Lord  Byron's  prolific  and  yet 
unproductive  cacoethes,  this  liberal  and  naturally  enter- 
prising publisher  is  really  compelled  to  keep  out  of  other 
speculations  that  might,  under  such  able  management  as 
his,  have  brilliant  and  triumphant  success.  He  is  like  old 
Michael  Scott,  with  the  rashly-conjured  fiend  to  whom  he 
was  obliged  to  furnish  work ;  and  who,  after  having  cleft 
mountains  in  twain,  and  hung  eternal  bridges  by  the  touch 
of  his  wand  over  the  most  terrific  torrents,  was  at  last  fain 
to  wear  out  his  time  "  in  the  weaving  of  rope-sands ; "  an 
allegorical  expression,  no  doubt,  to  designate  the  manu- 
facture of  threadless,  knotless,  endless,  useless  mysteries, 
tragedies,  and  dramas. 

When  Lord  Byron  first  announced  himself  as  a  tragedian 
in  regular  form,  there  is  no  doubt  that  public  curiosity  was 
strongly,  most  strongly,  excited.  "  Marino  Faliero,  Doge  of 
Venice,"  was  a  sad  damper,  yet  nobody  could  deny  that  there 
was  great  and  novel  beauty  in  the  conception  of  one  char- 
acter, that  of  the  old  Doge's  young  wife ;  and  we  all  said,  this 
is  a  first  attempt,  and  Byron  may  hereafter  write  a  tragedy 


i88  ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 

worthy  of  Byron.  Then  came  Sardanapaliis — on  the  whole 
a  heavy  concern  also ;  but  still  there  was  Myrrha,  and  there 
was  the  Vision  of  Nimrod  and  Semiramis,  and  there  was  the 
noble  arming  of  the  roused  voluptuary  ;  and  these  fine  things 
in  so  far  checked  the  frown  of  reprehension.  "The  two 
Foscari "  was  greatly  inferior ;  in  fact,  it  contained  a  plot 
than  which  nothing  could  be  more  exquisitely  absurd  and 
unnatural,  characters  strained  almost  to  the  ludicrous,  ver- 
sification as  clumsy  as  the  grinding  of  the  tread-mill,  and 
one  splendid  passage,  just  one.  "Cain,  a  Mystery,"  was  worse 
and  worse.  Byron  dared  to  measure  himself  with  Milton,  and 
came  off  as  poorly  as  Belial  might  have  done  from  a  contest 
with  Michael.  Crude  metaphysics,  as  old  as  the  hills,  and 
as  barren — bald,  threadbare  blasphemies  and  puerile  ravings 
formed  the  staple  of  the  piece.  The  only  tolerable  touches, 
those  of  domestic  love  and  the  like,  were  visibly  borrowed 
from  Gesner's  Death  of  Abel  :  and,  in  short,  one  of  the 
most  audacious  of  all  the  insults  that  have  ever  been  heaped 
upon  the  faith  and  feelings  of  a  Christian  land  was  also  one 
of  the  most  feeble  and  ineffectual.  Thank  God  !  Cain  was 
abandoned  to  the  Radicals,  and,  thank  God  !  it  was  too 
radically  dull  to  be  popular  even  among  them. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  even  in  Cain 
some  occasional  flashes  of  Lord  Byron's  genius  were  discern- 
ible ;  there  was  some  deep  and  thrilling  poetry  in  Cain's  con- 
templation of  the  stars,  enough  to  recall  for  a  moment  the 
brighter  and  more  sustained  splendours  of  Manfred. 

But  now  at  last  has  come  forth  a  tragedy  by  the  same 
hand,  which  is  not  only  worse  than  any  of  those  we  have 
been  naming,  but  worse,  far  worse,  than  we,  even  after 
reading  and  regretting  them,  could  have  believed  it  possible 
for  the  noble  author  to  indite — a  lame  and  mutilated  rifaccia- 
mento  of  one  of  Miss  Lee's  Canterbury  Tales  ;  a  thing  which, 
so  far  from  possessing,  scarcely  even  claims,  any  merit  beyond 
that  of  turning  English  prose  into  English  blank  verse — a 
production,  in  short,  which  is  entitled  to  be  classed  with  no 
dramatic  works  in  our  language  that  we  are  acquainted  with, 
except,  perhaps,  the  common  paste-and-scissors  dramas  from 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER.  189 

the  Waverley  Novels.     Ye  gods  !  what  a  descent  is  here  for 
the  proud  soul  of  Harold  ! 

We  are  not  so  absurd  as  to  say,  or  to  think,  that  a  drama- 
tist has  no  right  to  make  free  with  other  people's  fables. 
On  the  contrary,  we  are  quite  aware  that  that  particular 
species  of  genius  which  is  exhibited  in  the  construction  of 
plots  never  at  any  period  flourished  in  England.  We  all 
know  that  Shakespeare  himself  took  his  stories  from  Italian 
novels,  Danish  sagas,  English  chronicles,  Plutarch's  lives, 
from  anywhere  rather  than  from  his  own  invention.  But 
did  he  take  the  whole  of  Hamlet,  or  Juliet,  or  Richard  HI., 
or  Anthony  and  Cleopatra,  from  any  of  these  foreign 
sources  ?  Did  he  not  inve?ii,  in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  word, 
all  the  characters  of  his  pieces  }  Who  dreams  that  any  old 
Italian  novelist  could  have  formed  the  imagination  of  such 
a  creature  as  Juliet  ?  Who  dreams  that  the  Hamlet  of 
Shakespeare,  the  princely  enthusiast,  the  melancholy  philo- 
sopher, that  spirit  refined  even  to  pain,  that  most  incom- 
prehensible and  unapproachable  of  all  the  creations  of  human 
genius,  is  the  same  being,  in  anything  but  the  name,  with 
the  rough,  strong-hearted,  bloody-handed,  old  Amlett  of 
the  North  ?  Or  who  is  there  that  supposes  Goethe  to  have 
taken  the  character  of  his  Faust  from  the  old  ballads  and 
penny  pamphlets  about  the  Devil  and  Doctor  Faustus  ?  Or 
who,  to  come  nearer  home,  imagines  that  Lord  Byron  him- 
self found  his  Sardanapalus  in  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus  ? 

But  here  Lord  Byron  has  invented  nothing,  absolutely, 
positively,  undeniably  nothing.  There  is  not  one  incident 
in  his  play,  not  even  the  most  trivial,  that  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  novel  from  which  it  is  taken ;  occurring  exactly  in  the 
same  manner,  brought  about  by  exactly  the  same  agents, 
and  producing  exactly  the  same  effects  on  the  plot.  And 
then  as  to  the  characters,  why,  not  only  is  every  one  of  them 
to  be  found  in  the  novel,  but  every  one  of  them  is  to  be 
found  there  far  more  fully  and  powerfully  developed.  Indeed, 
but  for  the  preparation  which  we  had  received  from  our  old 
familiarity  with  Miss  Lee's  own  admirable  work,  wc  rather 
incline  to  think  that  we  should  have  been  altogether  unable 


I90  ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 

to  comprehend  the  gist  of  her  noble  imitator,  or  rather 
copier,  in  several  of  what  seem  to  be  meant  for  his  most 
elaborate  delineations.  The  fact  is  that  this  undeviating 
closeness,  this  humble  fidelity  of  imitation,  is  a  thing  so 
perfectly  new  in  literature^  in  anything  worthy  of  the  name 
of  literature,  that  we  are  sure  no  one  who  has  not  read  the 
Canterbury  Tales  will  be  able  to  form  the  least  conception 
of  what  it  amounts  to.  Again  we  must  come  back  to  the 
arras-work ;  and  we  now  most  solemnly  assure  our  readers  that 
unless  our  worthy  friend,  Mr,  Daniel  Terry,  is  entitled  to  be 
called  a  poet  for  his  Rob  Roy,  or  his  Guy  Mannering,  my 
Lord  Byron  has  no  sort  of  title,  none  in  the  world,  to  be 
considered  as  having  acted  the  part  of  a  poet  in  the  concoc- 
tion and  execution  of  his  Werner. 

Those  who  have  never  read  Miss  Lee  will,  however,  be 
pleased  with  this  production ;  for,  in  truth,  the  story  is  one 
of  the  most  powerfully-conceived,  one  of  the  most  picturesque, 
and  at  the  same  time  instructive  stories  that  we  are,  or  are 
ever  likely  to  be,  acquainted  with.  Indeed,  thus  led  as  we 
are  to  name  Harriet  Lee,  for  the  first  time,  in  these  pages, 
we  cannot  allow  the  opportunity  to  pass  without  saying  that 
we  have  always  considered  her  works  as  standing  upon  the 
very  verge  of  the  very  first  rank  of  excellence  in  the  species  to 
which  they  belong ;  that  is  to  say,  as  inferior  to  no  English 
novels  whatever,  excepting  only  those  of  Fielding,  Sterne, 
Smollett,  Richardson,  Defoe,  Radclifife,  Godwin,  Edgeworth, 
and  the  Great  Known.  It  would  not,  perhaps,  be  going  too 
far  to  say  that  the  Canterbury  Tales  exhibit  more  of  that 
species  of  invention  which,  as  we  have  remarked  a  little 
above,  was  never  common  in  English  literature,  than  any  of 
the  works  even  of  those  first-rate  novelists  we  have  named, 
with  the  single  exception  of  Fielding  himself.  Suppose 
almost  any  one  of  the  Canterbury  Tales  to  have  been  put 
in  MS.  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Edgeworth,  or  the  Knozun, 
and  suppose  the  work  to  have  been  rewritten  with  that  power 
and  the  various  excellence  which  these  two  great  living 
writers  possess,  and  there  can  be  little  question  that  we 
should  have  had  something  worthy  of  casting  even  Nigel  or 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER.  191 

The  Absentee  into  the  shade ;  that  is  to  say,  in  so  far  as 
these  books  are  to  be  considered  as  serious  dehneations  of 
human  feehng  and  passion.  For  example,  take  this  very 
tale  of  "Kruitzner,"  or  "The  Landlady's  Story."  Con- 
sidering them  merely  as  fables^  we  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  they  are  far  better  fables  than  any  original  arid 
invented  one  that  can  be  found  in  any  of  the  works  of  any 
of  our  living  poets  or  novelists.  This  is  high  praise  ;  but  we 
feel  that  we  are  doing  no  more  than  justice  in  bestowing  it. 

After  speaking  in  such  terms  of  Miss  Lee's  fable  we  shall 
not,  of  course,  be  so  daring  as  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  it 
here.  Let  it  be  sufficient  to  say  that  we  consider  it  as 
possessing  mystery,  and  yet  clearness,  as  to  its  structure  : 
strength  of  characters,  and  admirable  contrast  of  characters  ; 
and,  above  all,  the  most  lively  interest  blended  with  and 
subservient  to  the  most  affecting  of  moral  lessons. 

The  main  idea  which  lies  at  the  root  of  it  is  :  the  horror 
of  an  erring  father  (tvho,  having  been  detected  in  vice  by  his 
son,  has  dared  to  defend  his  ottni  si7t,  and  so  to  perplex  the  son^s 
notions  of  moral  rectitude)  in  finding  that  the  son,  in  his  turn, 
has  pushed  the  false  principles  thus  instilled  to  the  last  and 
worst  extreme,  in  hearing  his  own  sophistries  flung  in  his  teeth 
by  a — MURDERER.  The  scene  in  which  the  first  part  of  this 
idea  is  developed  in  Lord  Byron's  tragedy  is  by  far  the 
finest  one  in  it;  and  we  shall  quote  alongside  of  it  the 
original  passages  in  the  novel,  in  order  that  our  readers  may 
be  enabled  to  form  their  own  opinion. 

LORD    BYRON.  MISS   LEE. 

Ulric.  I  think  you  wrong  him,  "  '  Stralenheim,'    said     Conrad, 

(Excuse  me   for   the   phrase) ;    but  '  does  not  appear  to  me  altogether 

Stralenheim  the  man  you   take   him   for  : — but 

Is  not  what  you  prejudge  him,  or,  if  were  it  even  otherwise,  he  owes  me 

so,  gratitude  not  only  for  the  past,  but 

He  owes  me  something  both  for  fast  for  what  lie  supposes  to  be  my  present 

and  present:  employment.     I  saved  his  life,  and 

/  saved  his  life,  he  therefore  trusts  in  he  therefore  places  confidence  in  me. 

me ;  He  has  been  robbed  last  night,    is 

He  hath  been  plundered  too,  since  he  sick,  a  stranger,  and  in  no  condition 

catne  hither ;  to  discover  the  villain  who  has  plun- 


192 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


LORD    BYRON. 

Is  sick,  a  stranger,  and  as  such  not 
now 

Able  to  trace  the  villain  -who  hath 
robbed  him : 

I  have  pledged  myself  to  do  so  ;  and 
the  business 

Which  brought  me  here  was  chiefly 
that:  but  I 

Have  found,  in   searching  for  an- 
other's dross, 

My  own  whole   treasure— you,  my 
parents  ! 
Werner,  (agitatedly)  Who 

Taught  yoji  to  mouth  that  name  of 
'■''villain"  ? 
Ulric.  What 

More  noble  name  belongs  to  com- 
mon thieves  ? 


Werner.  Wlio  taught  you  thus  to 
brand  an  unknown  being 
With  an  infernal  stigma? 
Ulric.  My  own  feelings 
Taught  me  to  name  a  ruffian  from 
his  deeds. 
Werner.     Who  taught  you,  long- 
sought,  and  ill-found  boy  !  that 
It  would  be  safe  for  my  own  son  to 
insult  me  f 
Ulric.  /  named  a  villain.      What 
is  there  in  common 
With  such  a  being  and  my  father  ? 

Werner.  Everything! 
That  ruffian  is  thy  father  / 
Josephine.  Oh,  my  son  ! 

Believe  him  not— and  yet ! {her 

voice  falters.) 
Ulric    [starts,  looks  earnestly  at 
Werner,  and  then  says  slowly) 
And  you  avow  it? 

Werner.    Ulric,    before  you    dare 
despise  yotir  father. 
Learn  to  divine  and  judge  his  actions. 
Young, 


MISS    LEE. 

dered  him.  I  have  pledged  myself 
to  do  it,  and  the  business  on  which 
I  sought  the  Intendant  was  chiefly 
that."  " 

"The  Count  felt  as  though  he  had 
received  a  stroke  upon  the  brain. 
Death  in  any  form,  unaccompanied 
with  dishonour,  would  have  been 
preferable  to  the  pang  that  shot 
through  both  that  and  his  heart. 
Indignantly  had  he  groaned  under 
the  remorse  of  the  past :  the  humilia- 
tion thus  incurred  by  it  he  would 
hardly  have  tolerated  from  any  hu- 
man being  ;  yet  was  it  brought  home 
to  him  through  a  medium  so  bit- 
terly afflicting  as  defied  all  calcula- 
tion. At  the  word  villain  his  lips 
quivered,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire. 
It  was  the  vice  of  his  character  ever 
to  convert  the  subjects  of  self-re- 
proach into  those  of  indignation. 

"  '  And  who,'  said  he,  starting  furi- 
ously from  his  seat,  '  has  entitled 
you  to  brand  thus  with  ignominious 
epithets  a  being  you  do  no  know? 
Who,'  he  added  with  increasing 
agitation,  '  has  taught  you  that  it 
would  be  safe  even  for  my  son 
to  insult  me  ?' 

"  '  It  is  not  necessary  to  know  the 
person  of  a  ruffian,'  replied  Conrad 
indignantly,  '  to  give  him  the  appel- 
lation he  merits  :  and  what  is  there 
in  common  between  7ny  father  and 
such  a  character?' 

"'Everything,'  said  Siegendorf 
bitterly,  '  for  that  ruffian  was  your 
father ! ' 

"Conrad  started  back  with  in- 
credulity and  amazement,  then  mea- 
sured the  Count  with  a  long  and 
earnest  gaze,  as  though,  unable  to 
disbelieve  the  fact,  he  felt  inclined 
to  doubt  whether  it  were  really  his 
father  who  avowed  it. 

"  '  Conrad,'  exclaimed  the  latter. 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


19^ 


LORD  BYRON. 

Rash,  new  to   life,  and   reared   in 

luxury's  lap. 
Is  it  for  you'  to  measure  passion's 

force, 
Or    misery's    tempt  at  io7i  ?    Wait — 

(not  long, 
It  Cometh  like  the  night,  and  quickly) 

Wait/— 
Wait  till,  like  me,  your  hopes  are 

blighted — till 
Sorrow  and  shaine  are  handmaids 

of  your  cabin  ; 
Famine  and  poverty  your  gjiests  at 

table  ; 
Despair  your  bedfellow— then  rise, 

but  not 
From  sleep,  and  judge  !  Should  that 

day  e''er  arrive — 
Should  you  see  then  the  serpent,  who 

hath  coiled 
Himself  around  all  that  is  dear  and 

7ioble 
Of yoti  and  yours,  lie  slumbering  in 

your  path. 
With  but  h\s  folds  between  your  steps 

and  happifiess, 
When  he,  who  lives  but  to  tear  from 

you  name. 
Lands,  life  itself,  lies  at  your  mercy, 

with 
Chance  your  conductor;    midnight 

for  your  mantle  ; 
The  bare  knife  in  your  hand,  and 

earth  asleep, 
Even  to  your  deadliest  foe ;  arid  he 

as  't  were 
Inviting  death,  by  looking  like    it, 

while 
His  death  alone   can   save  you  : — 

Thank  your  God! 
If  then,  like  me,  content  with  petty 

plunder. 

You  turti  aside /  did  so. 

Ulric.   But 

Werner,  (abruptly)  Hear  me  / 
I  will  not  brook  a    human   voice — 

scarce  dare 
VOL.  L 


MISS  LEE. 

interpreting  his  looks,  and  in  a  tone 
that  ill  disguised  the  increasing  an- 
guish of  his  own  soul,  '  before  you 
thus  presume  to  chastise  me  with 
your  eye,  learn  to  understand  my 
actions  !  Young  and  experienced  in 
the  world — reposing  hitherto  in  the 
bosom  of  indulgence  and  luxury,  is 
it  ioryou  to  judge  of  the  force  of  the 
passions,  or  the  temptations  of  mis- 
ery ?  Wait  till  like  me  you  have 
blighted  your  fairest  ho'pes — have 
endured  humiliation  and  sorrow, 
poverty  and  famine — before  you  pre- 
tend to  judge  of  their  effect  on  you. 
Should  that  miserable  day  ever  arrive 
— should  you  see  the  being  at  your 
mercy  who  stands  between  you  and 
everything  that  is  dear  or  noble  in 
life  ;  who  is  ready  to  tear  from 
you  your  name,  your  inheritance, 
your  very  life  itself;  congratulate 
your  own  heart  if,  like  me,  you  are 
content  with  petty  plunder,  and  are 
not  tempted  to  exterminate  a  ser- 
pent, who  now  lives,  perhaps,  to 
sting  us  all ! 


N 


194 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


LORD  BYRON. 

Listen  to  my  onm  {if  that  be  human 

still)— 
Hear  me  I  you  do  not  know  this  man 

—I  do. 
He's    mean,   deceitful,    avaricious. 

You 
Deem  yourself  safe,  as  you7t}^  and 

brave ;  but  learn 
None  are  secure  from  desperation, 

few 
From  subtilty.     My  worst  foe,  Stra- 

lenhcim. 
Housed  in  a  princes  palace,  couched 

within 
A  prince's  chamber,   lay  belo7V  my 

knife  ! 
An  instant — a  rno'e  motion — the  least 

impulse — 
Had  sivept  him  and  all  fears  of  mine 

fro')n  earth. 
He  was  zuithin  my  power — my  knife 

was  raised — 
Withdraivn — and  I'm  in  his  : — are 

you  not  so  f 
Who  tells  you  that  he  knows  you  not  ? 

Who  says 
He  hath  not  lured  you  here  to  end 

you  ?  or 
To  plunge  you,  with  your  parents,  in 

a  dungeon  ? 

(He  pauses. 
Ulric.   Proceed,  proceed/ 
Werner.   Me  he  hath  ever  kno7i<7i. 
And  hunted  through  each  change  of 

time — 7iame^fortune — 
And  vihy  not  you?    Are  you  more 

versed  in  men  f 
He  wound  snares  round  me  ;  flung 

along  my  path 
Reptiles  whom, in  my  youth,  I  would 

have  spurned 
Even  from  my  presence;    but,    in 

spurning  now, 
fill  only  with  fresh  vcfiom.      Will 

you  be 
More  patient  9      Ulric — Ulric  I — 

there  are  crimes 


MISS  LEE. 

"  'You  do  not  know  this  mar,' 
continued  he  with  the  same  inco- 
herent eagerness,  and  impetuously 
silencing  Conrad,  who  would  have 
spoken — '  I  do  !  I  believe  him  to  be 
mean,  sordid,  deceitful!  You  will 
conceive  yourself  safe  because  you 
are  young  and  brave  I  Learn,  how- 
ever, from  the  two  instances  before 
you,  none  are  so  secure  but  despe- 
ration or  subtilty  may  reach  them  ! 
Stralenheim  in  the  palace  of  a  prince 
was  in  my  power !  My  knife  was 
held  over  him  !  A  single  moment 
would  have  swept  him  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,  and  with  all  my  future 
fears  :  I  forbore — and  I  am  now  in 
his.  Are  you  certain  that  you  are 
not  so  too?  Who  assures  you  he 
does  not  know  you  ?  Who  tells  you 
that  he  has  not  lured  you  into  his 
society,  either  to  rid  himself  of  you 
for  ever,  or  to  plunge  you  with  your 
family  into  a  dungeon  ?  Me,  it  is 
plain,  he  has  known  invariably 
through  every  change  of  fortune  or 
of  name — and  why  not  you?  Me  he 
has  entrapt — are  you  more  discreet  ? 
He  has  wound  the  snares  of  Idenstein 
around  me  : — of  a  reptile  whom,  a 
few  years  ago,  I  would  have  spurned 
from  my  presence,  and  whom,  in 
spurning  now,  I  have  furnished  with 
fresh  venom  : — Will  you   be   more 

patient! Conrad,  Conrad,  there 

are  crimes  rendered  venial  by  the 
occasion,  and  temptations  too  ex- 
quisite for  human  fortitude  to  master 
orendure.'  The  Count  passionately 
struck  his  hand  on  his  forehead  as 
bespoke,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"Conrad,  whose  lips  and  counte- 
nance had  more  than  once  announced 
an  impatient  desire  to  interrupt  his 
father  during  the  early  part  of  his 
discourse,  stunned  by  the  wildness 
and  vehemence  with  which  it  was 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


195 


LORD  BYRON. 

Made  venial  by  the  occasion,   and 

temptations  [forbear. 

Which    nature    cannot    master  or 

Ulric  [looks first  at  hint,  and  then  at 

Josephine). 
My  mother ! 

Werner.     Ay  !  I  thought  so  :  you 
have  now 
Only  one  parent.     I  have  lost  alike 
Father  and  son,  and  stand  alone. 
Ulric.   But  stay  ! 

( Werner    rushes    out    of  the 
chamber. 
Josephine  {to  Ulric).     Follow  him 
not,  until  this  storm  of  passion 
Abates.     Think'st  thou  that,  were  it 

well  for  him, 
I  had  not  followed? 

Ulric.   I  obey  you,  mother. 
Although  reluctantly.     My  first  act 

shall  not 
Be  one  of  disobedience. 

Josephine.  Oh  !  he  is  good  ! 
Condemn   him   not   from   his   own 

mouth,  but  trust 
To  me,   who  have  borne  so  much 

with  him,  and  for  him. 
That  this  is  but  the  surface  of  his 
soul,      ■  [things. 

And  that  the  depth  is  rich  in  better 
Ulric.    These    then    are    but    my 
father' s  principles  ? 
My  another  thinks  not  with  him  f 

Josephine.     Nor  doth  he 
Think   as  he  speaks.     Alas !   long 

years  of  grief 
Have  made  him  sometimes  thus. 

Ulric.  Explain  to  me 
.More  clearly,  then,  these  claims  of 
Stralenkeim. 


MISS  LEE. 

pursued,  had  sunk  towards  the  close 
of  it  into  profound  silence.  The 
anxious  eyes  of  Josephine,  from  the 
moment  they  lost  sight  of  her 
husband,  had  been  turned  towards 
her  son  ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  she  felt  her  heart  a  prey  to 
divided  affections ;  for,  while  the 
frantic  wildness  of  Siegendorf  almost 
irresistibly  impelled  her  to  follow 
him,  she  was  yet  alive  to  all  the 
danger  of  leaving  Conrad  a  prey  to 
reflections  hostile  to  every  sentiment 
of  filial  duty  or  respect.  The  latter, 
after  a  long  silence,  raised  his 
inquiring  looks  to  hers  ;  and,  what- 
ever the  impression  under  which  his 
mind  laboured,  he  understood  too 
well  the  deep  and  painful  sorrow 
imprinted  on  her  countenance  not 
instantly  to  conceal  it. 


"  'These  are  only  the  systems  of 
my  father,'  said  he,  continuing  ear- 
nestly to  gaze  on  her.  '  My  mother 
thinks  not  with  him  !' 

"Josephine  spoke  not :  there  was 
an  oppression  at  her  heart  that 
robbed  her  of  the  power.  Conrad 
covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  and 
reclined  it  for  a  moment  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  '  Explain  to  me,"  said  he,  after  a 
second  pause,  '  what  are  the  claims 
of  Stralenheim.'" 


If  this  be  not  enough,  pass  to  the  only  other  scene  in  the 
play  which  can  be  supposed  to  possess  equal  interest ;  that, 


196 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


namely,  in  which  the  unhappy  father  is  reproached  by  the 
son,  whose  bloody  guilt  he  has  just  learnt  to  believe — from 
whose  countenance  he  is  shrinking  in  the  most  exquisite  of 
horrors.  The  supposed  murderer  stands  before  father  and 
son  ;  HE  has  told  the  terrible  truth,  and  dreads  violence ; 
the  father  reassures  him,  and  he  goes  on  thus — 


LORD    BYRON. 

Gabor.  I    have    still    a    further 

shield. 
I  did  not  enter  Prague  alone  ;  and 

should  I 
Be  put  to   rest  with    Stralenheim, 

there  are 
Some  tongues  without  will  wag  in 

my  behalf. 
Be  brief  in  your  decision  ! 


Sie_^endorf.  I  will  be  so. 
My  word  is  sacred  and  irrevocable 
Within  these  walls,  but  it  extends  no 
further. 

Gabor.  I'll  take  it  for  so  much. 
Siegendorf  [points  to  Ulricas  sabre, 


MISS  LEE. 

"  '  I     have     yet    an     additional 
security,'    replied   the    Hungarian,  . 
after   a   moment's    meditation.      '  1 1 
did    not    enter   Prague    a    solitary 
individual  ;  and  there   are   tongues 
without   that   will    speak    for    me, 
although   I  should  even  share  the 
fate     of    Stralenheim  !     Let     your 
deliberation,    Count,  be   short,'  he 
added,     again     glancing     towards  • 
Conrad,   '  and  be  the  future  at  your 
peril  no  less  than  mine  !    Where 
shall  I  remain  ? ' 

"Siegendorf  opened  a  door  that 
admitted  to  one  turret  of  the  castle, 
of  which  he  knew  all  other  egress 
was  barred  ;  the  Hungarian  started, 
and  his  presence  of  mind  evidently 
failed  him.  He  looked  around  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  is  conscious 
that,  relying  on  a  sanguine  hope,  he 
has  ventured  too  far,  and  neither 
knows  how  to  stand  his  ground 
nor  to  recede ;  yet  he  read  truth 
and  security  in  the  countenance  of 
Siegendorf,  although  not  unmingled 
with  contempt.  By  an  excessive 
effort  of  dissimulation,  he  therefore 
recovered  his  equanimity,  and  made 
a  step  towards  the  spot  pointed  out 
to  him. 

"  '  My  promise  is  solemn,  sacred, 
irrevocable,'  said  Siegendorf,  seeing 
him  pause  again  upon  the  threshold. 
'  It  extends  not,  however,  beyond 
my  own  walls.' 

"  '  I  accept  the  conditions, 'replied 
the  other.     His  eye,  while  speaking. 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


197 


LORD  BYRON. 

still  upon  ike  ground).     Take 
also  that — 
I  saw  you  eye  it  eagerly,  and  him 
Distrustfully. 

Gabor  [takes  up  the  sabre).  I  will ; 
and  so  provide 
To  sell  my  life— not  cheaply. 

[Gabor  goes    into    the    turret, 
which  Siegendorf  closes.\ 
Siegendorf  (advances  to    Ulric). 
Now,  Count  Ulric  ! 
For  son  I  dare  not  call  thee— What 
say'st  thou  ? 
Ulric.  His  tale  is  true. 
Siegendorf.  True,  monster ! 
Ulric.   Most  true,  father ; 
And  you  did  well  to  listen  to  it ;  what 
We  know,  we  can  provide  against. 

He  must 
Be  silenced. 

Siegendorf.  Ay,  with  half  of  my 
domains  ; 
And  with  the  other  half,  could  he 

and  thou 
Unsay  this  villainy? 

Ulric.    It  is  no  time 
For  trifling  or  dissembling.     I  have 
said  [silenced. 

His  story's  true  ;  and  he  too  must  be 
Siegendorf.   How  so? 
Ulric.  As   Stralenheim   is.     Are 
you  so  dull 
As  never  to  have  hit  on  this  before  ? 
When  we  met  in  the  garden,  what 

except 
Discovery  in  the  act  could  make  me 

know 
His   death?    Or  had   the    prince's 

household  been 
Then  summoned,  would  the  cry  for 
the  police  [should  I 

Been  left  to  such   a  stranger?    Or 
Have  loitered  on  the  way?    Or  could 
you,  Werner,  [fears, 

The  object  of  the  Baron's  hate  and 


MISS  LEE. 

fell  on  the  sabre  of  Conrad  ;  and  the 
Count,  who  perceived  it  did  so, 
invited  him  by  a  look  *  to  possess 
himself  of  it.  He  then  closed  the  door 
of  the  turret  upon  him,  and  advanced 
hastily  towards  his  son. 


"  '  You  have  done  well,'  said  the 
latter,  raising  his  head  at  the  near 
approach  of  his  father,  '  to  listen  to 
this  man's  story.  The  evil  we  cannot 
measure,  we  cannot  guard  against ; 
but  it  would  be  fruitless  to  temporise 
further.  He  must  be  silenced  more 
effectually.'  The  Count  started. 
'With  you,'  pursued  Conrad,  draw- 
ing nearer  and  dropping  his  voice, 
'  it  would  be  unwise  longer  to  dis- 
semble. His  narration  is  true. 
Are  you  so  credulous  as  never  to  have 
guessed  this?  '  added  he,  on  perceiv- 
ing the  speechless  agony  of  his  father, 
'  or  so  weak  as  to  tremble  at  the  ac- 
knowledgment ?  Could  it  escape  you 
that,  at  the  hour  we  met  in  the  gar- 
den at   M ,  nothing  short  of  a 

discovery  during  the  very  act  could 
have  made  the  death  of  Baron  Stra- 
lenheim known  to  any  but  him  who 
caused  it?  Did  it  appear  probable,' 
continued  he,  with  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  is  secretly  roused  to  fury  by  a 
consciousness  of  the  horror  he  in- 
spires, 'that  if  the  Prince's  household 
had  really  been  alarmed,  the  care  of 
summoning  the  police  should  devolve 
on  one  who  hardly  knew  an  avenue 


'   How  much  better  is  this  look  than  its 
column  !     But  sic  fere  omnia. 


dihitioii  into   language  in  the  opposite 


1(8 


ODOHEKTY  ON  WERNER. 


LORD  BYRON. 

Have  fled— unless  by  many  an  hour 

before 
Suspicion    woke?      I    sought     and 

fathomed  you, 
Doubting    if    you    were    false    or 

feeble ;  I 
Perceived  you  were  the  latter  ;  and 

yet  so 
Confiding  have  I  found  you  that  I 

doubted 
At  times  vour  weakness. 


Siegendorf.  Parricide  !  no  less 
Than     common     stabber !     What 

deed  of  my  life, 
Or  thought  of  mine,  could  make  you 

deem  me  fit 
For  your  accomplice  ? 

Ulric.  Father,  do  not  raise 
The  devil  you  cannot  lay,  between 

us.     This 
Is  time  for  union  and  for  action,  not 
For    family    disputes.     While  you 

were  tortured, 
Could  /  be  calm  ?    Think  you  that 

I  have  heard 
This  fellow's  tale  without  some  feel- 
ing ?    You 
Have  taught  me  feeling  iox  you  and 

myself; 
For  whom  or  what  else  did  you  ever 

teach  it  ? 
Siegendorf.  Oh  !  my  dead  father's 

curse  !  'Tis  working  now. 
Ulric.  I-et  it  work  on  !  The  grave 

will  keep  it  down ! 
Ashes  are  feeble  foes :  it  is  more  easy 
To  baffle  such  than  countermine  a 

mole, 
Which  winds  its  blind  but  living  path 

beneath  you. 
Yet  hear  me  still ! — U  you  condemn 

me,  yet 


MISS  LEE. 

of  the  town  ?  Or  was  it  credible  that 
such  a  one  should,  unsuspected, 
have  loitered  on  the  way?  Least  of 
all  could  it  be  even  possible  that 
Kruitzner,  already  marked  out  and 
watched,  could  have  escaped  unpur- 
sued  had  he  not  had  many  hours  the 
start  of  suspicion?  I  sounded,  I 
fathomed  your  soul  both  before  and 
at  the  moment ;  I  doubted  whether 
it  was  feeble  or  artificial.  I  will  own 
that  I  thought  it  the  former,  or  I 
should  have  trusted  you.  Yet  such 
has  been  the  excess  of  your  apparent 
credulity  that  I  have  even  at  inter- 
vals disbelieved  its  existence  !  ' 

"'Monster!'  exclaimed  Siegen- 
dorf, frantic  with  emotion,  '  what 
action  of  my  life,  what  sentiment  of 
my  soul,  ever  authorised  you  to  sus- 
pect that  I  would  abet  a  deed  thus 
atrocious  ? ' 

"'Father,  father,'  interrupted 
Conrad  abruptly,  and  his  form 
seemed  to  grow  before  the  astonish- 
ed eyes  of  the  Count,  '  beware  how 
you  rouse  a  devil  between  us  that 
neither  may  be  able  to  control !  We 
are  in  no  temper  nor  season  for 
domestic  dissension.  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  while  your  soul  has  been 
harrowed  up,  mine  has  been  un- 
moved ?  or  that  I  have  really  listened 
to  this  man's  story  with  indifference  ? 
I  too  can  feel  for  myself;  for  what 
being  besides  did  your  example  ever 
teach  me  to  feel  ?  Listen  to  me  ! ' 
he  added,  silencing  the  Count  with 
a  wild  and  alarming  tone.  '  If  your 
present  condeirination  of  me  be  just, 
I  have  listened  to  you  at  least  once 
too  often  !     Remember  w/io  told  me, 

when  at   M ,    that   there    were 

crimes  rendered  venial  by  the  occa- 
sion ;  who  painted  the  excesses  of 
passion  as  the  trespasses  of  human- 
ity ;  wka  held  the  balance  suspended 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


199 


LORD  BYRON. 

Remember  who  hath  taught  me  once 

too  often 
To  listen  to  him  ?     Who  proclaimed 

to  me 
That  there  were  crimes  made  venial 

by  the  occasion  ? 
That  passion  was  our  nature?  that 

the  goods 
Of  Heaven  waited  on  the  goods  of 

Fortune  ? 
Who  showed  me  his  humanity  se- 
cured 
By  his  nerves  only?      Who  deprived 

me  of 
All  power  to  vindicate  myself  and 

race 
In  open  day?     By  his  disgrace  which 

stamped 
(It  might  be)  bastardy  on  me,  and 

on 
Himself^a/^/t)«'i  brand  !    The  man 

who  is 
At  once  both  warm  and  weak  invites 

to  deeds 
He  longs  to  do,  but  dare  not.     Is  it 

strange 
That  I  should  act  what  you  could 

think  f 
We  have  done 
With  right  and  wrong;  and   now 

must  only  ponder 
Upon  effects,  not  causes.     Stralen- 

heim. 
Whose  life  I  saved  from  impulse,  as, 

unknown, 
I  would  have  saved  a  peasant's  or  a 

dog's,  I  slew 
Known  as  our  foe— but   not   from 

vengeance.     He 
Was  a  rock  in  our  way  which  I  cut 

through, 
As  doth  the  bolt,  because  it  stood 

between  us 
And  our  true  destination— but  not 

idly. 
As  stranger  I  preserved  him,  and  he 
owed  me 


MISS  LEE. 

before  my  eyes  between  the  goods  of 
fortune  and  those  of  honour :  who 
aided  the  mischief-stirring  spirit 
within  me,  by  showing  me  a  specious 
probity,  secured  only  by  an  infirmity 
of  nerves.  Were  you  so  little  skilled 
in  human  nature  as  not  to  know  that 
the  man  who  is  at  once  intemperate 
and  feeble  engenders  the  crimes  he 
does  not  commit  ?  or  is  it  so  wonder- 
ful that  /  should  dare  to  act  what  you 
dared  to  think  ?  I  have  nothing  now 
to  do  with  its  guilt  or  its  innocence. 
It  is  our  mutual  interest  to  avert  its 
consequences.  We  stood  on  a  pre- 
cipice down  which  one  of  three  must 
inevitably  have  plunged  ;  for  I  will 
not  deny  that  I  knew  my  own  situa- 
tion to  be  as  critical  as  yours.  I 
therefore  precipitated  Stralenheim  ! 
You  held  the  torch  !  You  pointed 
out  the  path  !  Show  me  now  that  of 
safety  ;  or  let  me  show  it  you  ! ' 


200 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 


LORD  BYRON. 

His  life ;  when  due,  I  but  resumed 

the  debt. 
He,  you,   and  I  stood  o'er  a  gulf 

wherein 
I  have  plunged  our  enemy.      You 

kindled  first 
The  torch— WK  showed  the  path  ; 

now  trace  me  that 
Of  safety — or  let  me  ! 

Siegendorf.  I  have  done  with  life. 
Ulric.  Let  us  have  done  with  that 

which  cankers  life — 
Familiar  feuds  and  vain  recrimina- 
tions 
Of  things  which  cannot  be  undone. 

We  have 
No  more  to  learn  or  hide  :  I  know 

no  fear. 
And   have  within  these  very  walls 

men  who 
(Although  you  know  them  not)  dare 

venture  all  things. 


MISS  LEE. 


You  stand  high  with  the  State  ;  what 
passes  here 

Will  not  excite  her  too  great  curio- 
sity. 

Keep  your  own  secret,  keep  a  steady 
eye, 

Stir  not,  and  speak  not ;  —leave  the 
rest  to  me  : 

We  must  have  no  third  babblers 
thrust  between  us. 


"  '  Let  us  have  done  with  retro- 
spection,' said  Conrad,  lowering  his 
tone,  as  not  wholly  insensible  to  the 
effect  his  words  had  produced  on  his 
father.  'We  have  nothing  more 
either  to  learn  or  to  conceal  from 
each  other.  I  have  courage  and 
partisans  ;  they  are  even  within  the 
walls,  though  you  do  not  know  them  ! 
Siegendorf  shuddered.  Alas  !  these 
then  had  been  the  substitutes  for 
those  affectionate  and  innocent 
hearts  whose  welcome  had  rendered 
his  return  to  his  native  domain,  in 
the  first  instance,  so  delightful ! 
these  were  the  baleful  spirits  before 
whose  influence  virtue  and  industry 
alike  had  withered  ! 

"  '  You  are  favoured  by  the  State,' 
pursued  Conrad,  '  and  it  will,  there- 
fore, take  little  cognizance  of  what 
passes  within  your  jurisdicion  ;  it  is 
for  me  to  guard  against  distrust 
beyond  it.  Preserve  an  unchanged 
countenance.  Keep  your  own  secret,' 
he  added,  glancing  emphatically 
towards  the  turret,  'and  without 
your  further  interference  I  will  for 
ever  secure  you  from  the  indiscretion 
of  a  third  person.'  So  saying  he 
left  the  hall." 


Now  we  have  to  inform  our  readers  that  in  every  part  of 
this  performance  the  imitator  has  trod  with  ahnost  the  same 
degree  of  painful  and  humihating  exactness  in  the  footsteps 
of  his  precursor;  and,  having  done  so,  we  have  just  one 


ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER.  201 

question  to  ask  :  Could  not  Virginius  Knowles,  could  not 
Conscience  Shiel,  could  not  any  common  setter  of  sixpenny 
claptraps,  have  done  this  feat  quite  as  well  as  the  author  of 
Childe  Harold  and  Don  Juan  ? 

Even  the  passages  we  have  quoted  for  a  different  purpose 
may  suffice  to  show  (what,  if  it  were  worth  while,  we  could 
easily  show  more  largely)  that  in  this  new  play  Lord  Byron 
retains  the  same  nerveless  and  pointless  kind  of  blank  verse  ■ 
which  was  a  sorrow  to  everybody  in  his  former  dramatic 
essays.  It  is  indeed  "  most  unmusical,  most  melancholy." 
"Ofy,"  "to:r,"  "and.f,"  "for.f,"  "by^,"  "butj,"  and  the  like, 
are  the  most  common  conclusions  of  a  line  ;  there  is  no  ease, 
no  flow,  no  harmony  "  in  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 
Neither  is  there  anything  of  abrupt  fiery  vigour  to  compensate 
for  these  defects.  In  a  word,  as  to  invention,  this  performance 
is  nothing ;  as  to  composition,  it  is  raw,  poor,  and  unfinished  ; 
and  while  the  modest  cost  of  this  servile  thing  is  five  shillings 
and  sixpence  sterling,  there  is  nothing  more  easy  than,  by 
spending  twopence  in  the  nearest  circulating  library,  to  enjoy 
the  perusal  of  the  very  same  story  as  told  by  its  original 
author  gracefully,  vigorously,  and  with  all  the  alike  in- 
describable and  inalienable  charm  of  originality. 

Werner,  then,  is,  without  all  doubt,  the  most  common- 
place and  unworthy  production  which  Lord  Byron  has  ever 
yet  put  forth.  "  Heaven  and  Earth,"  which  we  see  advertised, 
and  which,  if  we  may  credit  the  whispers  of  the  literary  circles, 
is  nothing  more  than  a  dramatised  edition  of  our  friend 
P'ogarty's  excellent  poem  of  Daniel  O'Rourke,  seems  not 
unlikely  to  carrj'  the  declension  of  this  once  pre-eminent  star 
even  further.  In  a  word,  we  have  at  length  lost  all  hopes 
of  Lord  Byron's  ever  doing  anything  in  the  drama ;  and 
therefore,  the  sooner  he  gives  that  affair  up,  the  better  it  will 
be  for  himself  and  for  "  all  concerned." 

The  extremely  heavy  effect,  speaking  generally,  of  his 
lordship's  quizzical  "  Vision  of  Judgment  "  may  probably 
have  been,  in  one  point  of  view,  consolatory  to  Mr.  Murray's 
feelings ;  for  it  would  have  been  doubly  sad  to  be  obliged  to 


202  ODOHERTY  ON  WERNER. 

print  Lord  Byron's  bad  things,  and  see  other  and  inferior 
people  pubhshing  good  things  of  his  (however  blackguard) 
under  one's  nose.  But  we,  who  have  ever  been  among 
the  sincerest  and  humblest  admirers  of  anything  that 
bears  the  stamp  of  true  genius,  are,  we  must  fairly  con- 
fess it,  constrained  to  regard  the  whole  affair  with  a  very 
gloomy  eye. 

The  sum  of  all  we  have  to  say  is,  that  we  think  Lord 
Byron  is  in  the  fair  way  to  dish  both  himself  and  his  pub- 
lisher if  he  goes  on  at  the  same  rate  for  another  season 
or  two.  Let  him  pause  now,  and  retrieve  all  he  has  lost — 
and  more  than  retrieve  it — by  one  effort  worthy  of  himself. 
This  is  yet  in  his  power ;  ere  long  it  may  not  be  so. 


pococurante. 

I  DO  not  care  a  farthing  about  any  man,  woman,  or  child 
in  the  world.  You  think  that  I  am  joking,  Jemmy  ;  but  you 
are  mistaken.  What  1  You  look  at  me  again  with  those 
honest  eyes  of  yours  staring  with  wonder,  and  making  a  demi- 
pathetic,  demi-angry  appeal  for  an  exception  in  your  favour. 
Well,  Jemmy,  I  do  care  about  you,  my  honest  fellow  ;  so  un- 
cork the  other  bottle. 

Did  you  ever  see  me  out  of  humour  in  your  life  for  the 
tenth  part  of  a  second  ?  Never,  so  help  me,  God  !  Did 
you  ever  hear  me  speak  ill  of  another  ?  I  might,  perhaps, 
have  cracked  a  joke — indeed,  I  have  cracked  a  good  many 
such  in  my  time — at  a  man's  expense  behind  his  back ;  but 
never  have  I  said  anything  which  I  would  not  say  to  his 
face,  or  what  I  would  not  take  from  him  with  treble  hard- 
ness of  recoil,  if  it  so  pleased  him  to  return  it ;  but  real  bona 
fide  evil-speaking  was  never  uttered  by  me.  I  never  quar- 
relled with  any  one.  You  are  going  to  put  me  in  mind  of 
my  duel  with  Captain  Maxwell.  I  acknowledge  I  fought  it, 
and  fired  three  shots.  What  then?  Could  I  avoid  it? 
I  was  no  more  angry  with  him,  when  I  sent  the  message,  than 
I  was  at  the  moment  of  my  birth.  Duelling  is  an  absurd 
custom  of  the  country,  which  I  must  comply  with  when 
occasion  requires.  The  occasion  had  turned  up,  and  I 
fought  of  course.  Never  was  I  happier  than  when  I  felt  the 
blood  trickling  over  my  shoulders,  for  the  wise  laws  of 
honour  were  satisfied,  and  I  was  rid  of  the  cursed  trouble. 
I  was  sick  of  the  puppyism  of  punctilio  and  the  booby 
legislation  of  the  seconds,  and  was  glad  to  escape  from  it 
by  a  scratch.     I  made  it  up  with  Maxwell,  who  was  an  honest 


204  POCOCURANTE. 

though  a  hot-headed  and  obstinate  man,  and  you  know  I 
was  executor  to  his  will.  Indeed  he  dined  with  me  the  very 
day-week  after  the  duel.  Yet,  spite  of  this  equanimity,  I 
repeat  it  that  I  do  not  care  for  any  human  being  on  earth 
(the  present  company  always  excepted)  more  than  I  care 
for  one  of  those  filberts  which  you  are  cracking  with  such 
laudable  assiduity. 

Yes,  it  is  true ;  I  have  borne  myself  towards  my  family 
unexceptionably,  as  the  world  has  it.  I  married  off  my  sisters, 
sent  my  brothers  to  the  colleges,  and  did  what  was  fair  for 
my  mother.  But  I  shall  not  be  hypocrite  enough  to  pretend 
to  high  motives  for  so  doing.  My  father's  death  left  them 
entirely  to  me,  and  what  could  I  do  with  them  ?  Turn  them 
out  ?  That  would  be  absurd,  and  just  as  absurd  to  retain 
them  at  home  without  treating  them  properly.  They  were 
my  family.  My  own  comforts  would  have  been  materially 
invaded  by  any  other  line  of  conduct.  I  therefore  executed 
the  filial  and  fraternal  affections  in  a  manner  which  will  be 
a  fine  topic  of  panegyric  for  my  obituary.  God  help  the 
idiots  who  write  such  things  !  They  to  talk  of  motives,  and 
feelings,  and  the  impulses  that  sway  the  human  heart — they, 
whose  highest  ambition  it  is  to  furnish  provender,  at  so  much 
a  line,  for  magazine  or  newspaper !  Yet  from  them  shall  I 
receive  the  tribute  of  a  tear.  The  world  shall  be  informed 
in  due  time,  and  I  care  not  how  soon,  that  "  Died  at  his 
house,  &c.  &c.,  a  gentleman,  exemplary  in  every  relation  of 
life,  whether  we  consider  him  as  a  son,  a  brother,  a  friend,  or 
a  citizen.  His  heart,"  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  the  fiddle- 
faddle.  The  winding-up  of  my  family  affairs,  you  know,  is, 
that  I  have  got  rid  of  them  all ;  that  I  pay  the  good  people 
a  visit  once  a  month,  and  ask  them  to  a  humdrum  dinner 
on  my  birthday,  which  you  are  perhaps  aware  occurs  but 
once  a  year.     I  am  alone.     I  feel  that  I  am  alone. 

My  politics,  what  then  ?  I  am,  externally  at  least,  a  Tory, 
a  toute  02iti'a?ice,  because  my  father  and  my  grandfather 
(and  I  cannot  trace  my  genealogy  any  higher)  were  so  before 
me.     Besides,  I  think  ever}'  gentleman  should  be  a  Tory ; 


POCOCURANTE.  205 

there  is  an  easiness,  a  suavity  of  mind,  engendered  by  Tory- 
ism, which  it  is  vain  for  you  to  expect  from  fretful  Whiggery 
or  bawling  Radicalism,  and  such  should  be  a  strong  dis- 
tinctive feature  in  every  gentleman's  character.  And  I 
admit  that,  in  my  youth,  I  did  many  queer  things,  and  said 
many  violent  and  nonsensical  matters.  But  that  fervour  is 
gone.  I  am  still  outside  the  same  ;  but  inside  how  different ! 
I  laugh  to  scorn  the  nonsense  I  hear  vented  about  me  in  the 
clubs  which  I  frequent.  The  zeal  about  nothings,  the  bustle 
about  stuff,  the  fears  and  the  precautions  against  fancied 
dangers,  the  indignation  against  writings  which  no  decent 
man  thinks  of  reading,  or  against  speeches  which  are  but 
the  essence  of  stupidity ;  in  short,  the  whole  tempest  in  a 
teapot  appears  to  me  to  be  ineffably  ludicrous.  I  join  now 
and  then,  nay  very  often,  in  these  discussions ;  why  should 
not  I  ?  Am  I  not  possessed  of  the  undoubted  liberties  of  a 
Briton,  invested  with  the  full  privilege  of  talking  nonsense  ? 
And,  if  any  of  my  associates  laugh  inside  at  me,  why,  I  think 
them  quite  right. 

But  I  have  dirtied  my  fingers  with  ink,  you  say,  and 
daubed  other  people's  faces  with  them.  I  admit  it.  My 
pen  has  been  guilty  of  various  political  jeiix  d' esprit,  but  let 
me  whisper  it.  Jemmy,  on  both  sides.  Don't  start ;  it  is  not 
worthwhile.  My  Tory  quizzes  I  am  suspected  of ;  suspected, 
I  say,  for  I  am  not  such  a  goose  as  to  let  them  be  any  more 
than  mere  matters  of  suspicion;  but  of  quizzes  against  Tories 
I  am  no  more  thought  guilty  than  I  am  of  petty  larceny. 
Yet  such  is  the  case.  I  write  with  no  ill  feeling;  public 
men  or  people  who  thrust  themselves  before  the  public  in 
any  way  I  just  look  on  as  phantoms  of  the  imagination,  as 
things  to  throw  off  commonplaces  about.     You  know  how  I 

assassinated  Jack in  the  song  which  you  transcribed  for 

me ;  how  it  spread  in  thousands,  to  his  great  annoyance. 
Well,  on  Wednesday  last  he  and  I  supped  tete-a-tete, 
and  a  jocular  fellow  he  is.  It  was  an  accidental  rencontre ; 
he  was  sulky  at  first,  but  I  laughed  and  sung  him  into  good 
humour.     When  the  second  bottle  had  loosened  his  tongue, 


2o6  POCOCURANTE. 

he  looked  at  me  most  sympathetically,  and  said,  "May  I  ask 
you  a  question?"  "  A  thousand,"  I  replied,  "  provided  you  do 
not  expect  me  to  answer  them."  "  Ah,"  he  cried,  "  it  was  a 
shame  for  you  to  abuse  me  the  way  you  did,  and  all  tor 
nothing ;  but,  hang  it,  let  bygones  be  bygones  ;  you  are  too 
pleasant  a  fellow  to  quarrel  with."  I  told  him  he  appeared 
to  be  under  a  mistake.  He  shook  his  head,  emptied  his 
bottle,  and  we  staggered  home  in  great  concord.  In  point 
of  fact,  men  of  sense  think  not  of  such  things,  and  mingle 
freely  in  society  as  if  they  never  occurred.  Why  then  should 
I  be  supposed  to  have  any  feeling  whatever,  whether  of 
anger  or  pleasure,  about  them  ? 

My  friends  ?  Where  are  they  ?  Ay,  Jemmy,  I  do  under- 
stand what  that  pressure  of  my  hand  means.  But  where  is 
the  other  ?  Nowhere  !  Acquaintances  I  have  in  hundreds — 
boon  companions  in  dozens,  fellows  to  whom  I  make  myself 
as  agreeable  as  I  can,  and  whose  society  gives  me  pleasure. 
There's  Jack  Meggot,  the  best  joker  in  the  world  ;  Will 
Thomson,  an  unexceptionable  ten-bottle-man  ;  John  Mor- 
timer, a  singer  of  most  renowned  social  qualities  ;  there's 
— but  what  need  I  enlarge  the  catalogue  ?  You  know  the 
men  I  mean.  I  live  with  them,  and  that  right  gaily ;  but 
would  one  of  them  crack  a  joke  the  less,  drink  a  glass  the 
less,  sing  a  song  the  less,  if  I  died  before  morning  ?  Not 
one — nor  do  I  blame  them,  for,  if  they  were  engulfed  in 
Tartarus,  I  should  just  go  through  my  usual  daily  round, 
keep  moving  in  the  same  monotonous  treadmill  of  life,  with 
other  companions  to  help  me  through,  as  steadily  as  I  do 
now.  The  friends  of  my  boyhood  are  gone,  ay  !  all — all 
gone  !  I  have  lost  the  old  familiar  faces,  and  shall  not  try 
for  others  to  replace  them.  I  am  now  happy  with  a  mail- 
coach  companion,  whom  I  never  saw  before,  and  never  will 
see  again.  My  cronies  come  like  shadows,  so  depart.  Do 
you  remember  the  story  of  Abou  Hassan  in  some  of  the 
Oriental  tales  ?  He  was  squandering  a  fine  property  on 
some  hollow  friends,  when  he  was  advised  to  try  their 
friendship  by  pretending  poverty  and  asking  their  assistance. 


POCOCURANTE.  207 

It  was  refused,  and  he  determined  never  to  see  them  more, 
never  to  make  a  friend — nay,  not  even  an  acquaintance ; 
but  to  sit,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  East,  by  the  way- 
side, and  invite  to  his  board  the  three  first  passers-by,  with 
whom  he  spent  the  night  in  festive  debaucher}',  making  it  a 
rule  never  to  ask  the  same  persons  a  second  time.  My  hfe 
is  almost  the  same.  True  it  is  that  I  know  the  exterior 
conformation,  and  the  peculiar  habits  of  those  with  whom  I 
associate,  but  our  hearts  are  ignorant  of  one  another.  They 
vibrate  not  together  ;  they  are  ready  to  enter  into  the  same 
communication  with  any  passer-by.  Nay,  perhaps,  Hassan's 
plan  was  more  social.  He  was  relieved  from  inquiries  as  to 
the  character  of  his  table-mates.  Be  they  fair,  be  they  foul, 
they  were  nothing  to  him.  I  am  tormented  out  of  my  life 
by  such  punctilios  as  I  daily  must  submit  to.  I  wonder  you 
keep  company,  says  a  ixiend—fnaid  I  well,  no  matter — with 
R.  He  is  a  scoundrel ;  he  is  suspected  of  having  cheated 
fifteen  years  ago  at  play  ;  he  drinks  ale  ;  he  fought  shy  in  a 
duel  business ;  he  is  a  Whig,  a  Radical,  a  Muggletonian,  a 
jumper,  a  moderate  man,  a  Jacobin ;  he  asked  twice  for 
soup,  he  wrote  a  libel,  his  father  was  a  low  attorney,  nobody 
knows  him  in  good  society,  &c.  &c.  &c.  Why,  what  is  it  to 
me  ?  I  care  not  whether  he  broke  every  commandment  in 
the  decalogue,  provided  he  be  a  pleasant  fellow,  and  that  I 
am  not  mixed  up  with  his  offences.  But  the  world  will  so 
mix  me  up  in  spite  of  myself  Burns  used  to  say,  the  best 
company  he  was  ever  in  was  the  company  of  professed  black- 
guards.    Perhaps  he  was  right.     I  dare  not  try. 

My  early  companions  I  did  care  for,  and  where  are  they  ? 
Poor  Tom  Benson,  he  was  my  class-fellow  at  school ;  we 
occupied  the  same  rooms  in  college,  we  shared  our  studies, 
our  amusements,  our  flirtations,  our  follies,  our  dissipations 
together.  A  more  honourable  or  upright  creature  never  ex- 
isted. Well,  sir,  he  had  an  uncle,  lieutenant-colonel  of  a 
cavalry  regiment,  and  at  his  request  Tom  bought  a  cornetcy 
in  the  corps.  I  remember  the  grand-looking  fellow  strutting 
about  in  the  full  splendour  of  his  yet  unspotted  regimentals, 


2o8  POCOCURANTE. 

the  cynosure  of  the  bright  eyes  of  the  country  town  in  which 
he  resided.  He  came  to  London,  and  then  joined  his 
regiment.  All  was  well  for  a  while ;  but  he  had  always  an 
unfortunate  itch  for  play.  In  our  little  circle  it  did  him  no 
great  harm ;  but  his  new  companions  played  high,  and  far 
too  skilfully  for  1  om  ;  perhaps  there  was  roguery,  or  perhaps 
there  was  not :  I  never  inquired.  At  all  events,  he  lost  all 
his  ready-money.  He  then  drew  liberally  on  his  family  ;  he 
lost  that  too.  In  short,  poor  Tom  at  last  staked  his  com- 
mission, and  lost  it  with  the  rest.  This,  of  course,  could 
not  be  concealed  from  the  uncle,  who  gave  him  a  severe 
lecture,  but  procured  him  a  commission  in  an  infantry 
regiment  destined  for  Spain.  He  was  to  join  it  without 
delay;  but  the  infatuated  fellow  again  risked  himself,  and 
lost  the  infantry  commission  also.  He  now  was  ashamed  or 
afraid  to  face  his  uncle,  and  enlisted  (for  he  was  a  splendid- 
looking  young  man,  who  was  instantly  accepted)  as  a  private 
soldier  in  the  Twenty-sixth  Foot.  I  suppose  that  he  found 
his  habits  were  too  refined  and  too  firmly  fixed  to  allow  him 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  scanty  pay,  and  coarse  food,  and  low 
company  of  an  infantry  soldier.  It  is  certain  that  he 
deserted  in  a  fortnight  after  enlistment.  The  measure  of 
poor  Tom's  degradation  was  not  yet  filled  up.  He  had  not 
a  farthing  when  he  left  the  Twenty-sixth.  He  went  to  his 
uncle's  at  an  hour  when  he  knew  that  he  would  not  be  at 
home,  and  was  with  difficulty  admitted  by  the  servant,  who 
recognised  him.  He  persuaded  him  at  last  that  he  meant 
to  throw  himself  on  the  mercy  of  his  uncle,  and  the  man, 
who  loved  him — everybody  of  all  degrees  who  knew  him  loved 
him — consented  to  his  admission.  I  am  almost  ashamed  to 
go  on.  He  broke  open  his  uncle's  escritoire,  and  took  from 
it  whatever  money  it  contained,  a  hundred  pounds  or  there- 
abouts, and  slunk  out  of  the  house.  Heavens  !  what  were 
my  feelings  when  I  heard  this,  when  I  saw  him  proclaimed 
in  the  newspapers  as  a  deserter  and  a  thief !  A  thief !  Tom 
Benson  a  thief!  I  could  not  credit  the  intelligence  of  my 
eyes  or  my  ears.    He  whom  I  knew  only  five  months  before — 


POCOCURANTE.  209 

for  so  brief  had  his  career  been — would  have  turned  with 
scorn  and  disgust  from  any  action  deviating  a  hair's-breadth 
from  the  highest  honour.  How  he  spent  the  next  six 
months  of  his  Hfe  I  know  not ;  but  about  the  end  of  that 
period  a  letter  was  left  at  my  door  by  a  messenger,  who  im- 
mediately disappeared.  It  was  from  him.  It  was  couched 
in  terms  of  the  most  abject  self-condemnation  and  the 
bitterest  remorse.  He  declared  he  was  a  ruined  man  in 
character,  in  fortune,  in  happiness,  in  everything,  and  con- 
jured me,  for  the  sake  of  former  friendship,  to  let  him  have 
five  guineas,  which  he  said  would  take  him  to  a  place  of 
safety.  From  the  description  of  the  messenger,  who,  Tom 
told  me  in  his  note,  would  return  in  an  hour,  I  guessed  it 
was  himself.  When  the  time  came,  which  he  had  put  off  to 
a  moment  of  almost  complete  darkness,  I  opened  the  door 
to  his  fearful  rap.  It  was  he  ;  I  knew  him  at  a  glance  as  the 
lamp  flashed  over  his  face ;  and,  uncertain  as  was  the  light, 
it  was  bright  enough  to  let  me  see  that  he  was  squalid  and 
in  rags ;  that  a  fearful  and  ferocious  suspicion,  which  spoke 
volumes  as  to  the  life  he  had  lately  led,  lurked  in  his  side- 
looking  eyes — those  eyes  that  a  year  before  spoke  nothing 
but  joy  and  courage ;  and  that  a  premature  greyness  had 
covered  with  piebald  patches  the  once  glossy  black  locks 
which  straggled  over  his  unwashed  face,  or  through  his 
tattered  hat. 

I  had  that  he  asked,  perhaps  more,  in  a  paper  in  my  hand. 
I  put  it  into  his.  I  had  barely  time  to  say  "  O  Tom  ! " 
when  he  caught  my  hand,  kissed  it  with  burning  lips, 
exclaimed  "  Don't  speak  to  me,  I  am  a  wretch  !  "  and,  burst- 
ing from  the  grasp  with  which  I  wished  to  detain  him,  fled 
with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  down  the  street,  and  vanished 
into  a  lane.  Pursuit  was  hopeless.  Many  years  elapsed, 
and  I  heard  not  of  him — no  one  heard  of  him.  But  about 
two  years  ago  I  was  at  a  coffee-house  in  the  Strand,  when  an 
officer  of  what  they  called  the  Patriots  of  South  America 
staggered  into  the  room.  He  was  very  drunk.  His  tawdry 
and  tarnished  uniform  proclaimed  the  service  to  which  he 

VOL.  I.  o 


210  POCOCURANTE. 

belonged,  and  all  doubt  on  the  subject  was  removed  by  his 
conversation.  It  was  nothing  but  a  tissue  of  curses  on 
Bolivar  and  his  associates,  who,  he  asserted,  had  seduced  him 
from  his  country,  ruined  his  prospects,  robbed  him,  cheated 
him,  and  insulted  him.  How  true  these  reproaches  might 
have  been  I  knew  not,  nor  do  I  care;  but  a  thought  struck  me 
that  Tom  might  have  been  of  this  army,  and  I  inquired,  as, 
indeed,  I  did  of  everybody  coming  from  a  foreign  country,  if 
he  knew  anything  of  a  man  of  the  name  of  Benson.  "  Do 
you  ?  "  stammered  out  the  drunken  patriot.  "  I  do,"  was  my 
reply.  "Do  you  care  about  him?"  again  asked  the  officer. 
"  I  did — I  do,"  again  I  retorted.  "  Why  then,"  said  he,  "  take 
a  short  stick  in  your  hand,  and  step  across  to  Valparaiso;  there 
you  will  find  him  two  feet  under  ground,  snugly  wrapt  up  in 
a  blanket.  I  was  his  sexton  myself,  and  had  not  time  to 
dig  him  a  deeper  grave,  and  no  way  of  getting  a  stouter 
coffin.  It  will  just  do  all  as  well.  Poor  fellow,  it  was  all 
the  clothes  he  had  for  many  a  day  before."  I  was  shocked 
at  the  recital,  but  Holmes  was  too  much  intoxicated  to 
pursue  the  subject  any  further.  I  called  on  him  in  the 
morning,  and  learned  that  Benson  had  joined  as  a  private 
soldier  in  this  desperate  service,  under  the  name  of  Maberly — 
that  he  speedily  rose  to  a  command — was  distinguished  for 
doing  desperate  actions,  in  which  he  seemed  quite  reckless 
of  life — had,  however,  been  treated  with  considerable  ingrati- 
tude— never  was  paid  a  dollar^had  lost  his  baggage,  was 
compelled  to  part  with  almost  all  his  wearing  apparel  for  sub- 
sistence, and  had  just  made  his  way  to  the  seaside,  pur- 
posing to  escape  to  Jamaica,  when  he  sunk,  overcome  by 
hunger  and  fatigue.  He  kept  the  secret  of  his  name  till  the 
last  moment,  when  he  confided  it,  and  a  part  of  his  unhappy 
history,  to  Holmes.  Such  was  the  end  of  Benson,  a  man 
born  to  high  expectations,  of  cultivated  mind,  considerable 
genius,  generous  heart,  and  honourable  purposes. 

Jack  Dallas  I  became  acquainted  with  at  Brazenose. 
There  was  a  time  that  I  thought  I  would  have  died  for  him, 
and  I  believe  that  his  feelings  towards   me   were   equally 


POCOCURANTE.  211 

warm.  Ten  years  ago  we  were  the  Damon  and  Pythias — the 
Pylades  and  Orestes — of  our  day.  Yet  I  lost  him  by  a  jest. 
He  was  wooing  most  desperately  a  very  pretty  girl,  equal  to 
him  in  rank,  but  rather  meagre  in  the  purse.  He  kept  it, 
however,  a  profound  secret  from  his  friends.  By  accident 
I  found  it  out,  and,  when  I  next  saw  him,  I  began  to  quiz 
him.  He  was  surprised  at  the  discovery,  and  very  sore  at 
the  quizzing.  He  answered  so  testily  that  I  proceeded  to 
annoy  him.  He  became  more  and  more  sour,  I  more  and 
more  vexatious  in  my  jokes.  It  was  quite  wrong  on  my 
part ;  but  God  knows  I  meant  nothing  by  it.  I  did  not 
know-  that  he  had  just  parted  with  his  father,  who  had 
refused  all  consent  to  the  match,  adding  injurious  insinua- 
tions about  the  mercenary  motives  of  the  young  lady. 
Dallas  had  been  defending  her,  but  in  vain ;  and  then, 
while  in  this  mood,  did  I  choose  him  as  the  butt  of  my 
silly  witticisms.  At  last  something  I  said,  some  mere  piece 
of  nonsense,  nettled  him  so  much  that  he  made  a  blow  at 
me.  I  arrested  his  arm,  and  cried  "  Jack,  you  would  have 
been  very  sorry  had  you  put  your  intentions  into  effect." 
He  coloured  as  if  ashamed  of  his  violence,  but  remained 
sullen  and  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  left  the  room.  We 
never  have  spoke  since.  He  shortly  after  went  abroad, 
and  we  were  thus  kept  from  meeting  and  explaining.  On 
bis  return  we  joined  different  coteries,  and  were  of  different 
sides  in  politics.  In  fact  I  did  not  see  him  for  nearly  seven 
years  until  last  Monday,  when  he  passed  me  with  his  wife  ; 
a  different  person  from  his  early  passion,  the  girl  on  account 
of  whom  we  quarrelled,  leaning  on  his  arm.  I  looked  at 
him,  but  he  bent  down  his  eyes,  pretending  to  speak  to 
Mrs.  Dallas.     So  be  it. 

Then  there  was  my  brother — my  own  poor  brother,  one 
year  younger  than  myself.  The  verdict,  commonly  a  matter 
of  course,  must  have  been  true  in  this  case.  What  an  inward 
revolution  that  must  have  been  which  could  have  bent  that 
gay  and  free  spirit,  that  joyous  and  buoyant  soul,  to  think  of 
self-destruction;     But  I  cannot  speak  of  poor  Arthur.     These 


212  rOCOCURANTE. 

were  my  chief  friends,  and  I  lost  the  last  of  them  about  ten 
years  ago  ;  and  since  that  time  I  know  no  one,  the  present 
company  excepted,  for  whom  I  care  a  farthing.  Perhaps, 
if  they  had  lived  with  me  as  long  as  my  other  companions, 
I  would  have  been  as  careless  about  them  as  I  am  about 
Will  Thomson,  Jack  Meggot,  or  my  younger  brothers.  I 
am  often  inclined  to  think  that  my  feelings  towards  them 
are  but  warmed  by  the  remembered  fervour  of  boyhood,  and 
made  romantic  by  distance  of  time.  I  am  pretty  sure, 
indeed,  that  it  is  so.  And,  if  we  could  call  up  Benson 
innocent  from  the  mould  of  South  America — could  restore 
poor  dear  Arthur — make  Dallas  forget  his  folly — and  let  them 
live  together  again  in  my  society,  I  should  be  speedily 
indifferent  about  them  too.  My  mind  is  as  if  slumbering, 
quite  wrapped  up  in  itself,  and  never  wakes  but  to  act  a 
part.  I  rise  in  the  morning  to  eat,  drink,  talk,  to  say  what 
I  do  not  think,  to  advocate  questions  which  I  care  not  for, 
to  join  companions  whom  I  value  not,  to  indulge  in  sensual 
pleasures  which  I  despise,  to  waste  my  hours  in  trifling 
amusements  or  more  trifling  business,  and  to  retire  to  my 
bed  perfectly  indifferent  as  to  whether  I  am  ever  again  to 
see  the  shining  of  the  sun.  Yet  is  my  outside  gay  and  my 
conversation  sprightly.  Within  I  generally  stagnate,  but 
sometimes  there  comes  a  twinge,  short  indeed,  but  bitter. 
Then  it  is  that  I  am,  to  all  appearance,  most  volatile,  most 
eager  in  dissipation ;  but,  could  you  lift  the  covering  which 
shrouds  the  secrets  of  my  bosom,  you  would  see  that,  like 
the  inmates  of  the  hall  of  Eblis,  my  very  heart  was  fire. 

Ha — ha — ha !  Say  it  again,  Jemmy — say  it  again,  man — do 
not  be  afraid.  Ha — ha — ha  !  Too  good,  too  good,  upon 
my  honour.  I  was  crossed  in  love  !  /  in  love  ;  you  make  me 
laugh ;  excuse  my  rudeness — ha — ha — ha  !  No,  no,  thank 
God,  though  I  committed  follies  of  various  kinds,  I  escaped 
that  foolery.  I  see  my  prosing  has  infected  you,  has  made 
you  dull.  Quick  !  Unwire  the  champagne ;  let  us  drive 
spirits  into  us  by  its  generous  tide.  We  are  growing  muddy 
over  the  claret.     /  in  love  !     Banish  all  gloomy  thoughts. 


POCOCURANTE.  213  • 

"A  light  heart  and  a  thin  pair  of  breeches 
Goes  thorough  the  world,  my  brave  boys." 

What  say  you  to  that  ?  We  should  drown  all  care  in  the 
bowl— fie  on  the  plebeian  word — we  should  dispel  it  by  the 
sparkling  bubbles  of  wine,  fit  to  be  drunk  by  the  gods  ;  that 
is  your  only  true  philosophy. 

"  Let  us  drink  and  be  merry. 
Dance,  laugh,  and  rejoice, 
With  claret  and  sherry, 
Theorbo  and  voice. 

"  This  changeable  world 
To  our  joys  is  unjust ; 
All  pleasure's  uncertain. 
So  down  with  your  dust. 

"In  pleasure  dispose 

Your  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence. 
For  we  all  shall  be  nothing 
A  hundred  years  hence." 

What,  not  another  bottle  ?  Only  one  more  !  Do  not  be 
so  obstinate.  Well,  if  you  must,  why,  all  I  can  say  is,  good- 
night 

He  is  gone.  A  kind  animal,  but  a  fool,  exactly  what  is 
called  the  best  creature  in  the  world.  I  have  that  affection 
for  him  that  I  have  for  Towler,  and  I  believe  his  feelings 
towards  me  are  like  Towler's,  an  animal  love  of  one  whom  he 
looks  up  to.  An  eating,  drinking,  good-humoured,  good- 
natured  varlet,  who  laughs  at  my  jokes  when  I  tell  him  they 
are  to  be  laughed  at,  sees  things  exactly  in  the  light  that  I 
see  them  in,  backs  me  in  my  assertions,  and  bets  on  me  at 
whist.  I  had  rather  than  ten  thousand  pounds  be  in 
singleness  of  soul,  in  thoughtlessness  of  brain,  in  honesty  of 
intention,  in  solid  contented  ignorance,  such  as  Jemmy 
Musgrovc.     That  I  cannot  be.     N''importe. 

Booby  as  he  is,  he  did  hit  a  string  which  I  thought  had 
lost  its  vibration,  had  become  indurated  like  all  my  other 


'214  POCOCURANTE. 

feelings.  Pish !  It  is  well  that  I  am  alone.  Surely  the 
claret  has  made  me  maudlin,  and  the  wine  is  oozing  out  at 
my  eyes.  Pish  !  What  nonsense  !  Ay,  Margaret,  it  is  exactly 
ten  years  ago.  I  was  then  twenty,  and  a  fool.  No,  not  a 
fool  for  loving  you.  By  Heavens,  I  have  lost  my  wits  to 
talk  this  stuff!  The  wine  has  done  its  office,  and  I  am 
maundering.  Why  did  I  love  you?  It  was  all  my  own 
perverse  stupidity.  I  was,  am,  and  ever  will  be  a  block- 
head, an  idiot  of  the  first  water.  And  such  a  match  for  her 
to  be  driven  into.  She  certainly  should  have  let  me  know 
more  of  her  intentions  than  she  did.  Indeed  !  W^hy  should 
she  ?  Was  she  to  caper  after  my  whims,  to  sacrifice  her 
happiness  to  my  caprices,  to  my  devotions  of  to-day,  and 
my  sulkinesses,  or,  still  worse,  my  levities  of  to-morrow  ? 
No,  no,  Margaret ;  never,  never,  never,  even  in  thought,  let 
me  accuse  you,  model  of  gentleness,  of  kindness,  of  good- 
ness, as  well  as  of  beauty.  I  am  to  blame  myself,  and 
myself  alone. 

I  can  see  her  now,  can  talk  to  her  without  passion,  can 
put  up  with  her  husband,  and  fondle  her  children.  I  have 
repressed  that  emotion,  and,  in  doing  so,  all  others.  With 
that  throb  lost  went  all  the  rest.  I  am  now  a  mere  card  in 
the  pack,  shuffled  about  eternally  with  the  set,  but  passive 
and  senseless.  I  care  no  more  for  my  neighbour  than  the 
king  of  diamonds  cares  for  him  of  clubs.  Dear,  dear 
Margaret,  there  is  a  lock  of  your  hair  enclosed,  unknown  to 
you,  in  a  little  case  which  lies  over  my  heart.  I  seldom 
dare  to  look  at  it.  Let  me  kiss  its  auburn  folds  once  more, 
and  remember  the  evening  I  took  it.  But  I  am  growing 
more  and  more  absurd.  I  drink  your  health  then,  and 
retire. 

Here's  a  health  to  thee,  Margaret, 

Here's  a  health  to  thee  ; 

The  drinkers  are  gone, 

And  I  am  alone, 

So  here's  a  health  to  thee. 

Dear,  dear  Margaret. 


XTbe  Xast  Mor&s  of  dearies  Bbwarbs,  lEsq. 

Dear  North, — I  shall  be  obliged  by  your  sinking  scruples, 
and  giving  a  place  in  your  next  number  to  the  enclosed 
paper,  entitled  "The  Last  Words  of  Charles  Edwards,  Esq." 
The  production  will  of  itself  sufficiently  explain  who  the 
writer  7£'as.  I  knew  him  in  the  Peninsula  as  a  dashing  fellow  ; 
and,  notwithstanding  all  he  says,  he  was  a  great  favourite  with 
his  mess.  Bad  as  he  was,  he  did  not  want  some  good  points  : 
he  was  not  a  scoundrel  to  the  core.  He  is  gone  !  May  the 
history  of  his  errors  do  good  to  one  young  and  unhardened 
sinner !  I  think  it  may  well  be  expected  to  do  good  to 
hundreds  of  them. 

Some  people  will  say  you  act  wrongly  in  giving  publicity 
to  such  a  record.  Don't  mind  this ;  it  is  mere  cant.  The 
paper  is  a  transcript — I  have  no  doubt  a  faithful  one — of  the 
feelings  of  a  man  who  had  strong  passions  himself,  who  un- 
derstood human  passion,  who  understood  the  world,  and  who 
lived  miserably,  and  died  most  miserably,  because  he  could 
not,  or  would  not,  understand  himself;  and  therefore  derived 
no  benefits  from  his  acute  perceptions  as  to  others.  Is  not 
this  a  lesson  ?  I  think  it  is  not  only  a  lesson,  but  a  lesson 
of  lessons;  and  I  request  you  to  print  the  thing  as  it  stands. 

I  received  the  paper  from  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  at 
one  time  served  in  the  same  troop  with  Edwards.  The 
packet  was  left  at  his  house  on  Christmas  night,  1822.  He 
was  home  at  the  time,  and  did  not  reach  London  until  a 
week  had  elapsed.  The  handwriting  was  disguised,  but 
he  recognised  it  notwithstanding;  and  the  newspapers  of 
the  day  sufficiently  confirmed  the  import. — Yours  truly, 

Morgan  Odoherty. 


2i6  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 


Chapter  I. 


I  am,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  I  have  been,  a  man  of 
pleasure.  I  am  now  forty  years,  less  some  few  months,  of 
age ;  and  I  shall  depart  this  life  at  twelve  o'clock  to-night. 
About  that  hour  it  is  that  I  propose  to  shoot  myself  through 
the  head.  Let  this  letter  be  evidence  that  I  do  the  act 
advisedly.  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  that  resolution  con- 
founded with  madness,  which  is  founded  upon  the  coolest 
and  maturest  consideration.  Men  are  coxcombs  even  in 
death ;  and  I  will  not  affect  to  disguise  my  weakness.  I 
would  not  forfeit  the  glory  of  triumphing  over  broken-spirited 
drunkards  and  half-crazy  opium-chewers— of  being  able  to 
die  grateful  for  the  joys  I  have  experienced,  and  of  disdain- 
ing to  calumniate  pleasures  after  they  have  ceased  to  be 

within  my  reach.     I  do  assure  you,  Mr. ,  that  I  should 

wait  personally  upon  you  with  this  epistle;  but  that 
I  think  the  mere  reasonableness  of  my  suicide  must  carry 
conviction  with  it  of  my  sanity  ;  but  that  I  trust  to  lay  before 
you  such  facts,  and  such  arguments,  as  shall  approve  me  not 
only  justifiable,  but  most  philosophic,  in  destroying  myself. 
Hear  what  I  have  done ;  weigh  what  I  mean  to  do ;  and 
judge  if  I  deserve  the  name  of  madman. 

I  was  born  of  a  family  rather  ancient  than  rich ;  and 
inherited,  with  something  like  the  handsome  person  of 
my  father,  his  disposition  to  expend  money  rather  than  to 
acquire  it.  To  my  own  recollection,  at  eighteen  I  was  of  a 
determined  temper  rather  than  of  a  violent  one ;  ardent  in 
the  prosecution  of  objects  rather  than  sudden  to  undertake 
them;  not  very  hasty  either  in  love  or  in  quarrel.  I  had 
faculty  enough  to  write  bad  verses, — not  industry  enough 
to  write  anything  else;  and  an  aptitude  for  billiards  and 
horse-riding  to  a  miracle. 

Now  I  desire  to  have  this  considered  not  as  a  confession, 
but  as  a  statement.  As  I  plead  guilty  to  no  fault,  I  make  a 
declaration,  not  an  acknowledgment.  I  am  not  lamenting 
anything  that  is  past.     If  I  had  to  begin  again  to-morrow,  I 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  217 

would  begin  again  in  the  same  way.  I  should  vary  my 
course,  perhaps,  something,  with  the  advantage  of  my  pre- 
sent experience ;  but  take  it  in  the  main,  and  it  would  be 
the  race  that  I  have  run  already. 

At  eighteen,  with  an  education,  as  Lord  Foppington  has 
it,  "  rather  at  large ; "  for  (like  Swift's  captain  of  horse)  my 
tutors  were  the  last  people  who  expected  any  good  of  me — 
at  eighteen,  it  became  necessary  for  me  to  think  of  a 
profession.  My  first  attempt  in  life  was  in  the  Navy.  I  was 
anxious  to  go,  and  cared  very  little  whither ;  and  a  school- 
boy midshipman  of  my  acquaintance  cajoled  me  into  a 
Mediterranean  voyage  by  promises  of  prize-money  and 
descriptions  of  Plymouth  harbour. 

If  I  were  to  speak  from  my  feelings  at  the  present  moment, 
I  should  say  that  the  life  of  a  sailor  has  its  charms.  I  am 
bankrupt  in  appetite  as  well  as  in  estate ;  if  I  have  nothing 
left  to  enjoy,  I  have  little  capacity  left  for  enjoyment ;  and 
I  now  know  how  to  appreciate  that  exuberance  of  spirit  with 
which  a  man  dashes  into  dissipation  on  shore  after  six  weeks' 
restraint  from  it  at  sea.  But  I  know  also  that  these  are  the 
feelings  of  situation  and  of  circumstance.  The  past  seems 
delightful  where  no  hope  lives  for  the  future.  I  am  cherish- 
ing most  fondly  the  recollection  of  those  sensations  which 
are  now  the  most  completely  lost  to  me  for  ever.  But  it  is 
the  act  of  the  moment  which  forms  the  index  to  the  true 
impression.  A  ship  of  war  may  seem  abstract  liberty  to  him 
who  pines  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition.  But  confine- 
ment, monotony,  coarse  society,  and  personal  privation — 
the  simyjle  fact  is  worth  all  the  argument.  After  a  cruise  of 
two  months  I  quitted  the  navy  for  ever. 

Charmed  almost  as  much  with  my  change  of  society  as 
with  my  change  of  dress,  I  quitted  the  sea-service,  and 
entered  a  regiment  of  light  dragoons  ;  and  for  two  years  from 
the  time  of  my  joining  the  army  I  led  the  life  which  lads 
commonly  lead  in  the  outset  of  a  military  career.  And  even 
to  the  occurrences  of  those  two  years,  rude  and  unintellcctual 
as  they  were,  my  memory  still  clings  with  pleasure  and  with 


2i8  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

regret.  Toys  then,  however  trifling,  pleased ;  the  most 
refined  enjoyments  could  have  done  no  more.  Is  there  a 
man  living,  past  thirty,  who  does  not  sometimes  give  a  sigh 
to  those  days  of  delicious  inexperience  and  imperception, 
when  the  heart  could  rest  content  with  the  mere  gratifica- 
tion of  the  senses  ;  when  the  intimacies  of  the  dinner-table 
passed  current  for  friendship ;  when  the  woman  who  smiled 
on  all  was  to  all,  nevertheless,  charming ;  and  when  life,  so 
long  as  health  and  money  lasted,  was  one  uninterrupted 
course  of  impulse  and  intoxication  ? 

It  was  my  fate,  however,  to  continue  but  a  short  time  a 
mere  follower  of  opera  figura^iies,  and  imbiber  of  strong 
potations.  Just  before  I  was  one-and-twenty,  a  woman  eight 
years  older  than  myself  in  great  measure  fixed  my  destiny, 
and  entirely  formed  my  character. 

Boys  who  run  riot  commonly  attach  themselves,  I  think, 
to  married  women.  Wives,  where  by  ill  fortune  they  incline 
to  irregularity,  are  more  understanding,  and  more  accessible, 
than  girls ;  and  hope  is  your  only  food  for  an  incipient 
passion.  Many  a  woman  becomes  an  object  of  desire,  when 
there  seems  to  be  a  probability  of  success  ;  upon  whom,  but 
for  such  foreknowledge  or  suspicion,  we  should  not  perhaps 
bestow  a  thought. 

Louisa  Salvini  was  eight-and-twenty  years  of  age,  a  Sicilian 
by  birth,  full  of  the  climate  of  her  country.  Hers  was  the 
Spanish,  or  Italian,  style  of  beauty  ;  small  rather  as  to  figure, 
yet  of  exquisite  proportion.  She  had  a  shape  which  but  to 
behold  was  passion  ;■ — a  carriage,  such  as  nothing  but  the 
pride  of  her  own  loveliness  could  have  suggested.  Her 
eyes  !  Their  glance  of  encouragement  was  fascination.  Her 
hps  confused  the  sense  to  look  upon  them.  And  her  voice  ! 
— If  there  be  (passing  attraction  either  of  face  or  form)  one 
charm  about  a  woman  more  irresistible  than  every  other,  it 
is  that  soft — that  mild,  sweet,  liquid  tone,  which  soothes  even 
in  offending  and,  when  it  asks,  commands ;  which  shakes 
conviction  with  its  weakest  word,  and  can  make  falsehood 
(ay,  though  known  for  such)  so  sweet  that  we  regard  the 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  219 

truth  with  loathing.  O  Heaven  !  I  have  hearkened  to  the 
dehcious  accents  of  such  a  voice  till,  had  my  soul's  hope 
been  asked  from  me,  it  would  have  been  surrendered  without 
a  struggle  ! — To-night,  at  midnight,  I  shall  hear  such  a  voice 
for  the  last  time  !  I  shall  hear  it  while  I  gaze  upon  features 
of  loveliness ;  while  my  soul  is  lulled  with  music,  and  when 
my  brain  is  hot  with  wine ;  and  the  mere  melody  of  that 
voice  will  go  farther  to  raise  the  delirium  I  look  for  than  * 
■X-  ******** 

But  enough  of  this  now.  My  tale  should  be  of  that  which 
was.  Let  that  which  shall  come  hereafter  give  some  other 
historian  material. 

My  acquaintance  with  Lousia  Salvini  was  of  her  seeking 
rather  than  of  mine.  Accident  threw  me,  under  favourable 
circumstances,  in  her  way ;  but  it  so  happened  that,  at  the 
moment,  I  did  not  perceive  I  had  excited  her  attention. 
The  manner  of  our  subsequent  introduction  was  whimsical. 
I  was  not  a  man  (at  twenty)  to  decline  an  adventure  blind- 
fold ;  a  well  played  upon  old  lady  carried  me,  as  a  visitor,  to 
Salvini's  house ;  and  my  fate  was  decided  from  the  first 
moment  that  I  entered  it. 

■Gracious  Heaven  !  When  I  reflect  that  the  woman  of  whom 
I  speak ; — whom  I  recollect  one  of  the  loveliest  creatures 
that  Nature  ever  formed ; — whose  smile  I  have  watched,  for 
its  mere  beauty,  even  in  the  absence  of  passion ; — at  whose 
feet  I  have  sat  for  hour  after  hour,  intoxicating  myself  with 
that  flattery  which  is  the  only  flattery  true  manhood  can 
endure ; — when  I  reflect  that  this  woman,  at  the  moment 
while  I  write,  is  a  withered,  blasted,  aged  creature  of  fifty  ! 
Madness,  annihilation,  is  refuge  from  such  a  thought.  I  met 
her,  scarce  a  month  since,  after  an  absence  of  years. 
Those  eyes,  which  once  discoursed  with  every  rising  emo- 
tion, retained  still  something  of  their  original  brightness  ;  but 
it  now  only  added  horror  to  their  expression.  That  hand, 
which  I  had  ])ressed  for  hours  in  mine,  was  now  grown  bony, 
shrunken,  and  discoloured.  Her  once  cloudless  complexion 
reeked  with  paint,  through  which  the  black  furrow  of  Time 


220  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

showed   but  more  deep  and  ghastly.     Her  lips,  oh!  they 

were  the  same  lips  which The  voice  too— more  dreadful 

than  all  ! — that  voice  which  had  once  been  sweetest  music 
to  my  soul  ;  that  voice  which  memory  still  is  sounding  in  my 
ears;  that  voice  which  I  had  loved,  had  worshipped;  that 
voice  was  gone ;  it  was  no  more ;  and  what  remained  was 
harsh,  tremulous,  broken,  discordant !  And  this  is  the 
woman  whom  I  so  adored  ?  It  is  she,  and  she  is  unconscious 
of  change  !  And  I  shall  be,  must  be,  the  thing  that  she  now 
is  !  Hold,  brain  !  The  blow  of  this  night  saves  me  from 
such  a  fate ! 

My  love  for  Louisa  Salvini  endured  two  years  without 
satiety.  An  attachment  of  equal  duration  has  never  befallen 
me  since.  But,  at  the  time  to  which  I  refer,  all  circumstances 
were  in  my  favour.  I  was  glowing  with  all  the  fervour  of 
youth,  and  with  all  the  vigour  of  unwasted  constitution.  My 
mistress's  beauty  delighted  my  senses ;  her  avowed  preference 
gratified  my  vanity ;  she  was  charming  to  me  (love  apart), 
taken  merely  as  a  companion;  and,  what  conduced  still 
farther  to  the  keeping  alive  our  passion,  she  was  not  (being 
another's)  constantly  in  my  presence. 

Contentment,  however,  is  not  the  lot  of  man.  Give  a 
Mahometan  his  paradise,  and  in  six  weeks  he  would  be 
disgusted  with  it.  My  affection  for  my  charming  mistress 
was  just  beginning  to  be  endangered,  when  the  regiment  to 
which  I  belonged  was  ordered  to  the  Continent.  The  fact 
was  that  I  met  in  Louisa's  society  a  variety  of  women  of 
principles  as  free  as  her  own,  and  the  very  jealousy  which 
each  lady  entertained  of  her  friends  made  success  with 
herself  the  more  easy  and  certain.  A  little  while  longer,  and 
Louisa  and  I  had  severed ;  my  embarkation,  parting  us  by 
necessity,  saved  us  probably  from  a  parting  by  consent. 

I  left  England  very  poor  as  to  pecuniary  means,  but  rich 
in  every  other  advantage  which  (to  me)  made  life  desirable. 
Youth,  O  youth  !  could  I  but  recall  the  years  that  I  have 
lived  !  I  would  rather  stand  now  upon  the  barrenest  plain 
in  Europe,  naked,  friendless,  penniless,  but  again  sixteen, 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  221 

than   possess,    as   the   thing    I    am,    the    empire    of    the 
world. 

Is  there  a  fool  so  besotted  as  to  trust  the  cant  he  utters, 
to  believe  that  money  can  really  purchase  all  the  blessings 
of  this  life  ?  Money  can  buy  nothing  ;  it  is  worth  nothing. 
I  have  rioted  in  its  abundance ;  I  have  felt  its  total 
deprivation ;  and  I  have  enjoyed  more,  I  believe,  of 
happiness  in  the  last  state  than  in  the  first. 

Shall  I  forget  the  first  event  of  my  career  on  the 
Continent  — that  event  which,  in  the  end,  led  to  its  premature 
termination?  Shall  I  forget  the  insolent  superiority  with 
which  I  looked  down  upon  my  brother  officers,  men  to  whom 
play,  excess  of  wine,  and  mercenary  women  seemed,  and 
indeed  were,  delights  sufficient  ? 

Wine,  until  after  thirty,  from  choice,  I  seldom  tasted. 
My  spirits,  when  sober,  were  too  vivid  for  control ;  wine 
only  troubled  their  serenity,  without  heightening  their  level. 
Of  play,  I  touched  it  once  ;  and  I  shall  speak  of  it  hereafter. 
But  women  ?  such  women  as  these  men  could  admire  ? 
Even  my  more  cultivated  sense  rejected  them  ;  two  years  of 
intimacy  with  Salvini  and  her  companions  had  chastened  my 
taste,  and  made  delicate  my  perceptions.  Can  I  ever,  I 
repeat,  forget  that  exquisite  moment,  that  moment  which 
secured  to  me  at  least  one  enemy  for  life,  when  I,  the 
poorest  cornet  in  our  regiment,  defeated  my  colonel  in  the 
favour  of  the  first  beauty  in  Lisbon?  By  Heaven,  the 
recollection  of  that  single  hour  past  warms  my  spirits  to  high 
pitch  for  the  hour  that  is  to  come  !  The  envy,  the  hate — 
the  burning  hate — which  my  success  engendered  in  the 
bosoms  of  half  my  acquaintance  !  The  sensation  of  hating 
is  one  which  I  have  never  fully  experienced ;  but  the  plea- 
sure of  being  hated — oh,  it  is  almost  equal  to  the  pleasure 
of  being  beloved  ! 

To  a  man  of  habits  and  temperament  like  mine  the 
Peninsula  was  a  delightful  residence  in  1808.  I  remember 
the  gay  appearance  of  the  capital ;  which,  taken  by  moonlight 
from  the  river,  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  imposing  in  the 


222  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

world.  I  remember  the  striking  panoramic  coup-d'ceil  of  its 
church  and  convent  spires  innumerable  ;  its  marble  fountains, 
its  palaces,  its  towers,  and  its  gardens  ;  its  streets  and  squares 
of  white  and  yellow  buildings,  each  gaudily  appointed  from 
the  basement  to  the  roof,  with  jalouise  lattices,  balconies, 
and  verandahs  ;  the  whole  city,  too,  throwing  itself  (from  the 
irregular  site  upon  which  it  rises)  full,  at  a  single  glance, 
upon  the  eye  ;  and  every  feature  in  the  prospect  seeming, 
like  an  object  in  a  picture,  disposed  artfully  with  a  view  to 
the  general  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Then  the  free  spirits  of  the  women ;  their  passions  con- 
centrated, almost  to  madness,  by  the  restraint  under  which 
they  live !  Honour,  for  aiding  the  hopes  of  a  lover,  be  to 
systems  of  restriction,  severity,  and  espionage  I  Opportunity 
to  an  English  woman  wants  the  piquancy  of  novelty.  As 
it  is  constantly  recurring,  it  is  constantly  neglected.  In 
Spain  they  seize  it  when  it  does  present  itself;  for,  once 
rejected,  it  may  never  be  found  again. 

But  beyond  the  beauty  of  Lisbon  as  a  city,  beyond  even 
the  brightness  of  those  souls  that  inhabited  it,  there  was  a 
laxity  of  law  and  manner  in  it  at  the  period  to  which  I  speak — 
a  license  inseparable  from  the  presence  of  a  foreign  force 
in  a  prostrate,  shackled,  and  dependent  country — an  absence 
as  much  of  moral  as  of  physical  police  which,  to  a  disposition 
such  as  mine,  was  peculiarly  acceptable.  Add  to  this  the 
further  fact,  that  I  was  fresh  in  a  strange  capital ;  among  a 
people  to  whose  manners,  and  almost  to  whose  language,  I 
w'as  a  stranger ;  where,  little  being  fully  understood,  all  had 
credit  for  being  as  it  ought  to  be ;  and  where  the  mere  novelty 
of  my  situation  was  a  charm  almost  inexhaustible.  Such 
allurements  considered,  could  I  fail  to  be  charmed  with  the 
Peninsula  ? 

My  stay  in  this  land  of  delight,  then,  was  something  short 
of  three  years.  I  was  present  at  the  famous  battle  of 
Talavera;  and,  afterwards,  at  the  desperate  contest  of 
Albuera,  under  Beresford,  where  the  Polish  lancers  first 
tried  their  strength  against  our  English  cavalry.     I  was  a 


CHAELES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  223 

sharer,  too,  in  the  more  partial  affair  of  Busaco,  and  took 
part  in  the  duty  of  covering  the  retreat  that  followed — a 
retreat  in  which  the  whole  of  the  southern  line  of  Portugal, 
from  the  Spanish  frontier  to  Lisbon,  was  depopulated  and 
laid  waste ;  in  which  convents  were  deserted,  cities  consumed 
by  fire,  and  women  born  to  rank  and  affluence  compelled 
to  seek  protection  from  the  meanest  followers  of  the  British 
army. 

The  evacuation  of  Coimbra  (the  Bath,  if  I  may  so  call  it, 
of  Portugal)  is  present  to  me  now,  as  though  it  had  occurred 
but  yesterday.  I  see  the  immense  population,  men,  women, 
and  children,  of  all  ranks  and  of  all  ages,  pouring  out,  at  an 
hour's  notice,  through  the  Lisbon  gate  of  the  city ;  and 
rushing  upon  a  journey  which  not  one  in  five  of  them  could 
hope  to  accomplish.  It  was  little  to  have  abandoned  home 
and  property ;  to  have  set  forth  on  foot  (for  the  army  had 
seized  all  conveyance) — on  foot,  and  unprovided,  in  a  long 
and  rapid  march,  through  a  distracted,  ravaged,  lawless 
tract  of  country.  If  to  have  suffered  this  was  much,  the  trial 
was  still  to  come.  I  saw  these  multitudes,  spent  with  travel 
and  with  hunger,  reach  towns  in  which  every  hovel,  every 
shed  was  filled  with  troops.  I  saw  families  upon  families  yet 
new  upon  their  pilgrimage, — not  yet  so  tamed  and  beaten 
down  by  suffering  as  willingly  to  carry  their  daughters  into 
the  guardrooms  of  an  infuriated  soldiery ;  I  saw  them  lying 
(for  even  the  churches  were  filled  with  our  sick  and 
wounded) — lying  unsheltered  all  night  in  the  fields  and  open 
squares  ;  waiting,  with  feverish  restlessness,  the  appearance 
of  morning,  as  though  new  light  (repose  apart)  would  to 
them  be  an  accession  of  new  strength. 

The  vast  column  rolled  forward  on  the  high  road  to  the 
capital,  collecting  the  population  of  the  country  over  which 
it  passed.  Behind  were  left  the  weak,  the  aged,  and  the 
dying  ;  and  some  few  wretches,  of  profession,  who,  tempted  by 
the  hope  of  gain,  took  their  chance  (and  lost  it)  of  mercy 
from  the  enemy.  But,  though  every  step  over  which  the 
mass  advanced  gave  addition  to  its  numbers,  there  were 


224  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

drains  at  work,  and  fearful  ones,  to  counteract  the  reinforce- 
ment. Cold  dews  at  midnight,  burning  suns  by  day,  scanty 
provisions,  and  fatigue  unwonted — these  ministers  did  their 
work,  and  especially  among  the  females.  Towards  the 
close  of  the  second  day's  march,  the  women  began  to  fail 
rapidly.  At  first,  when  a  girl  grew  faint,  and  unable  to 
proceed,  her  sister  would  stay  by  her.  This  feeling,  however, 
was  not  fated  to  last  long  :  soon  the  sister  dashed  desperately 
forward ;  to  sink  herself,  and  meet  her  own  fate,  some  few 
leagues  farther  on. 

I  saw  one  company  halted  between  Leiria  and  Pombal, 
which  must  have  consisted  of  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand 
individuals.  These  people  came  from  the  neighbourhoods 
of  Coimbra  and  Condeixa ;  some  of  them  from  as  far  up  as 
Mongoalde  and  Vizeu.  There  were  girls  of  fourteen  or  fifteen, 
clad  in  their  gayest  apparel,  their  only  means  of  carrying  or, 
as  they  said,  of  "saving"  it.  There  were  old  men,  and 
grandames ;  peasants,  male  and  female ;  friars,  artisans, 
servants  and  religieuses.  After  travelling,  most  of  them, 
more  than  fifty  miles  on  foot,  and  passing  two  or  three  nights 
in  the  open  air,  they  were  lying  upon  the  banks  of  a  river, 
waiting  for  the  sunrise,  as  I  rode  past  them.  I  never  can 
forget  this  scene ;  and  yet  I  feel  that  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  describe  it.  The  stream  (I  believe  it  was  a  branch  of  the 
]NIondego)  was  dark  and  swollen,  from  the  effect  of  recent 
rains ;  and  it  rushed  along  between  the  willows  which  grew 
on  either  bank,  as  though  sharing  in  the  hasty  spirit  which 
animated  every  object  about  it.  On  the  road,  which  lay  to 
the  right  of  the  river,  troops  and  fugitives  were  already  in 
motion.  It  was  just  dawn  when  I  came  up.  A  light  breeze 
was  half  clearing  off  the  fog  from  the  surface  of  the  water. 
I  saw  the  living  figures  imperfectly  as  I  approached ;  all 
white  and  shrouded,  like  spectres,  in  the  mist.  The  light 
dresses  of  the  girls  were  saturated  with  wet.  Their  flowers 
and  feathers  were  soiled,  drooping,  broken.  Their  hair — 
(the  Spanish  women  are  remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  that 
feature) — their  dark  long  hair  hung  neglected  and  dishevelled. 


CHARLES  EDWAKDS,  ESQ.  225 

Their  feet,  which  cardinals  might  have  kissed,  were,  in 
many  instances,  naked,  wounded,  bleeding.  And,  worse 
than  all,  their  spirit  and  their  strength  was  gone.  Of  those 
whom  I  saw  lying  on  the  banks  of  that  water,  a  fearful 
proportion  lay  there  to  rise  no  more.  And  yet  many  had 
gold  and  jewels ;  but  gold  could  not  help  them.  And  their 
loveliness  remained ;  and  they  looked  in  eloquent,  though 
in  mute,  despair  upon  British  officers  who  passed  by  ;  and 
yet  those  men,  who  would  have  fought  knee-deep  for  the 
worst  of  them,  they  could  not  help  them.  I  overtook,  after 
this,  a  beautiful  girl  of  fifteen,  travelling  alone,  out  of  the 
high  road,  from  apprehension  of  insult.  This  girl  had  been 
separated  from  her  friends  in  the  general  confusion.  She 
had  money  and  diamonds  to  a  considerable  amount  about 
her;  and  had  accomplished  half  her  journey,  but  felt  unable 
to  proceed  farther.  She  begged  on  her  knees  for  a  horse, 
for  any  conveyance ;  to  be  allowed  to  travel  near  me,  with 
my  servants,  anywhere,  anyhow,  to  be  protected,  and  to  get 
on.  I  had  not  the  means  of  aiding  that  girl.  I  could  not 
help  her.  Every  Englishman  had  already  done  his  utmost. 
I  had  then  three  women  under  my  protection.  I  see  the 
figure,  the  countenance,  the  tears  of  that  girl  at  this  moment. 
I  thought  at  one  time  that  I  must  have  stayed  and  been  made 
prisoner  along  with  her.  I  could  not  carry  her  away  in  my 
arms.  I  could  not  leave  her — no  man  could  have  left  her 
to  her  fate.  Fortunately  an  officer  came  up,  who  was  less 
encumbered  than  myself,  and  she  was  provided  for.  And 
in  such  way  (and  in  ways  a  thousand  times  more  dreadful) 
great  numbers  of  women  got  on  to  the  capital.  They 
escaped  for  a  time  the  lot  of  their  friends  and  relatives  ;  but, 
eventually,  what  was  to  be  their  fate  ?  What  was  their  fate  } 
What  if  I  saw  these  women  afterwards — women  born  to 
affluence — reared  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury  and  softness — 
what  if  I  .saw  many  of  them  begging  in  the  public  streets  of 
Lisbon  ?  I  did  see  them  in  tliat  stale ;  but  it  is  a  subject 
that  I  must  not  dwell  upon. 

The  conclusion  of  my  peninsular  campaign  was  not  favour- 

VOL.  I.  p 


226  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

able  to  my  fortunes.  As  a  soldier,  I  did  my  duty  in  the 
field ;  but  oi)i)ortunity  for  a  man  to  distinguish  himself 
cannot  always  be  commanded.  I  had  a  project  once,  with 
a  few  fellows  as  desperate  or  as  careless  as  myself,  for 
dashing  at  the  enemy's  military  chest ;  but  our  scheme  fell 
to  the  ground,  for  we  never  got  a  chance  of  carrying  it  into 
execution.  In  the  meantime,  as  regarded  promotion,  my 
general  conduct  was  not  such  as  to  make  friends.  Repeated 
successes,  in  one  peculiar  pursuit,  inspired  me  with  an  ex- 
cessive confidence  in  myself,  and  with  a  very  contemptuous 
estimate  of  most  other  persons.  I  saw  men,  whom  at  all 
points  I  ranked  far  below  myself,  graced  with  the  favour  of 
superiors,  and  rich  in  the  gifts  of  fortune.  When  a  chance 
did  occur  for  making  such  usurpers  feel  their  proper  place, 
was  it  in  human  nature  to  resist  the  temptation  ?  All  hope 
of  patronage  under  such  a  regime  was  of  course  out  of  the 
question.  I  interfered  with  everybody ;  and,  at  last,  began 
to  take  a  pride  in  doing  so.  The  recompense  of  these  good 
offices  was  in  due  time  to  be  paid. 

A  Spanish  officer,  with  whom  I  was  associated  in  the 
convoy  of  certain  treasure,  proposed  to  me  one  night,  after 
our  halt  upon  the  march,  to  take  a  trip  down  the  Tagus, 
and  bring  his  wife  upon  the  journey.  I  had  met  this  lady, 
a  short  time  before,  in  Lisbon,  and  (according  to  my 
invariable  custom  in  such  cases)  fancied  that  she  had  a 
liking  for  my  person.  It  was  a  fine  moonlight  evening 
when  we  left  Villa  Nova,  and  we  ran  down  with  the  tide  to  the 
Quinia  of  my  friend ;  but  no  sooner  had  we  taken  the  Sig- 
nora  on  board  than  the  aspect  of  the  weather  suddenly 
changed,  and  we  were  exposed,  during  the  whole  night,  to 
considerable  danger. 

From  the  moment  almost  that  we  left  Silveira's  house 
the  weather  began  to  be  unfavourable.  The  darkness,  after 
the  moon  had  gone  down,  was  extreme.  The  wind,  which 
set  in  squalls  across  a  rapid  and  contrary  tide,  seemed  to 
acquire  greater  force  at  every  successive  gust,  and  was 
accompanied,  from  time  to  time,  with  heavy  showers  of  rain. 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  227 

Our  boat,  though  capacious  enough,  was  undecked  and 
shghtly  rigged,  evidently  unfit  for  rough  treatment  of  any 
kind;  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  our  sailors  became 
alarmed,  and  Silveira,  who  knew  the  river,  was  ill  from  sea- 
sickness. How  curiously,  in  the  arrangement  of  the  human 
heart  and  mind,  do  our  passions  balance  and  compensate 
each  other  !  A  man  might  reasonably,  perhaps,  be  expected 
to  keep  his  wits  about  him  in  such  a  dilemma  as  this.  For 
myself,  I  had  some  little  nautical  experience ;  and,  besides, 
my  companions  were  afraid ;  and  it  helps  a  man's  valour 
greatly  to  see  other  people  frightened.  But  Silveira's  wife, 
who  was  as  little  of  a  heroine  as  any  woman  I  ever  met  with 
— I  was  compelled  to  support  her  during  almost  the  whole 
of  the  night ;  for  the  sea  kept  dashing  into  our  open  boat, 
and  her  husband,  from  illness,  could  scarcely  take  care  of 
himself;  and  yet,  under  these  circumstances,  while  she  ex- 
pected, I  believe,  to  be  washed  overboard  every  half  minute, 
I  could  perceive  that  I  had  not  been  quite  mistaken  in  my 
suspicion  of  her  good  opinion  of  me. 

Whatever  interest,  however,  I  might  have  felt  in  the 
progress  of  this  little  excursion,  its  termination  was  such  as 
I  certainly  had  not  contemplated.  With  the  utmost  exertions 
both  of  the  Spaniard  and  myself,  we  did  not  get  back  to  our 
halting-place  until  evening  on  the  day  after  we  had  started. 
At  daybreak  (twelve  hours  before)  a  treacherous  quarter- 
master had  marched  forward  with  our  escort ;  my  friend  the 
colonel  did  not  let  slip  so  favourable  an  opportunity  to  get 
rid  of  a  man  whom  he  doubtless  considered  as  a  trouble- 
some coxcomb  ;  and,  to  avoid  the  inevitable  result  of  a 
court-martial,  I  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  resign. 


228  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 


Chapter  II. 

Upon  home  service  my  affairs,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of 
view,  would  have  been  very  httle  affected  by  the  loss  of  my 
commission.  On  service  abroad,  however,  the  consequence 
was  different.  As  a  soldier,  I  enjoyed  many  advantages  and 
immunities  which  a  civil  individual  could  scarcely  even  for 
money  procure.  Besides,  though  no  discredit  attached  to 
my  fault  (for  Silveira,  indeed,  had  never  been  brought  to 
any  account),  still  I  was,  up  to  a  certain  point,  a  man  placed 
in  the  shade.  I  had  not  lost  my  rank  dishonourably ;  but 
still  I  had  lost  it,  and  the  military  world  felt  that  I  had.  I 
missed  the  visits  of  some  men  with  whom  I  had  been  upon 
terms  of  intimacy,  and  received  advances  from  others  of 
whose  acquaintance  I  was  not  ambitious.  One  friend 
asked  casually  when  I  intended  to  go  to  England ;  another 
mentioned  some  new  Spanish  levies,  in  which  commissions 
were  easily  to  be  obtained.  One  fellow,  to  whom  I  had 
never  spoken  in  my  life,  and  who  had  been  dismissed  from 
the  navy  for  gross  insubordination  and  misconduct,  had  the 
presumption  to  write  to  me  about  "  jobs  "  in  "  high  quarters," 
"favouritism,"  "injustice,"  and  "public  appeal;"  but  I 
horsewhipped  him  in  an  open  coffee-room,  while  the  waiter 
read  his  letter  to  the  company.  These,  however,  were  teaz- 
ing,  not  to  say  distressing,  circumstances ;  and,  to  avoid 
seeming  at  a  loss  (particularly  as  I  was  very  much  at  a  loss 
indeed),  it  became  necessary  to  do  something,  and  with  the 
least  possible  delay. 

I  could  have  married  Portuguese  ladies ;  but  their  means 
were  in  supposition.  Ready  money,  in  Portugal,  there  was 
little ;  rents,  in  the  existing  state  of  the  country,  were  hope- 
less \  and  I  had  not  much  reliance  upon  a  title  to  land, 
which  to-day  was  in  our  possession,  to-morrow  perhaps  in 
that  of  the  enemy.     Misfortunes,  as  the  adage  declares,  are 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  229 

gregarious.  Meditating  which  course,  out  of  many,  I  should 
adopt,  I  fell  into  a  course  which  I  had  never  meditated  at  all. 

The  Peninsula,  during  the  war,  was  the  scene  of  a  good 
deal  of  high  play.  In  quarters  distant  from  the  capital  the 
difficulty  of  killing  time  drove  all  but  professed  drinkers  to 
gaming ;  and  the  universal  employment  of  specie,  for  paper 
was  used  only  in  commercial  transactions,  gave  an  aspect 
peculiarly  tempting  to  the  table.  Silver,  in  dollars  and 
Portuguese  crowns,  was  the  common  run  of  currency ;  the 
army  was  paid  entirely  in  that  metal ;  and  it  was  no  unusual 
thing  to  see  an  officer  come  down  to  a  gaming-house 
absolutely  bending  under  the  weight  of  a  couple  of  hundred 
pounds  which  he  had  to  risk ;  or  sending  for  a  servant 
(hackney  coaches  were  scarce),  in  case  of  a  run  of  luck,  to 
carry  away  his  winnings. 

Hazard  and  faro  were  the  favourite  games.  Of  billiards 
people  were  shy — people  commonly  dread  faculty  in  any 
shape.  There  was  some  danger  in  going  home,  after  being 
very  successful,  at  night ;  but  the  games  of  chance  were  in 
general  very  fairly  played.  The  bank,  of  course,  had  a 
certain,  and  a  considerable,  advantage  ;  but  as  all  the  houses 
were  public  and  open,  there  was  little,  if  any,  opportunity 
for  fraud.  And  it  was  not  by  the  assumed  advantage  of  the 
table,  or  by  any  process  so  tedious,  that  my  stripping  was 
effected.  In  luck  I  was  unfortunate.  I  lost  at  my  first 
sitting  more  money  than  I  could  afford  to  part  with,  and 
in  hope  of  recovering  it  was  compelled  to  persevere.  I 
have  heard,  among  many  dogmas  as  to  the  seductiveness 
of  play  (a  passion,  by  the  way,  no  more  invincible,  though 
perhaps  more  rapidly  destructive,  than  most  of  the  other 
passions  to  which  the  human  mind  is  subject),  that  a  losing 
game.ster  may  stop,  but  that  a  winning  one  never  can. 
Perhaps  this  axiom  is  meant  to  apply  peculiarly  to  your 
gamester  de  cxur  ;  and  possibly  (though  de  tete  would  be  the 
more  "germane"  illustration) — possibly,  as  Gall  or  Spurzheim 
would  say,  the  •'  organ  "  of  winning  and  losing  was  not  in  me 
strongly  developed.     As   far   as    my  own   feeling   goes,  it 


230  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

certainly  negatives  the  principle.  Had  I  at  any  time  regained 
my  own,  I  think  I  should  have  stopped.  I  lost  every 
shilling  I  possessed ;  horses,  jewels,  and  even  pistols,  in  the 
attempt. 

I  have  stated,  I  think,  that  I  was  an  only  child ;  but,  up 
to  this  point,  I  have  said  very  little  about  my  parents. 
Thank  Heaven  (for  their  sakes)  they  no  longer  exist.  My 
father  died  in  my  arms  about  seven  years  since,  exhorting 
me,  with  his  last  breath,  against  the  habits  he  had  lived  in 
all  his  life.  I  can  understand  this.  My  father  died  what  is 
called  "  a  natural  death."  Sickness  had  enervated  his  mind  ; 
terrors,  the  mere  weakness  of  nerve,  oppressed  him.  The 
ague  of  a  month  effected  that  change  to  which  the  argument 
of  years  had  been  unequal ;  after  fifty  years  of  infidelity  he 
fancied  he  died  a  believer.  Were  I  to  live  ten  years  longer, 
I  should  probably  die  as  he  did. 

But  I  name  my  relatives  in  this  place,  merely  for  the  sake 
of  observing  that,  at  the  time  to  which  I  refer,  I  was  very 
much  estranged  from  them.  My  father  held  himself  pretty 
well  relieved  from  anxiety  as  to  the  fate  of  a  man  over  whose 
conduct  he  had  no  control ;  and  it  was  a  draft  only  for  fifty 
pounds  which  I  received  from  him  in  Lisbon  after  the  loss 
of  my  commission,  accompanied  by  a  letter,  which  determined 
me  never  to  apply  to  him  again. 

So,  with  twenty  guineas  only  in  my  pockets,  and  with 
experience  enough  to  know  how  little  twenty  guineas  would 
do  for  me,  I  again  landed  in  England  in  the  year  1 8 1 2  ; 
but  I  have  not  time,  nor  would  the  world  have  patience,  for 
the  adventures  which,  in  three  months,  conducted  me  to 
my  last  shilling.  I  wrote  a  novel,  I  recollect,  which  no 
bookseller  would  look  at; — a  play,  which  is  still  lying  at 
one  of  the  winter  theatres.  Then  I  sent  proposals  to  the 
commander-in-chief  for  altering  the  taste  of  our  cavalry  ac- 
coutrements and  harness ;  next,  drew  a  plan  (and  seriously 
too)  for  the  invasion  of  China;  and  after  these,  and  a 
variety  of  other  strange  efforts,  each  suggested  by  my  poverty, 
and   all  tending   to  increase  it,  the   clocks   were   striking 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  231 

twelve  on  a  dreary  November  night,   as   I   walked  along 
Piccadilly  without  a  penny  in  the  world. 

It  is  at  twelve  o'clock  this  night  that  my  earthly  career 
must  terminate ;  and,  looking  back  to  the  various  changes 
with  which  my  life  has  been  chequered,  I  find  crisis  after 
crisis  connecting  itself  with  the  same  hour.  On  the  evening 
to  which  I  allude,  I  wandered  for  hours  through  the  streets ; 
but  it  was  not  until  midnight  that  I  thought  very  intently  on 
my  situation.  There  is  something,  perhaps,  of  appalling  in 
the  aspect  of  London  at  that  hour ; — in  the  gradual  desertion 
of  the  streets  by  reputable  passengers ;  and  in  the  rising,  as 
it  were  from  their  depths  of  earth,  of  forms  repulsive, 
horrible,  and  obscene.  This  change  of  object  and  associa- 
tion is  sometimes  peculiarly  striking  in  the  Parks.  As  the 
evening  draws  in,  the  walking  parties  and  well-dressed 
persons  disappear  one  by  one,  and  the  benches  become 
peopled  with  an  array  of  fearful  creatures,  who  seem  to  glide 
from  behind  the  trees, — to  be  embodied,  as  it  were,  out  of 
the  air.  I  have  myself  turned  round  suddenly,  and  seen  a 
squalid  shape  beside  me,  which  had  not  been  there  but  the 
moment  before.  And  I  knew  not  how  it  came,  nor  from 
what  quarter  it  approached ;  but  it  came  on  through  the 
dark  like  some  pale  meteor,  or  unwholesome  exhalation, 
which  was  not  visible  till  the  good  light  was  gone.  The 
closing,  too  (in  the  town),  of  the  shops,  one  after  the  other, — 
the  honester  and  safer  houses  first,  and  so  on  until  the 
haunts  even  of  guilt  and  infamy  shut  up  their  doors,  as 
seeing  no  farther  prospect  through  the  gloom.  And  the  few 
animated  objects  which  break  the  general  stillness,  more  re- 
volting and  fearful  even  than  that  stillness  itself!  Starving 
wretches,  huddled  together  in  holes  and  corners,  seeking 
concealment  from  the  eye  of  the  police ;  thief-takers  making 
their  stealthy  rounds,  and  eyeing  every  casual  wanderer  with 
suspicious  and  half-threatening  glances.  Then  the  asso- 
ciations which  present  themselves  to  the  mind  in  such  a 
situation.  Thoughts  of  burglars,  murderers,  wretches  who 
violate  the  sanctity  of  the  grave,  and  lurking  criminals  of 


232  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

still  darker  dye  ; — the  horror  being  less  of  injury  from  such 
creatures  than  of  possible  approximation  to  them  ; — the  kind 
of  dread  which  a  man  feels,  he  can  scarcely  tell  why,  of 
being  touched  by  a  rat,  a  spider,  or  a  toad. 

But  I  wandered  on  till  St.  James's  bell  tolled  twelve  ;  and 
the  sound  awakened  some  curious  recollections  in  my 
memory.  A  mistress  of  mine  had  lived  in  Sackville  Street 
once,  and  twelve  o'clock  (at  noon)  was  my  permitted  hour 
to  visit  her.  I  had  walked  up  and  down  a  hundred  times  in 
front  of  St.  James's  Church  waiting  impatiently  to  hear  that 
clock  strike  twelve,  which  now  struck  twelve  upon  my  ruin, 
my  degradation.  The  sound  of  the  bell  fell  upon  my  ear 
like  the  voice  of  an  old  acquaintance.  My  friend  yet  held 
his  standing ;  my  estate  had  something  changed. 

I  did  wander  on,  however,  after  St  James's  clock  told 
twelve,  and  while  the  rain,  falling  in  torrents,  drove  even 
beggars  to  their  shelter.  I  had  neither  home  nor  money. 
There  were  acquaintances  upon  whom  I  might  have  called, 
and  from  whom  a  supper  and  a  bed  would  have  been 
matters  of  course ;  but  I  felt  that  my  spirits  were  rapidly 
rising  to  the  right  pitch  for  considering  the  situation  in  which 
I  stood.  Nothing  sharpens  the  perceptions  like  the  pressure 
of  immediate  danger.  Had  I  slept  and  awoke  at  daylight, 
I  must  again  have  waited  for  the  hour  of  darkness.  Men 
succeed  over  and  over  again,  upon  the  spur  of  emergency, 
in  enterprises  which,  viewed  calmly,  they  would  never 
have  undertaken. 

I  strolled  onwards  down  Piccadilly  through  the  wet  dark 
night  (to  avoid  the  hackney  coachmen,  who  kept  teasing  me 
Avith  offers  of  their  services),  and  leaned  against  one  of  those 
splendid  houses  which  stand  fronting  the  Green  Park.  The 
strong  bright  glare  of  the  door-lamps  below  showed  the 
princely  proportion  of  the  building.  Night  was  now  growing 
fast  into  morning,  but  lights  were  still  visible  in  the  show- 
apartments  of  the  mansion.  Presently  I  heard  the  sound  of 
a  pianoforte,  and  a  voice  which  I  thought  was  familiar  to 
me.     I  listened ;  and  in  a  moment  the  singer  went  on  : 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  2^3 


The  setting  sun  with  crimson  beam 

Now  gilds  the  twilight  sky  ; 
And  evening  comes  with  sportive  mien, 

And  cares  of  daylight  fly  : 
Then  deck  the  board  with  flowers,  and  fill 

My  glass  with  racy  wine  ; 
And  let  those  snowy  arms,  my  love, 
Once  more  thy  harp  entwine. 
Oh  !  strike  the  harp,  my  dark-haired  love, 

And  swell  that  strain  so  dear. 
Thine  angel  form  shall  charm  mine  eye, 
Thy  voice  dehght  mine  ear. 

Surely,  said  I,  I  have  heard  these  words  before ;  but  the 
song  continued : 


The  glasses  shine  upon  the  board, 

But  brighter  shines  thine  eye  ; 
The  claret  pales  its  ruby  tint, 

When  lips  like  thine  are  nigh  ; 
The  tapers  dim  their  virgin  white 

Beside  thy  bosom's  hue  ; 
And  the  flame  they  shed  burns  not  so  bright 
As  that  I  feel  for  you. 
Then  strike  the  harp !    Each  note,  my  love, 

Shall  kindle  fresh  desire  ; 
Thy  melting  breath  shall  fan  that  flame, 
Thy  glowing  charms  inspire. 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  whom  I  had  known  inti- 
mately for  years.  I  cast  my  eye  upon  the  door,  and  read 
the  name  of  his  family.  My  old  companion,  ray  frie?id,  was 
standing  almost  within  the  touch  of  my  hand.  I  thought 
on  the  scene  in  which  he  was  an  actor ;  on  the  gaiety,  the 
vivacity,  the  splendour  and  the  sparkle,  the  intrigues  and 
the  fierce  passions,  from  which  a  few  feet  of  space  divided 
me.     I  was  cold,  wet,  and  penniless ;  and  I  had  to  choose. 

It  may  be  asked,  why  did  not  suicide  then  present  itself 
as  a  rallying  point?  It  did  present  itself  at  once;  and,  on 
the  instant,  I  rejected  it.  Destitute  as  I  was,  I  had  still  a 
confidence  in  my  own  powers — I  may  almost  say,  in  my  own 


234  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

fortune.  I  felt  that,  wealth  apart,  I  had  a  hundred  plea- 
surable capabilities  which  it  would  be  folly  to  cast  away. 
Besides,  there  were  relatives,  whose  deaths  might  make  me 
rich.  I  decided  not  to  die.  My  next  supplies,  however,  were 
to  arise  out  of  my  own  personal  exertions  ;  and,  in  the  mean- 
time, the  approach  of  light  reminded  me  that  I  was  still  wet 
and  in  the  street.  I  had  no  fastidious  apprehensions  about 
degrading  myself  If  I  could  have  held  a  plough,  or  digged 
in  a  mine,  I  should  not  have  hesitated  to  have  performed 
either  of  those  duties.  But,  for  holding  a  plough,  I  had 
not  the  skill ;  and,  for  the  mines,  there  were  none  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  London.  One  calling,  however,  there 
was,  for  which  I  was  qualified.  Within  four-and-twenty 
hours  after  my  dark  walk  through  Piccadilly,  I  was  a  private 
dragoon  in  the  31st  regiment,  and  quartered  at  Lymington 
Barracks. 


Chapter  III. 

I  have  denied,  I  do  still  deny,  the  overpowering  influence 
commonly  attributed  to  rank  and  fortune ;  and  let  me  not 
be  accused  of  offering  opinions,  without  at  least  having  had 
some  opportunities  for  judgment.  If  there  be  a  situation  in 
which,  beyond  all  others,  a  man  is  shut  out  from  all  pro- 
bability of  advancement,  it  is  the  situation  of  a  private 
soldier.  But  the  free  undaunted  spirit  which  sinks  not  in 
extremity  can  draw  even  from  peculiar  difficulty  peculiar 
advantage ;  where  lead  only  is  hoped  for  grains  of  gold 
excite  surprise ;  a  slender  light  shows  far  when  all  is  dark 
around  it. 

Twelve  months  passed  heavily  with  me  in  the  31st 
Dragoons.  My  apparently  intuitive  dexterity  in  mihtary 
exercises  saved  me  from  annoyance  or  personal  indignity, 
and  might,  in  a  certain  way,  have  procured  me  promotion. 
But  a  halberd,  as  it  happened,  was  not  my  object.  I  looked 
for  deliverance  from  my  existing  bondage  to  the  falling  in 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  235 

with  some  wealthy  and  desirable  woman.  And  in  the  strict 
performance  of  a  soldier's  duty — active,  vigilant,  obedient, 
and  abstaining — I  waited  with  patience  for  the  arrival  of 
opportunity. 

I  waited  till  my  patience  was  exhausted  half  a  dozen  times 
over ;  but  the  interim  certainly  was  not  passed  in  idleness. 
He  whose  prospect  lies  straight  forward  is  seldom  content 
to  look  about  him  ;  but  there  was  matter  for  analysis  and 
curious  investigation  on  every  side  of  me.  As  an  officer,  I 
had  seen  little  of  the  true  character  or  condition  of  the 
soldiery ;  and  a  regiment  of  cavalry  is  really  a  machine  of 
strange  constitution — I  say,  "of  cavalry,"  par  pj-eference, 
because  there  is  generally  about  a  dragoon  regiment  a  more 
lofty,  though  perhaps  not  more  just,  style  and  feeling  than 
belongs  (from  whatever  cause)  to  our  regiments  of  infantry. 

The  31st  Regiment  was  remarkable  for  the  splendour  of 
its  uniform  and  appointments,  an  attribute  rather  anything 
than  advantageous  to  the  soldier ;  but  which  always,  never- 
theless, operates  powerfully  in  the  recruiting  of  a  corps.  We 
had  men  amongst  us  from  almost  every  class  of  society. 
There  were  linen-weavers  from  Ireland,  colliers  from  War- 
wickshire and  Shropshire,  ploughmen,  gamekeepers,  and 
poachers  from  every  quarter  and  county.  There  were  men 
too  of  higher  rank,  as  regarded  their  previous  condition  ; 
and  that  in  a  number  very  little  imagined  by  the  world. 
There  were  men  of  full  age,  who  had  run  through  fortunes — 
lads  who  had  quarrelled  with,  or  been  deserted  by,  their  fami- 
lies— ruined  gamblers,  ci-devant  fortune-hunters,  ex-ofificers, 
and  .strolling  players.  In  a  company  so  heterogeneous  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  keep  the  peace  but  for  that  law 
which  visited  the  black  eye  as  a  breach  of  military  discipline. 
As  men,  those  who  had  been  "  gentlemen  "  were  incompar- 
ably the  worst  characters.  Some  of  them  vapoured,  or  at 
least  talked,  about  their  origin,  and  so  exposed  themselves 
to  the  ridicule  which  waits  upon  fallen  dignity.  Others  made 
use  of  their  patrician  acquirements  to  seduce  the  wives  or 
daughters  of  their  more  plebeian  comrades.     They   were 


236  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

dissipated  in  their  habits,  ribald  in  their  discourse,  and 
destitute  even  of  any  remnant  of  honest  or  decent 
principle. 

The  poachers  among  us  were  another  party,  almost  of 
themselves ;  for  the  gamekeepers,  the  same  animals 
domesticated,  never  cordially  agreed  with  them.  Idle  in 
their  habits,  slovenly  in  their  appearance,  these  fellows  were 
calculated,  nevertheless,  to  make  admirable  soldiers  in  the 
field.  Their  courage  was  peculiarly  of  the  true  English 
character ;  slow  something  to  be  excited,  but,  when  excited, 
impossible  to  be  overcome.  I  remember  one  of  them  well, 
for  his  anecdotes  used  to  amuse  me,  who  for  two  years  had 
been  the  scourge  of  every  preserve  within  ten  miles  of  his 
parish  ;  and  who  had,  with  difificulty,  escaped  transportation 
by  enlisting  as  a  soldier.  He  was  a  strong,  muscular  lad, 
about  two  or  three  and  twenty  ;  not  of  large  stature,  or  of 
handsome  appearance,  but  of  a  resolution,  or  rather  of  an 
obduracy,  which  nothing  short  of  death  could  have  subdued. 
I  saw  him  once  fight,  after  repeated  provocation,  with  a 
fourteen-stone  Irishman  of  the  i8th,  who  was  the  lion  of  his 
troop.  The  battle  lasted,  without  any  etiquette  of  the  prize- 
ring,  in  constant  fighting,  more  than  an  hour.  My  acquaint- 
ance was  knocked  down  in  every  round  for  the  first  thirty 
minutes,  but  the  blows  made  no  more  impression  upon  him 
than  they  would  have  done  upon  a  man  of  iron.  That  he 
had  the  worst  of  the  battle  never  seemed  to  occur  to  him  ; 
he  fell,  and  rose,  fell,  rose  again,  and  struck  on.  Nothing 
but  the  loss  of  sight  or  of  life  could  have  subdued  him  ; 
and  I  firmly  believe  he  would  have  destroyed  himself  if  he 
had  been  compelled  to  give  up.  At  length  his  antagonist's 
confidence  gave  way  before  his  obstinacy ;  and  there  was 
something  almost  staggering  to  the  senses  in  the  appearance 
of  it.  The  man  seemed  to  get  no  worse  for  a  beating  that 
might  have  destroyed  half-a-dozen.  He  spoke  very  little, 
never  broke  his  ground,  and  rose  with  a  smile  after  such 
falls  as  might  have  crushed  him  to  pieces.  Both  parties 
suffered  severely,  my  friend  rather  the  most ;  but,  at   the 


CHAHLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  237 

end  of  an  hour's  fighting,   the  Hibernian  owned  himself 
vanquished. 

But  whatever  might  be  the  quahties  of  these  men 
individually,  taken  as  a  body  they  were  amenable,  reason- 
able beings.  To  have  made  them  individually  discontented 
would  have  been  difficult,  to  have  tampered  with  them  en 
masse  quite  impossible.  The  sound  of  the  word  "discipline  " 
had  a  sort  of  magical  effect  upon  their  minds.  Their 
obedience  (from  its  uniform  enforcement)  became  perfectly 
mechanical ;  and  severity  excited  little  complaint,  for  it  was 
understood  to  be  the  custom  of  the  service. 

We  had  three  different  commanding  officers  during  the 
time  of  my  stay  at  Lymington,  but  there  was  only  one  who 
ever  disturbed  the  temper  of  the  garrison,  and  even  he 
failed  to  excite  any  feeling  beyond  great  personal  hatred  to 
himself. 

The  first  commandant  was  a  man  who  had  himself  been 
a  private  soldier,  and  who  had  risen  by  degrees  to  the  rank 
of  lieutenant-colonel.  Corporal  punishment  was  his  reliance. 
He  punished  seldom,  but  severely.  And  this  man,  though 
a  strict  disciplinarian,  was  universally  popular. 

Our  second  leader  was  a  well-meaning  man,  but  a  theorist ; 
and  he  seemed  to  have  been  sent  as  a  punishment  for  the 
sins  of  the  whole  garrison.  He  was  strongly  opposed  to  the 
practice  of  corporal  punishment,  as  tending  to  degrade  and 
break  the  spirit  of  the  soldier  ;  and  being  puzzled,  as  a  wiser 
head  might  be,  in  the  substitution  of  other  penalties,  he 
actually  put  his  men  through  a  course  of  experiments  upon 
the  subject.  For  example,  having  heard  that  Alfred  the 
Great  made  an  arrangement  by  which  every  man  became, 
to  a  certain  degree,  answerable  for  his  neighbour.   Major 

W resolved  to  introduce  the  same  system  into  his  own 

depot ;  and  whenever,  accordingly,  any  soldier  was  absent 
from  barracks  without  leave — and,  in  a  garrison  of  a  thousand 
men,  some  one  or  other  was  pretty  sure  to  be  always  absent — 
he  confined  the  remaining  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  to 
their  barracks  until  he  returned.     Indeed  without,  I  believe, 


238  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

the  least  feeling  of  cruelty  or  malice,  this  man  passed  half 
his  time  in  devising  inflictions,  and  the  other  half  in  practising 
them  upon  us.  And,  besides  this,  he  fatigued  us  with 
eternal  inspections ;  wasted  more  paper  in  writing  rules  and 
regulations  than  might  have  made  cartridges  for  a  whole 
battahon  ;  and  after  compelling  us,  even  in  cold  weather,  to 
go  through  a  tedious  parade  on  a  Sunday,  was  so  merciless 
as  always  to  make  a  long  sjieech  at  the  end  of  it. 

Our  third  commandant,  and  the  only  one  whom  I  ever 
dreaded — for  the  whims  of  the  second  hardly  passed  what 
might  be  called  vexations — our  third  commandant  was  a 
fool ;  and,  of  course,  being  a  soldier,  a  martinet.  Quite 
incompetent  to  the  discussion  of  any  possible  matter  beyond 
the  polish  of  a  carbine-barrel,  or  the  number  of  paces  in 
which  a  regiment  ought  to  cross  the  parade-ground,  he 
gave  his  whole  attention  to  what  he  termed  the  "  military  " 
appearance  of  his  troops.  A  speck  upon  a  man's  uniform — 
a  hair  too  much  or  too  little  in  a  whisker — a  spot,  or  a  drop 
of  water,  upon  the  floor  of  a  room  in  which  thirty  men 
inhabited,  ate,  drank,  and  slept ;  these  were  crimes  which 
never  failed  to  call  down  heavy  retribution.  And  perfection, 
with  this  gentleman,  was  almost  as  much  a  fault  as  negli- 
gence. He  lived  only  upon  orders,  reprimands,  and 
whippings.  The  man  who  could  not  do  his  duty  was  to  be 
tortured,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  the  man  who  did  it  well 
was  corrected  as  "  a  conceited  fellow."  Every  process  under 
his  jurisdiction  was  conducted  at  the  point  of  the  "  damme." 
He  attempted  to  make  his  officers  cut  their  hair  in  a 
particular  shape.  He  forbad  a  staff-adjutant,  who  could  not 
afford  to  give  up  his  place,  ever  to  quit  the  barrack-yard 
without  stating  where  he  was  going  to.  I  have  known  him 
set  three  hundred  men  to  pick  straw  off"  a  stable-yard,  where 
every  fresh  puff"  of  wind  left  them  their  labours  to  begin 
again.  Eventually  the  fellow  joined  a  regiment  in  India ; 
and  fell  in  a  skirmish,  by  a  ball,  it  was  supposed,  from  one 
of  his  own  soldiers. 

But  I  was  weary  of  examining  characters  and  avoiding 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  239 

persecutions.  I  was  tired  of  being  a  favourite  among  the 
nursery  girls  of  Lymington,  and  even  of  enjoying  the  enmity 
of  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  had 
become  wear)'  of  the  honour  and  discomfort  of  endurance — 
I  sighed,  in  the  midst  of  exertion,  for  exertion's  reward — 
I  never  doubted  that  talent  must  in  time  find  its  level ;  but 
I  had  begun  to  doubt  whether  man's  life  would  be  long 
enough  to  afford  the  waiting,  when  the  chance  that  I  was 
hoping  and  wishing  for  appeared. 

How  constantly  do  men  ascribe  to  momentary  impulse 
acts  which  really  are  founded  in  deep  premeditation ! 
Mistakes,  surprises,  jokes,  and  even  quarrels  pass  current 
as  accidental  which  are  in  truth  matters  of  malice  prepense. 
My  object  at  Lymington  was  to  introduce  myself  to  persons 
of  consideration ;  and  with  that  view  for  months  I  carried 
my  life,  as  it  were,  in  my  hand.  Every  moment  that  I  could 
snatch  from  the  routine  of  military  duty  was  systematically 
devoted  to  searching  after  adventure.  There  was  not  a 
family  of  condition  within  five  miles  of  the  depot,  but  I  had 
my  eye  upon  their  motions  and  arrangements.  How  often, 
while  watching  their  gay  parties  on  the  river,  did  I  pray  for 
some  dreadful  accident  which  might  give  me  an  opportunity 
of  distinguishing  myself !  How  often  have  I  wished,  in  riding 
night  picquet  or  express,  that  some  passing  equipage  would 
be  attacked  by  robbers,  that  I  might  make  my  fortune  by 
defeating  them  !  I  saw  by  chance  one  evening  a  mill  on 
fire  in  the  distance ;  and,  making  sure  it  was  a  nobleman's 
seat,  swam  through  two  rivers  to  arrive  at  it.  At  length, 
the  commonplace  incident — I  had  looked  for  it,  though,  a 
hundred  times — the  commonplace  incident  of  two  tipsy 
farmers,  on  a  fair  day,  affronting  an  officer  in  Lymington 
market-place,  who  had  a  lady  on  his  arm,  gave  me  the  chance 
I  had  so  long  sought.  This  affair  gave  me  an  opportunity 
of  being  useful  to  Captain  and  Mrs.  Levine. 

The  Honourable  Augustus  Levine,  who  had  joined  the 
garrison  but  a  few  days  when  this  accident  befell  him,  was 
one  of  those  men  of  fortune  who  seem  born  for  no  purpose 


240  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

than  to  put  poor  fellows  in  contentment  with  their  destiny. 
He  was  an  abject  creature,  both  in  heart  and  mind  ;  despic- 
able (there  be  more  such)  in  person  as  in  principle.  And 
yet  the  worm  was  brother  to  an  earl — he  was  master  of  a 
fine  estate — he  commanded  an  hundred  soldiers ;  and  (a 
man  may  have  too  many  blessings)  he  had  a  young  and 
handsome  wife. 

When  I  declare  that  Lymington  Barracks  were  full  of 
stripling  officers,  who,  in  addition  to  wealth  and  station, 
possessed  (many  of  them)  all  personal  advantages,  my 
venturing  even  to  think  of  Mrs.  Levine  upon  the  credit  of 
such  a  service  as  I  had  performed  may  appear  to  savour 
not  a  little  of  presumption.  Setting  the  event  apart,  I  should 
maintain  a  different  opinion.  A  hundred  qualifications, 
which  would  only  have  been  of  course  in  a  man  of  rank, 
in  a  peasant  would  excite  surprise,  and,  consequently, 
interest.  My  encounter  in  the  market-place,  though  a  vulgar 
one,  had  given  me  some  opportunity  for  display ;  and  a 
private  soldier,  who  possessed  figure,  accomplishment,  and 
deportment — who  could  make  verses,  make  love,  and,  more- 
over, fight  like  a  Turk — such  a  man  would  secure  attention  ; 
and  love  follows  very  easily.  I  cannot  afford  now  to  dwell 
upon  details ;  but,  whatever  be  the  value  of  my  general 
principle,  consequences,  in  the  particular  instance,  did  approve 
my  dream.  Within  six  months  I  had  disclosed  my  real 
name  and  rank — eloped  with  Mrs.  Levine — fought  a  duel 
with  her  husband — and  had  a  verdict  entered  against  me  in 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  with  damages  by  default  to  the 
amount  of  ;:/^  10,000. 

There  is  this  circumstance,  among  a  thousand  others,  to 
attach  us  to  the  female  sex,  that  a  man  can  scarce,  in  any 
case,  whatever  the  degree  of  friendship,  receive  a  favour  from 
his  fellow-man  without  some  feeling  of  inferiority ;  while 
from  a  woman  each  new  act  of  kindness,  or  of  bounty, 
seems  but  a  tribute  to  his  merit,  and  a  proof  of  her  affection. 

My  encounter  with  Levine  produced  very  trifling  conse- 
quences.    Both  parties  were  slightly  wounded  at  the  first 


CHAELES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  241 

fire,  and  neither  appeared  anxious  to  try  the  fortune  of  a 
second.  The  penalty  of  ;^io,ooo  was  a  more  serious  matter 
to  deal  with.  Mrs.  Levine  possessed,  independent  of  her 
husband,  an  income  exceeding  ^800  a-year ;  but  that  pro- 
perty formed  no  fund  for  the  payment  of  a  large  sum  in 
damages.  Our  only  alternative  was  to  quit  England 
immediately. 

I  enter  here  with  pain  upon  an  epoch  in  my  history  which 
filled  up  sadly  and  wearily  a  period  of  five  years.  Isabella 
Levine  was  a  woman  whose  personal  charms  were  perhaps 
among  the  weakest  of  the  attractions  she  possessed.  If  I 
had  sought  her  in  the  beginning  from  interested  motives, 
I  did  not  long  profess  a  passion  without  really  entertaining 
it.  That  she  had  deserted  such  a  husband  as  Levine  seemed 
to  me  no  stain  upon  her  virtue.  He  had  been  forced  upon 
her  by  the  command  of  an  uncle  on  whom  she  depended, 
and  who  himself  had  felt  so  little  confidence  in  the  man  of 
his  selection  that,  in  giving  his  niece  a  large  fortune,  he 
reserved  it  principally  within  her  own  control.  Was  it  a 
crime  in  Isabella  that  she  quitted  a  being  whom  she  could 
not  love  ?  Was  she  a  companion  for  stupidity,  for  sloven- 
liness, for  brutahty  ?  Was  she  a  subject  for  neglect  and 
for  coarse  infidelity  ?  Was  it  fit  that  her  tenderness,  her 
beauty,  and  her  youth  should  be  wasted  upon  a  creature 
who  could  not  appreciate  what  he  was  possessing?  She 
did  not  sell  herself  to  me  for  title  or  for  fortune.  She  was 
not  seduced  by  a  fashion  or  a  feather.  If  she  loved  me — 
and  I  think  she  did  love  me — it  was  for  myself  alone. 

Impressed  with  these  feelings,  I  left  England  a  second 
time  for  Lisbon.  The  war  had  now  been  carried  into  the 
heart  of  France,  and  the  Peninsula  had  a  prospect  of  suffi- 
cient security.  If  by  law  I  was  prevented  from  marrying 
Isabella,  by  gratitude,  as  well  as  by  affection,  I  held  myself 
bound  to  her  for  ever.  I  took  it  as  an  admitted  principle 
that  every  man  must  setde  at  some  time,  and  deliberately 
formed  my  plan  of  lasting  domestic  happiness. 

I  had  not  then  ascertained  that  the  very  thought  of  a  set 

VOL.   I.  Q 


242  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

system  is  destruction  to  everything  in  the  nature  of  enjoy- 
ment. I  had  yet  to  discover  that  it  was  better  even  to  die 
at  once  than  await  in  one  fixed  posture  the  wearing  of 
unprofitable  vacancy. 

I  set  out  with  a  wish  as  well  as  a  resolution  to  act  well. 
I  had  seen  the  errors  of  married  men,  and  I  determined  to 
avoid  them.  I  will  treat  a  woman,  said  I,  with  that  atten- 
tion which  she  is  entitled  to  demand :  I  will  not  render  her 
miserable  by  my  dissipations ;  I  will  not  insult  her  by  slight- 
ing her  society ;  I  will  love  none  but  Isabella,  and  with  her 
my  hours  shall  be  passed.  I  now  see  ill  omen  in  these  my 
first  resolutions.  A  man  does  not  put  himself  upon  the 
defensive  unless  he  feels  cause  to  apprehend  attack.  I  sus- 
pect that,  like  the  wolf  in  the  fable,  the  sight  of  the  collar 
already  made  me  uneasy. 

I  shall  never  forget,  for  my  time  indeed  is  almost  come, 
the  torture  which  it  cost  me  to  carry  my  good  resolutions 
into  effect :  the  days,  the  weeks,  the  years  that  I  suffered 
of  satiety,  weariness,  indifference,  disgust.  I  am  convinced 
that  the  decline  of  my  passion  for  Isabella  was  only  hastened 
by  my  efforts  to  conceal  and  to  resist  it.  The  love  of  full 
liberty,  which  I  had  been  used  freely  to  indulge,  acquired  now 
tenfold  force  from  the  restraint  to  which  I  subjected  myself. 
The  company  of  the  plainest  woman  of  my  acquaintance 
would  have  been  delightful  to  me  compared  with  the 
uniformity  of  beauty. 

I  bore  up  against  these  inclinations  until  my  very  brain 
became  affected.  My  senses  grew  morbid  from  excess  of 
inflammation.  And  withal  I  could  perform  but  half  the 
task  I  had  imposed  on  myself  I  might  refuse  to  love  other 
women,  but  I  could  not  compel  myself  to  love  Isabella. 
My  attentions  continued ;  but  they  were  the  attentions  of  a 
prescribed  duty.  The  feelings  I  had  once  entertained  to- 
w'ards  her,  the  letters  I  had  written  to  her,  for  I  chanced 
once  by  accident  to  fall  on  some  of  them,  the  whole  seemed 
a  dream,  a  delusion,  a  delirium  from  which  I  had  recovered, 
and  the  remembrance  of  which  excited  wonder. 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  243 

■  Steadily  to  pursue  the  course  upon  which  I  had  determined 
was  not  to  cheat  myself  of  the  conviction  that  that  course 
was  destroying  me.  In  vain  did  I  recollect  what  1  owed  to 
Isabella  :  her  uniformly  excellent  conduct,  the  sacrifices  she 
had  made  for  me.  These  images  refused  to  dwell  upon  my 
imagination.  They  were  as  shadows  in  the  water,  which 
eluded  my  grasp  when  I  would  have  seized  them.  I  found 
only  a  woman  who  now  was  in  my  way,  who  no  doubt 
meant  to  bestow  happiness  upon  me,  but  who  in  fact 
drove  me  to  frenzy.  I  would  again  have  been  left  destitute  ; 
I  would  have  returned  to  my  ration  and  my  broadsword ;  I 
would  have  submitted  to  anything  to  have  been  once  more  a 
free  man  ;  but  to  desert  Isabella,  or  to  be  deserted  by  her; — 
I  was  not  (Heaven  be  praised  !)  quite  villain  enough  to  take 
the  first  course ;  my  pride  could  not  have  endured  that  she 
should  take  the  second. 

There  are  limits  to  the  capacity  of  human  endurance. 
We  are  none  of  us  so  far  from  insanity  as  we  believe  our- 
selves. My  temper  had  suffered  in  the  course  of  these 
conflicts  a  shock  from  which,  1  think,  it  never  afterwards 
recovered,  when  a  train  of  new  circumstances,  unforeseen 
and  unexpected,  broke,  for  good  or  ill,  the  trammels  which 
entangled  me. 

We  had  been  five  years  together,,  and  I  had  been  four 
years  miserable,  when  a  habitual  depression  which  I  had 
perceived  but  neglected  to  speak  of, — for,  in  the  fever  of  my 
own  soul,  I  had  no  thought  for  the  distress  of  others, — this 
terminated  in  the  serious  illness  of  Isabella.  At  first,  sup- 
posing her  indisposition  to  be  transient,  I  treated  it  as  an 
affair  of  domestic  routine,  taking  every  precaution  for  her 
safety  rather  as  a  matter  of  course  than  from  any  feeling  of 
anxiety ;  but  an  intimation  from  my  physician  that  she  was 
in  a  state  of  real  danger  aroused  me  from  that  apathy  with 
which  I  contemjjlated  all  passing  events. 

"  Danger  ?  What  danger  ?  There  could  be  no  danger ; 
the  man  must  be  mistaken." 

"  He  was  not  mistaken.     My  wife's  complaint  was  low, 


244  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

nervous  fever,  brought  on,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  by  some 
cause  operating  upon  the  mind  ;  and,  if  her  spirits  could  not 
be  kept  up,  her  peril  was  immediate." 

I  never  received  any  intelligence  with  greater  discom- 
posure in  my  life.  A  variety  of  recollections,  very  like  accu- 
sations, crowded  one  after  the  other  suddenly  upon  my 
memory.  My  heart  awoke  from  that  lethargy  into  which 
long  suffering  had  plunged  it.  Still,  I  thought,  the  thing 
must  be  exaggerated.  "  Her  spirits  kept  up?"  Why,  they 
must  be  kept  up.  "What  was  to  be  done  to  keep  them 
up  ?  "     That  the  adviser  left  to  me. 

I  visited  Isabella  with  feelings  which  I  could  scarce 
acknowledge  even  to  myself.  She  sent  for  me  as  I  was 
going  to  her  chamber,  and  my  purpose  of  going  almost 
changed.  I  know  not  how  to  describe  the  sensation  which 
her  message  produced.  I  was  going  to  her  at  the  very  mo- 
ment unsummoned,  and  yet  the  summons  compelled  me  to 
turn  back.  It  was  not  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  is  detected 
in  a  crime,  for  that  must  suppose  a  previous  consciousness 
that  he  was  committing  one  ;  it  was  the  alarm  rather  of  a 
child  who  plays  with  a  forbidden  bauble,  and  suddenly  dis- 
covers that  the  last  whirl  has  broken  it. 

I  had  seen  Isabella  on  the  preceding  evening,  but  I  found 
her  much  worse  than  I  had  expected.  I  leaned  upon  her 
bed ;  it  was  some  time  before  she  could  gather  firmness 
to  express  herself  At  length  she  spoke,  and  I  hear  her 
accents  at  this  moment. 

She  spoke  with  apparent  confidence  of  her  approaching 
death.  "  She  regretted  it  for  my  sake,  because  her  fortune 
would  die  with  her."  "  Could  she  but  have  secured  my 
future  happiness  and  safety,  as  she  had  nothing  left  in  life 
to  hope  for,  so  she  would  have  had  nothing  to  desire." 

These  are  commonplace  expressions,  perhaps  I  shall  be 
be  told.  The  fact  may  be  so.  Death  is  very  common- 
place. But  those  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  course  decidedly 
evil,  have  been  cursed  with  sufficient  perception  to  abhor 
the  guilt  they  could  not  abstain  from,  such  only  can  appre- 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  245 

ciate  my  feelings  at  that  moment.  The  mere  mention  of 
Isabella's  death  as  possible  carried  distraction  to  my  soul. 
She  told  me  that  she  had  long  seen  the  decline  of  my  affec- 
tion ;  "  her  only  wish  was  that  it  could  have  lasted  while  she 
lived ! "  I  stood  before  her  a  convicted  villain.  I  could 
not  lie,  I  could  not  speak ;  at  last  I  wept,  or  I  had  died. 

I  must  not  dwell  upon  the  particulars  of  this  interview. 
She  thanked  me  for  the  uniform  kindness  I  had  shown  her ; 
for  the  effort  with  which  I  had  avoided  connections  which 
she  had  but  too  plainly  seen  my  desire  to  form.  "  Could  I 
pardon  her  for  the  pain  that  she  had  caused  me  ?  I  should 
be  happier  after  her  death  ;  for,  if  it  left  me  poor,  it  would  at 
least  restore  me  to  my  liberty." 

Let  me  do  myself  justice  here  as  I  have  visited  justice 
upon  myself  elsewhere.  I  was  not  quite  a  wretch.  If  my 
passions  were  habitually  fierce  and  ungovernable,  their  im- 
pulse in  the  good  cause  was  as  powerful  as  in  the  cause  of  ill. 

I  knelt  beside  Isabella's  bed.  I  confessed  the  truth  of  all 
she  charged  me  with.  I  invoked  curses  on  my  restless  tem- 
per ;  swore  that  all  my  former  love  for  her  was  rekindled ; 
that  I  would  not  survive  her  death ;  that  I  should  esteem 
myself  her  murderer  !  Nor  did  I  at  that  moment,  so  help 
me  Heaven,  utter  any  sentiment  which  I  did  not  feel.  If 
I  did  not  at  that  moment  love  Isabella  passionately,  I 
would  have  laid  my  life  down  with  pleasure  for  her  safety, 
for  her  happiness.  And  I  trusted  that  I  had  in  some  mea- 
sure restored  her  peace  of  mind ;  and  I  was  seriously  re- 
solving to  like  a  peaceful  life,  when  a  circumstance  occurred 
well  calculated  again  to  put  my  resolution  to  the  proof. 


2^6  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 


Chapter  IV. 

Had  I  been  asked  for  which  of  my  virtues  I  should  ever 
have  a  fortune  given  me,  I  might  have  had  some  difficulty, 
and  should  have  had,  in  answering  the  question.  It  was  my 
fate,  however,  for  once  to  be  enriched  by  my  irregularities. 
My  grandfather,  penetrated  on  a  sudden  with  admiration  of 
the  man  who  had  brought  his  family  name  so  much  into  dis- 
cussion, died,  after  making  twenty  wills  in  favour  of  twenty 
different  people,  and,  passing  over  my  father,  bequeathed 
a  property  of  ^^4000  a  year  to  me. 

I  premised  that  about  this  time  some  unforeseen  occur- 
rences befel  me.  Two  of  these  I  have  already  described  ; 
the  third  was  of  all  the  most  unexpected.  While  I  was 
busy  in  preparations  for  returning  to  England,  and  devising 
schemes  out  of  number  for  pleasures  and  splendour  when  I 
should  arrive  there,  Isabella  left  me. 

It  was  a  blow  for  which,  less  than  for  a  miracle,  I  was 
prepared.  Returning  one  evening  from  shooting  (we  were 
then  living  at  Condeixa),  I  found  a  letter  in  her  hand  lying 
sealed  upon  my  table.  The  sight  of  the  address  alone  para- 
lysed me.  What  had  happened  flashed  in  an  instant  across 
my  mind.     The  contents  of  the  letter  were  these  : — 

"  If  I  have  used  deception  towards  you,  Charles,  believe 
me,  it  is  now  for  the  first  time.  ■  I  wish  to  spare  you  the 
needless  agony  of  bidding  me  farewell ;  I  wish  to  secure 
myself  against  the  danger  of  being  diverted  from  a  course 
which  reflection  has  convinced  me  is  the  best.  I  cannot 
forget  that  you  have  ceased  to  love  me ;  I  have  known  the 
fact  long,  but  circumstances  have  kept  me  silent.  I  acquit 
you — Heaven  is  my  witness — of  unkindness  or  ingratitude  ; 
esteem,  affection,  regard,  compassion,  I  know  you  give  me 
these;  and  love  is  not  at  our  command.  There  are  men  from 
whom  I  could  be  satisfied  with  kindness  and  esteem  :  but  I 
cannot  fall  so  low  as  to  accej^t  pity,  Charles,  from  you.    You 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  247 

always  will,  you  always  must,  love  some  woman.  Can  I  know 
this,  and  yet  live  with  you,  and  be  conscious  that  you  do  not 
love  me  ? 

"  For  three  years  I  have  endured  to  see  you  wretched,  and 
to  feel  myself  the  cause  of  your  distress.  Could  I  feel  this, 
and  yet  be  happy  ?  What  did  I  gain  by  depriving  others  of 
your  heart  when  I  knew  that  to  me  your  heart  was  lost  for 
ever  ?  A  thousand  times  have  I  wished  that  your  scruples 
would  give  way,  and  that  you  would  be  happy  in  a  course 
which  could  have  added  nothing  to  my  misery.  I  have 
borne  all  this  long,  but  my  motive  for  bearing  it  is  at  an  end. 
Your  accession  of  fortune  makes  my  presence  no  longer 
necessary.  You  have  now  open  before  you  that  career  for 
which  you  have  so  long  panted ;  I  believe  that  you  are  cap- 
able of  sacrificing  it  for  me ;  but  can  I  accept  such  a  sacri- 
fice from  you,  Charles  ?  Can  I  exact  it  ?  Do  you  think  I 
could  value  it  ? 

"  Farewell !  I  will  no  longer  continue  to  hang  upon  you, 
interrupting  enjoyments  in  which  I  am  forbidden  to  partici- 
pate. Farewell !  My  pen  trembles  as  I  write  the  word ; 
but  be  assured  that  I  write  it  irrevocably. 

"  Do  not  distract  us  both  by  vain  endeavours  to  recall  me. 
If  love  were  yours  to  give,  I  know,  I  feel,  that  you  would 
give  it  to  me ;  but  it  is  not,  Charles,  at  your  disposal. 
Farewell,  once  more  ;  for  I  had  intended  but  to  say,  '  Fare- 
well ! '  May  you  be  happy,  though  my  day  of  happiness  is 
over.  Thank  Heaven,  your  impetuous  temper  is  no  longer 
likely  to  be  excited  by  want  of  means  to  those  enterprises 
which  might  not  always  be  successful ;  but,  if  ever  chance 
should  place  you  again  in  such  emergency  as  to  make 
Isabella's  fortune,  her  life,  her  love,  worth  your  acceptance, 
then,  and  then  only,  will  she  consent  again  to  hear  from  you." 

She  is  living  yet — I  trust  she  is  !  If  the  last  prayers  of  one 
who  has  prayed  but  too  seldom  ;  if  those  prayers  may  be 
heard  which  merit  nor  hearing  nor  value;  if  mercy  for  another 
can  be  granted  to  him  who  dares  not,  cannot,  ask  it  for  Iiim- 
self— then  may  every  blessing  she  can  wish  for,  every  blessing 


24  S  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

which  can  wait  on  life,  be  hers  !  May  she  know  that  in  my 
last  hour  my  thoughts  were  upon  her ;  that  my  latest  wishes 
were  breathed  for  her  safety,  for  her  happiness  ! 

How  merely  is  man  the  creature  of  events  over  which  he 
has  no  control !  When  I  kissed  Isabella's  forehead  scarce 
six  hours  before  she  wrote  that  letter,  how  far  was  I  from 
imagining  that  I  then  beheld  her  for  the  last  time  !  And 
what  a  turn  did  our  separation  give  probably  to  my  destiny  ! 
I  despise  the  pedantic  dogma  which  says  "  No  one  can  be 
missed."  Ill  as  I  think  of  human  nature,  I  think  that  asser- 
tion is  a  libel  upon  it.  Among  creatures  who  have  as  little 
of  discrimination  as  of  feeling,  to  whom  the  newest  fool  is 
always  the  most  welcome  friend ;  by  such  beings  it  may  be 
true  that  "  no  one  can  be  missed ; "  but  I  deny  that  any 
man  of  common  sensibility  or  perception  can  part/f^r  ever^ 
even  from  a  mere  companion,  without  remembrance  and 
regret. 

I  paused,  for  my  brain  was  giddy  after  reading  Isabella's 
letter.  My  first  thought  was  to  follow  her,  but,  on  reflection, 
I  abandoned  the  design.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  hope  to 
overcome  her  fixed  belief  that  the  continuance  of  our  con- 
nection would  on  my  part  be  a  sacrifice.  She  had  retired 
into  a  convent,  the  Lady  Superior  of  which  had  long  been 
known  to  us,  and  I  felt  that  she  must  be  happier  there  or 
anywhere  than  with  me.  Should  it  seem  that  my  decision 
was,  under  the  circumstances,  a  convenient  one,  I  swear  that 
it  was  a  decision  in  which  my  wishes  had  no  part.  No 
honourable  or  feeling  man  will  doubt  my  candour  in  this 
statement.  He  will  know,  if  not  from  experience,  from 
instinct,  that  had  I  listened  to  my  own  wishes  I  should  only 
have  thought  of  recovering  Isabella.  He  will  know  that  her 
absence  left  a  blank  in  my  heart ;  that,  spite  of  philosophy, 
axiom,  or  authority,  I  felt  there  was  a  something  missing, 
wanting — a  reliance,  a  consolation,  a  poifit  d'appui  to  the 
mind  which  nothing  but  the  society  of  woman  could  supply. 

And,  if  I  have  loved  other  women,  Isabella  has  not  been 
forgotten.     In  the  maddest  moments  of  gaiety,  in  the  wildest 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  249 

hours  of  license,  the  doubt  of  her  existence,  the  certainty  of 
her  wretchedness,  has  dashed  across  my  mind  and  poisoned 
the  cup  of  pleasure  at  my  lips.  Before  I  quitted  Portugal 
I  wrote  her  letter  after  letter,  intreating,  promising,  imploring 
her  return.  If  it  was  not  for  my  love  that  I  desired  to 
change  her  resolution,  I  swear  that  for  my  mere  quietude, 
for  my  peace  of  mind,  I  wished  to  do  it.  Ah  !  what  have  I 
to  regret  in  being  compelled  to  quit  a  world  where  to 
possess  feeling  or  reflection  is  to  be  eternally  unhappy ; 
where  passion  leaves  its  victim  no  choice  but  in  his  own 
wretchedness,  or  in  the  misery  of  those  whom,  at  his  soul's 
hazard,  he  would  shield  from  harm ;  and  where  the  being 
who  enjoys  the  most  of  gratification  himself  is  the  creature 
who  is  most  callous  to  the  sufferings  of  all  around  him  ! 

It  was  not,  however,  until  I  had  completed  my  dispositions 
as  to  Isabella's  fortune,  until  I  was  about  to  embark  for 
England,  to  place  distance — seas — between  us  ;  I  did  not 
fully  until  that  moment  feel  what  it  was  to  part  from  her  for 
ever.  I  wrote  to  her  once  more,  even  while  my  vessel  was 
under  sail.  Though  I  was  sensible  of  the  folly,  I  wrote  the 
letter  with  my  blood.  I  entreated  that  she  would  follow  me, 
and  follow  me  without  delay.  I  declared  that  I  should  ex- 
pect her,  that  I  would  take  no  denial,  that  I  should  wait  for 
her  at  the  first  English  port.  With  that  strange  confidence 
which  men  often  have  when  their  hopes  are  totally  desperate, 
I  went  so  far  even  as  to  appoint  the  hotel  at  which  I  should 
stay.  I  really  did  expect  that  Isabella  would  follow  me  to 
England.  I  wronged  her  firmness.  The  ship  in  which  I 
had  embarked  met  with  contrary  winds.  A  subsequently 
sailing  vessel  reached  England  before  us.  I  found,  on 
landing  at  Falmouth,  a  packet  from  Isabella ;  but  it  con- 
tained only  her  picture,  and  these  words, — "Do  not  forget 
me." 

That  picture  hangs  about  my  neck  at  the  moment  while  I 
write.  I  will  die  with  it  next  my  heart.  As  the  magnet, 
catching  eagerly  each  particle  of  iron,  lets  golden  sands  roll 
on  unheeded  by,  so  memory  treasures  up  our  moments  of 


250  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

misfortune  long  after  those  of  happiness  and  gaiety  are  for- 
gotten.    Isabella  lost  was  to  be  remembered  for  ever. 

But  these  are  recollections  which  unhinge  me  for  detail. 
I  have  a  blow  to  strike,  and  almost  within  this  hour,  for 
which  every  corporal  and  mental  agent  must  be  nerved. 
And  my  senses  rush  along  in  tide  as  furious  and  rapid  as 
my  fate  !  I  cannot  dwell,  amid  this  whirl  of  mind  and  fancy, 
upon  the  measures  which  in  seven  years  dispossessed  me 
of  _;^7o,ooo.  I  am  not  lamenting  that  which  I  have  done. 
I  be^an  with  a  resolution  to  live  while  I  did  live.  Uncertain 
of  the  next  moment,  the  passing  hour  was  all  to  me.  What 
mattered  it,  since  my  course  must  cease,  whether  it  ceased 
sooner  or  later;  provided,  while  it  lasted,  I  was  in  all 
things  content  ?  I  scorned  the  confined  views  of  men  who, 
possessing  means,  submitted  to  let  "  I  dare  not "  wait  upon 
"  I  would  ; "  and  vowed  when  I  put  myself  at  the  head  of  my 
fortune,  that  no  expenditure  of  wealth,  no  exposure  of  person, 
should  ever  have  weight  to  disappoint  my  inclination. 

Yet  my  estate  lasted  longer  than,  under  such  a  resolution, 
might  be  expected.  The  rich,  for  the  most  part,  either 
lavish  their  money  without  enjoying  it,  or,  to  maintain  what 
is  called  a  certain  "  state,"  suffer  dependents  to  lavish  it  for 
them.  As  it  happened  that  I  had  no  wish  for  commonplace 
distinctions,  nor  was  very  desirous  of  anything  which  money 
alone  could  buy,  I  escaped  all  those  rapidly  ruinous  contests 
in  which  the  longest  purse  is  understood  to  carry  the  day. 
I  saw  something  of  the  absurdities  of  fashion,  but  I  entered 
very  little  into  them.  Curiosity,  want  of  employment,  and 
that  natural  desire  which  even  the  silliest  man  feels  to  laugh 
at  the  follies  of  those  about  him,  made  me  associate  some- 
times with  fine  gentlemen ;  but  I  never  became  a  fine  gentle- 
man myself. 

And  yet  it  was  amusing,  in  the  way  oichasse  ennui,  to  glide 
along  with  the  frequenters  of  Bond  Street  and  with  the 
loungers  at  the  opera;  and  to  observe  the  excessive,  the 
monstrous  self-delusion  of  men  who  had  been  born  to 
ample  means,  and  were  not  encumbered  much  with  under- 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  251 

Standing.  Their  talk  was  such  feather,  and  yet  even  in 
what  they  uttered  they  were  generally  mistaken.  If  they 
were  vicious,  it  was  from  thoughtlessness  ;  if  honest,  from 
accident.  Their  conversation  was  so  easy,  and  yet  (to 
themselves)  so  entertaining;  the  jest  so  weak;  the  laugh 
so  hilarious.  Their  belief,  too,  was  so  facile, — I  did  envy 
them  that  faculty  !  Not  one  of  t'nem  ever  doubted  anything 
that  he  was  at  all  interested  in  crediting.  All  about  them  was 
fudge,  and  yet  they  never  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it.  Their 
Bond  Street  dinners  were  not  good.  They  would  talk  all 
day  about  the  fancied  merits  of  particular  dishes,  and  yet 
at  night  be  put  off  with  such  wine  and  aiisiue  as  really  was 
sad  stuff,  and  could  not  have  passed  but  upon  men  of 
fashion. 

But  the  most  striking  feature  in  their  characters  was  their 
utter  want  of  self-respect.  I  have  seen  a  young  man  literally 
begging  for  half-crowns  who  but  a  few  months  before  had 
driven  his  curricle  and  been  distinguished  for  his  insolence. 

Another  would  borrow  small  sums  and  never  pay  them, 
until  not  even  a  servant  was  left  who  would  lend  him  a 
shilling.  Others  would  endure  to  be  insulted  by  their 
tradesmen ;  to  be  poisoned  at  coffee-houses  where  they 
could  not  pay  their  bills ;  to  truck  and  barter  their  clothes 
and  valuables  for  ready-money  with  waiters  at  hotels ;  and 
all  this  to  obtain  supplies  which  in  reality  they  did  not  want, 
and  because  they  knew  no  mode  of  dissipating  time  but  in 
dissipating  a  certain  quantity  of  specie. 

These  were  the  people  who  went  to  fights — to  races ;  wore 
large  hats,  and  garments  of  peculiar  cut ;  with  little  of  taste 
or  fancy  in  their  devices  ;  and  of  true  conception  of 
splendour  or  of  elegance,  none. 

Then  their  hangers-on  were  a  set  of  men  fit  to  be  classed 
per  se  in  history  ;  fellows  culled  from  all  ranks  and  stations, 
but  all  rascals  alike ;  their  avocations  various,  but  all  in- 
famous. There  were  among  them  cashiered  officers,  or 
men  who  had  left  the  army  to  avoid  that  infliction ; 
fraudulent  waiters  and  markers  from  billiard  tables ;  shop- 


252  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

keepers'  sons,  black-leg  attorneys,  and  now  and  then  the 
broken-down  heir  of  a  respectable  name  and  family. 

I  recollect  one  or  two  of  these  fellows  who  v/ere 
characters  for  posterity  in  their  way.  There  was  one  Mr. 
IM'Grath  in  particular,  a  native  of  the  sister  kingdom,  with 
whose  history  in  full  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  be  acquainted.  I 
traced  him  back  to  his  leaving  Dublin,  where  he  had  acted 
as  collecting  clerk  to  a  distiller,  and  from  whence,  on 
account  of  some  trifling  embezzlements,  he  had  come  over 
to  England  with  about  twenty  pounds  in  his  pocket.  This  man 
on  his  arrival  had  not  a  friend  nor  a  connection  to  back  him  ; 
his  address  was  bad  ;  his  person  not  prepossessing;  and  he 
had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  anything  like  honest 
labour ;  but  he  began  with  a  little,  and  by  industry  rose. 

His  first  step  in  London  was  into  a  second-floor  lodging 
in  Jermyn  Street,  Piccadilly,  for  he  laid  himself  out  as  an 
appendage  to  men  of  fortune  from  the  beginning.  The 
woman  of  the  house  dwelt  herself  in  a  single  apartment, 
waited  upon  her  guests  as  a  servant,  and  fleeced  them, 
because  her  house  was  "  in  a  situation  !  " 

This  woman  had  a  hump-backed  daughter  who  stood  a 
grade  above  her  mother.  I  saw  her  afterwards  in  a  work- 
house, to  which  I  went  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the 
truth  of  M'Grath's  history.  She  did  the  better  kind  of 
labour,  while  her  mother  attended  to  the  drudgery,  and 
by  parsimony  and  great  exertion  they  had  acquired  near 
^2000. 

M'Grath's  second  step  in  life,  having  heard  of  the  ;^200o, 
was  to  marry  his  landlady's  hump-backed  daughter ;  and 
with  part  of  the  money  he  bought  a  commission  in  the 
Guards.  Here  he  remained  but  a  short  time,  his  real 
character  being  discovered.  Within  twelve  months  he 
deserted  his  newly  acquired  wife.  The  furniture  of  the 
mother's  house  was  next  seized  for  his  debts.  The  two 
miserable  women  then  came  for  support  upon  the  parish  ; 
and  with  the  wreck  of  the  ^2000  M'Grath  commenced 
gentleman. 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  253 

And,  with  the  appointments  of  respectable  station  about 
him,  this  fellow  had  gone  on  for  more  than  twenty  years 
when  by  accident  I  met  with  him,  the  most  handy  and 
universally  applicable  creature  in  the  world.  Latterly  he 
had  found  it  convenient  to  call  himself  a  conveyancer,  and 
undertook  to  act  as  an  agent  on  all  occasions.  He  was  a 
money-lender,  an  assistant  in  borrowing  money  or  in 
investing  it.  He  bought  or  sold  a  horse  ;  could  obtain 
patronage  (upon  a  deposit)  for  a  curacy  or  a  colonel's  com- 
mission. Then  he  dealt  among  the  bankrupts ;  could  in- 
dorse a  bill ;  get  it  cashed.  He  would  arrange  a  provision 
for  a  distressed  lady ;  wait  upon  a  betrayer  at  the  hazard 
of  being  kicked  downstairs ;  threaten  law  proceedings  ; 
introduce  a  new  face ;  in  short,  wherever  there  was  distress 
and  helplessness,  there,  as  if  by  instinct,  you  were  sure  to 
find  M'Grath. 

I  met  with  the  gentleman  under  circumstances  (for  him) 
peculiarly  unlucky.  He  had  been  settling  with  a  certain 
peer  the  terms  upon  which  he  was  to  be  freed  from  the 
importunity  of  a  female  from  whom  importunity  ought  not 
to  have  been  necessary.  I  chanced  shortly  afterwards  to 
fall  in  with  the  lady ;  and  (she  really  had  been  unfortunate) 
to  become  interested  for  her.  M'Grath  in  this  case  had 
gone  to  work  with  less  than  his  usual  prudence.  He  had 
received  at  the  end  of  his  negotiation  ;!^5oo  from  the 
nobleman  in  question,  upon  a  written  promise  that  the 
applicant  should  trouble  him  no  more  ;  of  which  ^^500 
he  accounted  for  ^200  in  cash,  giving  his  own  note  to  his 
client  as  securuy  for  the  rest.  This  was  a  safe  ;^3oo  gained  ; 
but  M'Grath  was  not  content.  Distress  within  a  short  time 
obliged  the  same  woman  to  dispose  of  some  jewels  and  other 
personal  property  which  she  possessed  ;  and  this  i)roperty, 
with  a  fatuity  apparently  unaccountable  even  after  what  had 
happened,  she  employed  M'Grath  to  find  a  purchaser  for. 
The  monstrous  apparent  folly  of  such  an  act  made  me  doubt 
the  truth  of  the  whole  story  when  I  heard  it.  In  Heaven's 
name,  I  asked,  why  had  she  trusted  such  a  fellow  as  M'Grath 


254  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

even  in  the  first  transaction  ?  "  And  wlio  hut  such  a  man," 
was  the  answer,  "would  have  undertaken  such  an  office?" 

M'Grath,  however,  j)robably  had  his  necessities  as  well 
as  other  people,  for  on  this  occasion  he  took  a  measure 
of  very  questionable  safety.  Relying  upon  the  lady's  dread 
of  public  exposure,  he  ])awned  the  whole  of  her  jewels,  and 
converted  the  money  to  his  own  use.  I  caused  him  merely 
to  be  arrested,  although  his  offence  was,  I  believe,  a 
criminal  one  ;  and  eventually  he  was  liberated  from  prison 
by  the  Insolvent  Act,  for  he  had  judged  rightly  so  far  the 
exposure  of  a  prosecution  could  not  be  borne ;  but,  by 
a  singular  coincidence,  I  had  afterwards  to  kick  him  out  of 
my  own  house,  on  his  calling  for  the  particulars  (he  did 
not  know  upon  whom)  of  a  next  presentation  to  a  living 
advertised  for  sale. 

Women,  however,  of  course,  among  the  true  spendthrifts 
of  my  acquaintance,  were  the  principal  objects  of  discourse 
and  of  attention.  But  their  arrangements  even  upon  this 
point  were  of  so  odd  a  description  that  the  ridiculous  over- 
powers every  other  feeling  when  I  think  of  them.  I  forget 
the  man's  name  who  told  a  certain  king  that  there  was  no 
royal  road  to  the  knowledge  of  mathematics.  I  doubt  he 
would  have  failed  to  impress  my  acquaintances  with  that 
truth.  On  achete  le  tout  seemed  to  be  their  conviction. 
One  loved  in  order  that  he  might  be  affirmed  a  person  in 
the  world ;  another  for  the  fashion  of  a  particular  lady ; 
a  third  because  a  mistress  was  a  good  point  to  show 
"style"  in;  and  a  fourth  because  it  was  necessary  to 
have  one.  The  jionchalance  of  this  last  set  was  the  most 
exquisite  thing  in  nature.  They  affected  (and  I  believe 
felt)  a  perfect  indifference  towards  their  protegees ;  intro- 
duced all  their  acquaintance,  without  a  jot  of  jealousy,  at 
their  houses ;  and  I  saw  a  letter  from  a  peer  to  a  French 
woman  who  transacted  love  affairs  for  him,  stating  that  he 
meant  to  form  an  attachment  of  some  duration  when  he 
came  to  town ;  and  describing  (as  to  person)  the  sort  of 
lady  upon  whom  he  should  wish  to  fix  his  affections. 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  255 

The  nature  of  such  connections  may  well  be  imagined. 
No  regard  was  ever  dreamed  of  for  the  feelings  of  the 
women ;  the  men  were,  of  course,  appreciated  and  abused. 
It  was  a  sacrifice  on  both  sides ;  but  the  sacrifice  of  the 
man  was  merely  a  sacrifice  of  money  of  which  he  did  not 
know  the  value  :  and  that  sacrifice  neither  obtained  nor 
deserved  any  gratitude,  for  the  same  individual  who  w^ould 
ruin  himself  in  keeping  a  splendid  etat  for  his  mistress 
would  lavish  nothing  upon  her  that  did  not  redound  to  his 
own  "fashionable"  notoriety. 

For  myself,  if  I  did  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  what  was 
called  ton,  it  did  not  arise  from  any  want  of  general  good 
reception.  As  soon  as  it  was  found  that  I  cared  about  no 
coterie,  all  coteries  were  open  to  me.  But,  if  it  was  much  to 
be  one  of  the  few,  I  thought  it  would  be  even  more  to 
stand  alone.  And  therefore,  although  I  kept  fine  horses,  I 
did  not  race  them  to  death.  I  had  a  handsomely  furnished 
house ;  but  I  refused  to  have  a  taste ;  that  is  to  say,  I  did 
not  lie  awake  fourteen  nights  together  imagining  a  new 
scroll  pattern  for  the  edge  of  a  sofa,  nor  decide  (still  in 
doubt),  after  six  weeks'  perplexity,  which  was  the  properest 
tint  of  two-and-twenty  for  the  lining  of  a  window-curtain. 
In  short,  my  private  arrangements  were  no  way  guided  by 
ambitious  feeling ;  whether  I  rotle,  drove,  drank,  or  dressed, 
I  did  the  act  merely  because  it  was  an  act  gratifying  to 
myself,  not  because  it  had  been  done  by  Lord  Such-a-one 
or  was  to  be  done  by  Mr.  So-and-so ;  and  although  my 
fortune  was  small  compared  with  the  fortunes  of  some  of 
my  companions,  yet,  as  it  mattered  not  how  soon  the 
whole  was  expended,  I  generally  seemed  upon  emergency 
to  be  the  richest  man  of  the  circle  I  was  moving  in. 

And  a  race  for  some  to  envy  has  my  career  been  to  this 
moment !  If  the  last  few  months  have  shown  note  of  com- 
ing evil,  that  evil  could  not  terrify  me  when  I  was  prepared 
to  elude  it.  If  I  have  not  enjoyed,  in  the  possession  of 
riches,  that  absolute  conviction  (my  solace  under  poverty) 
that  what  tribute  I  did  receive  was  paid  entirely  to  myself, 


256  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

yet  the  caution  and  experience  which  poverty  taught  me 
has  preserved  me  from  gross  and  degrading  imposition. 
Let  me  Iceep  up  my  spirits,  even  with  egotism,  in  a  moment 
like  this.  I  have  not  been  quite  an  object  to  court  imposi- 
tion. The  same  facuhies  and  powers  which  availed  me 
when  I  was  without  a  guinea  continued  at  my  command 
throughout  my  high  fortune.  I  have  not  been,  as  an  old 
man,  wasting  property  which  I  could  not  spend ;  I  have 
not  been  a  wretched  pretender  by  purchase  to  place  and 
to  circumstance  to  which  desert  gave  me  no  title ;  I  have 
not  been  the  thing  that  I  am,  to  die,  because  I  will  not  be. 

Gold  is  worth  something,  inasmuch  as  it  gives  certain 
requisites  for  continued  enjoyment  which  can  be  obtained 
from  no  other  source.  Apart  from  all  pretension  to  severe 
moral  principle,  I  had  ever  this  feeling  in  its  fullest  extent 
— that  the  man  was  thrice  a  villain,  a  wretch  thrice  unfit  to 
live,  who  could  plunge  any  woman  that  trusted  him  into 
poverty,  into  disgrace.  To  this  principle  I  would  admit 
neither  of  exception  nor  evasion.  I  do  not  say  that  every 
man  can  command  his  passions,  but  every  man  can  meet 
the  consequences  of  them.  Again  and  again,  in  my  days 
of  necessity,  did  I  fly  from  connections  which  seemed  to 
indicate  such  termination.  Money,  however,  as  society  is 
constituted,  can  do  much.  My  subsequent  wealth  relieved 
me  from  all  obstacles. 

Yet,  let  me  redeem  myself  in  one  point — I  shall  not 
attempt  it  in  many — my  power  was  in  no  instance  (as  I 
believe)  employed  cruelly.  For  my  fellow-men  I  had  little 
consideration.  I  knew  them  merciless  ;  I  had  felt  them  so. 
Still,  upon  man,  if  I  recollect  well,  I  never  wantonly  inflicted 
pain;  and  in  no  one  instance,  as  Heaven  shall  judge  me, 
did  I  ever  sacrifice  the  feelings  of  a  woman. 

A  portion  of  my  wealth  was  given  to  relieve  my  father 
from  debts  which  he  had  incurred  in  expectation  of  the 
whole.  Another  portion,  I  trust,  will  have  placed  in  security 
beings  whose  happiness  and  safety  form  my  latest  wish  on 
earth.     A  third  portion,  and  a  large  one,  has  been  consumed 


CHARLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  257 

in  idle  dissipation ;  but  if  I  have  often  thrown  away  a 
hundred  guineas,  I  have  sometimes  given  away  ten. 

The  whole,  however,  at  last  is  gone.  Parks,  lordships, 
manors,  mansions,  not  a  property  is  left.  As  my  object 
was  always  rather  pleasure  than  parade,  this  change  in  my 
circumstances  is  little  known  to  the  world.  I  am  writins. 
and  I  shall  die  so,  in  elegant  apartments,  with  liveried 
servants,  splendid  furniture — all  the  paraphernalia  of  luxury 
about  me.  The  whole  is  disposed  of  and  the  produce 
consumed.  To-morrow  gives  the  new  owner  possession. 
A  hundred  persons  make  account  to  nod  to  me  to-morrow. 
I  have  for  to-morrow  four  invitations  to  dinner.  I  shall 
die  to-night. 

Let  me  not  be  charged  with  flying  this  world  because  I 
fear  to  meet  the  loss  of  fortune.  Give  me  back  the  years 
that  I  have  spent,  and  I  can  deem  lightly  of  the  money. 
But  my  place,  my  station  among  my  fellow-men  ?  It 
totters,  it  trembles.  Youth,  hope,  and  confidence,  these 
are  past ;  and  the  treasures  of  the  unfathomed  ocean  could 
not  buy  them  back. 

Life  of  life,  spirit  of  enjoyment,  to  what  has  it  not  fallen  ! 
Does  it  still  spring  in  the  heart,  like  the  wild  flower  in  the 
field,  the  native  produce  of  a  vigorous  soil,  which  asks  no 
tillage,  defies  eradication,  and  rears  its  head  alike  amid 
the  zephyr  and  the  storm  ?  No  ;  it  is  this  no  longer.  It 
is  an  exotic  now,  a  candle-light  flower,  the  sensitive  plant 
with  the  hue  of  the  rose ;  love  is  its  sunshine,  wine  the  dew 
that  cherishes  it ;  it  blossoms  beneath  the  ray  of  the  evening 
star,  and  blooms  in  the  illuminated  garden  at  midnight; 
but  in  the  cool  breeze  of  morning  it  droops  and  it  withers ; 
and  day,  which  brings  life  to  all  else,  destroys  it  for  ever. 

Then,  if  I  had  the  Indies  still  in  my  grasp,  would  I 
endure  to  descend  in  the  scale  of  creation  ?  Would  I  join 
the  class  of  respectable  old  men,  and  sit  spectator  of  a 
conflict  which  I  am  no  longer  able  to  engage  in  ?  Would 
I  choose  the  more  disgusting  course  of  some  I  see  around 
me,  and  let  the   vices  of  manhood   degenerate  into  the 

VOL.  I.  R 


25S  THE  LAST  WORDS  OF 

weaknesses  of  age  ?  Would  I  struggle  to  maintain  a  field  in 
which  victory  is  past  my  hope ;  dispute  a  palm  which,  of 
necessity,  must  be  wrested  from  my  hand?  Would  I 
endure  to  have  men  whom  I  have  been  accustomed  to  see 
as  children,  push  me  insolently  from  the  stage  of  life,  and 
seize  the  post  which  I  have  occupied? 

If  I  could  not  bear  this,  still  less  could  I  endure  the 
probable,  the  inevitable,  consequences  of  living  to  extreme 
old  age.  To  be,  if  not  distasteful  to  my  own  depraved 
and  doting  sense,  conscious  of  being  distasteful  to  all  the 
world  beside  ! — to  die  worn  out  with  pains  and  aches  ! 
helpless  in  body,  feebler  still  in  mind  ! — the  tottering  victim 
of  decrepitude  and  idiotcy,  cowering  from  that  fate  which 
by  no  effort  I  can  avoid  ! 

I  will  not  come  to  this.  I  will  not  make  a  shirking, 
ignominious  end  of  life  when  I  have  the  power  within 
myself  to  die  as  may  become  a  man.  To  this  hour  I  have 
had  strength  to  keep  my  station  in  the  world.  In  a  few 
moments  it  would  be  gone,  but  I  shall  go  before  it.  And 
what  do  I  lose  by  thus  grappling  with  my  fate  ?  A  few  years 
at  most  of  uncertainty  or  uneasiness.  That  man  may  die 
to-morrow  I  know  afflicts  him  little ;  but  let  him  reflect  in 
his  triumph  that  he  must  die  on  the  next  day.  Let  him 
remember  that  when  he  has  borne  to  hear  people  inquire 
after  his  health,  listen  to  his  answer  with  impatience,  and 
go  to  be  happy  out  of  his  reach  ;  when  he  has  borne  to  close 
the  eyes  of  the  last  friend  of  his  youth,  to  lose  all  his  old 
connections,  and  to  find  himself  incapable  of  forming  new 
ones;  when  he  has  endured  to  be  a  solitary,  excommunicated 
wretch,  and  to  read,  in  the  general  eye,  that  he  is  an  in- 
truder upon  earth, — he  is  still  but  as  a  ball  to  which  a  certain 
impetus  is  given,  which,  moving  in  a  fixed  track,  can 
neither  deviate  nor  pause,  and  which  has  but  (to  an  inch) 
a  marked  space  to  pass  over,  at  the  end  of  which  comes  that 
fall  from  which  the  world's  worth  cannot  save  it. 

I  can  write  no  more.  My  hour  is  fast  approaching. 
Now  am  I  greater,  in  my  own  holding,  than  an  emperor  ! 


CHAKLES  EDWARDS,  ESQ.  259 

He  would  command  the  fate  of  others,  but  I  command 
my  own.  This  is  in  very  choice  the  destiny  which  I  would 
embrace.  There  is  something  sublime  in  thus  looking  in 
the  face  of  Death ;  he  sits  over  against  me  as  I  write,  and 
I  view  him  without  terror.  If  I  have  a  predominant  feeling 
at  this  moment,  it  is  a  feeling  of  curiosity. 

One  full  glass  more  and  I  am  prepared.  Wine  is  want- 
ing only  to  aid  the  nerve,  not  to  stimulate  the  courage  or 
the  will.  My  pistols  lie  loaded  by  my  side.  I  will  seal 
this  packet,  nevertheless,  with  a  steady  hand,  and  you  who 
receive  it  shall  bear  witness  that  I  have  done  so. 

Now  within  this  half  hour  I  will  forget  even  that  care 
must  be  the  lot  of  man.  I  will  revel  for  a  moment  in  the 
influence  of  wine  and  in  the  smile  of  beauty — I  will  live 
for  one  moment  longer  the  being  I  could  wish  to  live  for 
ever. 

The  clock  strikes  eleven.  Friend,  whom  I  have  selected 
to  receive  my  parting  words,  I  must  conclude.  I  shall  send 
this  letter  to  you  instantly.  You  will  receive  it  while  I  still 
exist,  and  yet  you  will  be  unable — the  world  would  be 
unable — to  prevent  the  act  I  meditate.  Do  me  justice,  and 
farewell !  When  chimes  tell  twelve  to-night  I  shall  be 
uppermost  in  your  mind.  You  will  wonder,  you  will  be 
troubled,  you  will  doubt.  And  when  you  sit  at  breakfast 
to-morrow  morning,  some  public  newspaper,  recording  my 
death,  will  give  you  perhaps  the  real  name  of 

Titus. 


Chcvy>  Cbasc ; 

A  POEM — IDEM  LATINE  REDDITUM, 

Being  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  opinion,  that  the  ballad  of 
Chevy  Chase  stirs  the  heart  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet, 
and  being  moreover  willing  that  other  nations  should  have 
at  least  some  idea  of  that  magnificent  poem,  I  have  trans- 
lated it  into  the  universal  language  of  Europe — Latin ;  and 
I  send  you  my  translation  of  the  first  fitte.  You  will  per- 
ceive that  I  have  retained  the  measure  and  structure  of  the 
verse  most  religiously ;  I  wish  I  could  say  that  I  have 
preserved  also  the  fire  and  spirit  of  the  original.  Bold,  at 
the  desire  of  Bishop  Compton,  translated  into  Latin  the 
more  modern  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  as  also  did  Anketeil, 
a  Presbyterian  clergyman  (I  believe)  in  the  north  of  Ireland. 
Lord  Woodhouselee,  in  his  excellent  Essay  on  Translation, 
has  quoted  the  first  verse  of  Anketeil's  translation  appa- 
rently without  knowing  the  author.  But  to  say  nothing  of 
the  inferiority  of  the  poem  they  translated,  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  out-top  them  by  the  head  and  broad  shoulders  in  the 
superior  richness  and  melody  of  my  double  rhymes.  Print 
this,  then,  by  all  means ;  so  no  more  from  your  servant  at 
command.  O.  P. 

I.  I. 

The  Percy  out  of  Northumberland,*  Perseus  ex  Northumbria 
And  a  vow  to  God  made  he,  Vovebat,  Diis  iratis, 

That  he  would  hunt  in  the  mountains  Venare  inter  dies  tres 
Of  Cheviot  within  days  three.  In  montibus  Cheviatis, 

In  the  mauger  of  doughty  Douglas,  Contemtis  forti  Douglaso 
And  all  that  with  him  be.  Et  omnibus  cognatis. 

*  I  have  modernised  the  spelling  of  the  old  ballad. 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


261 


2. 


The  fattest  harts  in  Cheviot 

He  said  he'd  kill  and  carry  away  : 

"  By  my  faith,"  said  doughty  Douglas, 
"  I'll  let  that  hunting  if  I  may." 


"Optimos  cervos  ibi,"  ait, 
"  Occisos  reportabo  ; " 

"  Per  Jovem,"  inquit  Dougl^sus, 
"  Venatum  hunc  vetabo." 


The  Percy  out  of  Bamborough  came, 

With  him  a  mighty  meany  ; 
With  fifteen  hundred  archers  bold  ; 


Ex  Bamboro  Persseus  it, 
Cum  agmine  potenti ; 
Nam  tribus  agris  lecti  sunt 


They  were  chosen  out  of  shires  three.       Sagittarii  ter  quingenti. 


This  began  on  Monday  at  morn. 
In  Cheviot  the  hills  so  high  ; 

The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn  ; 
It  is  the  more  pity  ! 


Ad  Cheviatos  graditur, 

In  Lunas  die  mane  ; 
Puer  nondum  natus  fleret  hoc 

Quod  est  dolendum  sane  ! 


5- 
The  drivers  through  the  woods  went, 

For  to  raise  up  the  deer  ; 
Bowmen  bickered  upon  the  bent 

With  their  broad  arrows  clear. 


Viri,  qui  cervos  agerent, 
Per  nemora  pergebant ; 

Dum  sagittarii  spiculas 
Ex  arcubus  fundebant. 


6. 

Then  the  wild  through  the  woods  went. 

On  every  side  sheer  ; 
Greyhounds  through  the  groves  glent. 

For  to  kill  their  deer. 


Turn  diffugerunt  *  penitus 
Per  omnem  sylvam  ferae  ; 

Et  eas  canes  Gallici 
Sequentes  percurr^re. 


This  began  in  Cheviot  the  hills  above, 

Early  on  a  Monday  ; 
By  that  it  drew  to  the  hour  of  noon, 

A  hundred  fat  harts  dead  there  lay. 


7. 
Hunc  matutino  tempore 

Venatum  sic  caeperunt ; 
Et  centum  sub  meridiem 

Pingues  cervi  ceciderunt. 


8. 
They  blew  a  mort  upon  the  bent ; 

They  'sembled  on  sides  sheer  : 
To  the  quarry  then  the  Percy  went. 

To  see  the  brittling  of  the  deer. 


8. 

Turn  tubae  taratantarat 
Convocat  dissipatos ; 

Comes  Persasus  visum  it 
Cervos  dilaniatos. 


*  Percy's  translation  of  sAeer. 

t  So  Ennius  :  At  tuba  terribili  sonitu  taratantara  dixit. 


262 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


He  said — "  It  was  the  Douglas'  promise  Dicens,  "  Promisit  Douglasus 

This  day  to  meet  me  here,  Mi  hie  occursum  ire, 

But  I  wist  he  would  fail  verament :  "  Sed*  scivi  quod  non  faceret." 

A  great  oath  the  Percy  sware.  His  dictis  jurat  mire. 


10. 


At  last  a  squire  of  Northumberland 
Looked  at  his  hand  full  nigh — 

He  was  ware  of  the  Douglas  coming. 
With  him  a  mighty  meany  ; 


Tandem  armiger  Northumbriag 

Aspexit  venientem 
Propead  manum  Douglasum, 

Et  agmina  ducentem. 


Both  with  spear,  bill,  and  brand, 
It  was  a  mighty  sight  to  see  ; 

Hardier  men  of  heart  and  hand 
Were  not  in  Christianity. 


II. 

Cum  hastis,  pilis,  ensibus, 
Magnifici  iverunt  ; 

Fortiores  in  fidelibus 
Domini  non  fuerunt. 


12. 

They  were  twenty  hundred  spearmen 
good, 
Withouten  any  fail ; 
They  were  borne  along  by  the  water  of 
Tweed, 
In  the  bounds  of  Tividale. 


12. 


Bis  mille  procul  dubio 
Hastati  bonce  notse. 

Ad  aquas  Tuedss  nati  sunt, 
In  finibus  Tiviotas. 


13.  13- 

"  Leave  off  the  britthng  of  the  deer,"  he  "  Mittite  cervos,  sumite 

said,  Sagittas  nulla  mora  ; 

"And  to  your  bows  take  heed  ;  Nunquam  tarn  opus  fuit,  ex 

For  never  since  you  were  on  your  mothers  Nostra  natali  horA. " 
born 
Had  ye  such  meikle  need." 


14. 

The  doughty  Douglas  on  a  steed 
He  rode  his  men  beforne  ; 

His  armour  glittered  as  did  a  glede — 
A  bolder  bairn  was  never  born. 


14. 

In  primo  fortis  Douglasus 
Equitans  veniebat ; 

Lorica  prunas  simihs 
Ardenti  resplendebat. 


*  Consult  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer  of  Falconer's  Strabo  for  this  con- 
struction of  scio  quod.  The  "  paltry  "  dog  will  remember  something  about  it, 
as  sure  as  my  name  is  not  Copplestone. 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


263 


15. 
"  Tell  ir.e  what  men  ye  are,"  he  says, 

"  Or  whose  men  that  ye  be  ; 
Who  gave  ye  leave  to  hunt  in  this 

Cheviot  Chase  in  spite  of  me  ?  " 


IS- 
Et,  "  Quinam  estis,  cedo,"ait, 

"  Aut  cujns  viri  sitis? 
Quis  misit  vos  venatum  hie, 

Nobis  admodum  invitis?" 


16. 

The  first  man  that  an  answer  made, 

It  was  the  Lord  Percy— 
"  We  will  not  tell  what  men  we  are. 

Nor  whose  men  that  we  be  ; 
But  we  will  hunt  here  in  this  chase, 

In  spite  of  thine  and  thee. 


16. 

PersEeus  autem  Douglaso 
Respondit  loiige  primus, 

"  Qui  sumus  haud  narrabimus, 
Aut  cujus  viri  simus  ; 

Sed  hie,  invitis  omnibus, 
Venatum  statim  imus. 


17- 
"  The  fattest  harts  in  Cheviot 
We   have  killed,  and   cast   to   carry 
away. " 
"  By  mytroth,"  said  the  doughty  Douglas, 
"  Therefore  the  one  of  us  shall  die  this 
day." 

18. 
Then  said  the  doughty  Douglas 

Unto  the  Lord  Percy, 
"  To  kill  all  these  guiltless  men, 

Alas  !  it  were  great  pity. 


17. 

"  Cervorum  hie  pinguissimos 

Occisos  auferemus." 
"  Idcirco,"  dixit  Douglasus, 

"  Necesse  est  ut  pugnemus.' 


18, 

Et  dixit  fortis  Douglasus 
Haec  verba  nunc  Persaso, 

"  Necare  hos  innoxios 
Non  esset  gratuni  deo  ; 


19- 
"  But,  Percy,  thou  art  a  lord  of  land, 

I  am  an  earl  in  my  own  country  ; 
Let  all  our  men  upon  a  party  stand, 

And  do  the  battle  of  thee  and  me." 


19- 

"  Sed  tu,  Persree,  princeps  es, 
Sum  ego  comes  quoque  ; 
Cernamus  soli,  agmine 
Manente  hie  utroque." 


20. 
"  Now  Christ's  curse  on  his  crown,"  said 
the  Lord  Percy, 
"  Whosoever  thereto  says  nay  ! 
By  my  troth,  doughty  Douglas,"  he  says, 
"  Thou  shalt  never  see  that  day, 


20. 


Persreus  inquit,  "  Pereat  is 
Qui  huic  vult  obviam  ire, 

Nam,  hercle,  dies  aderit 
Nunquam,  Dougllise  dire, 


21. 
"  Neither  in  England,  Scotland,  nor 
France, 
Nor  for  no  man  of  woman  born  ; 
But  an  fortune  be  my  chance, 
I  dare  meet  him  one  for  one." 


21. 


Quum  Anglii\,  Scotia,  Gallic, 

Negaverim  tentare 
Sortem  cum  ullo  honiine 

In  pugna  singulari." 


264 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


22. 


Then  bespake  a  squire  of  Northumber- 
land, 

Rog.  Witherington  was  his  name — 
It  shall  never  be  told  in  South  England 

To  King  Harry  the  Fourth  for  shame, 

23- 
' '  I  wot  ye  be  great  lords  two, 
I  am  a  poor  squire  of  land, 
I  will  never  see  my  captain  fight  in  a 
field 
And  look  on  myself  and  stand  ;  * 
But  while  I  may  my  weapon  wield, 
I  will  not  fail  both  heart  and  hand/' 


Tunc  armiger  Northumbriae 
R.  Withringtonus  fatur, 

"  Nunquam  Henrico  principi 
In  Anglia  hoc  dicatur  : 


23- 

"  Vos  estis  magni  comites 
Et  pauper  miles  ego, 

Sed  pugnaturum  dominum. 
Me  otioso,  nego  : 

Sed  corde,  manu,  enseque, 
Pugnabo  quamdiu  dego. " 


24. 
That  day,  that  day,  that  dreadful  day— 

The  first  fytte  here  I  find  ; 
An  ye  will  hear  more  of  the  hunting  of 
Cheviot, 
Yet  there  is  more  behind. 


24. 

O  dies  !  dies,  dies  trux  ! 

Sic  finit  cantus  primus  ; 
Si  de  venatu  plura  vis, 

Plura  narrare  scimus. 


FINIS  PARTIS  PRIM.E. 

p.  S. — I  am  aware  that  "  Douglassius"  is  consecrated  ;  but  I  am  not 
without  authority  for  Douglasus. — I  have  also  translated  this  into  Greek, 
and  I  send  you  the  first  verse  as  a  specimen. 

Uepaalos  fk  t^opdov/xSptas 

EvxeTO  rots  ^eolffi, 
Qnpav  iv  Tptalv  ijfiepais 

'Hv  oi'peaL  'KeSiaroicri, 
i\.&v  dj'Te'xjjo'i  AovyXaaos 

Xiiv  iracriv  erdpoKTi. 

Don't  say  a  word  of  this,  however,  to  Hallam—"  classic  Hallam,  much 
renowned  for  Greek,"  as  Lord  Byron  justly  styles  him— lest  he  should  mistake 
my  verses  for  Pindar's,  and  consequently  declare  them  not  Greek.  A  propos, 
is  it  not  a  good  joke  to  see  Hallam  putting  a  Greek  motto  to  his  book  on 
the  Middle  Ages  after  all  ?  I  was  thinking  of  translating  old  Chevy  into 
Hebrew— for  I  am  a  Masorite  ;  but  as  Professor  Leslie  has  declared  Hebrew 
to  be  a  "  rude  and  poor  dialect  "  in  his  book  on  Arithmetic,  I  was  afraid  to 
come  under  the  censure  of  that  learned  gentleman.  To  be  sure  he  does 
not  know  {as  I  can  prove  from  his  writings)  even  the  alphabet  of  the 
language  he  abuses,  but  still  I  am  afraid  he  would  freeze  me  if  I  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it. 


*  In  Bishop  Percy— "  And  stand  myself  and  look  on."    But  correct  it, 
meo  periculo. 


Cbevg  Cbase. 


Second  Fytte. 

I. 

*  The  English  men  had  their  bows  bent, 
Their  hearts  were  good  enow, 

The  first  +  of  arrows  that  they  shot  off. 
Seven  score  spearmen  they  slew. 


Pars  Secunda. 


Angli  perstrenui  animis 
Tunc  arcus  intenderunt, 

Et  vicies  septem  homines 
Primo  jactu  necaverunt. 


Yet  bides  Earl  Douglas  on  the  bent, 

A  captain  good  enough  : 
And  that  was  seen  verament, 

For  he  wrought  them  wo  and  wouch. 


Attamen  mansit  Douglasus 
In  boni  ducis  morem  ; 

Quod  patuit  cum  perniciem 
Effudit  et  dolorem. 


The  Douglas  parted  his  host  in  three, 
Like  a  chief  chieftain  of  pride  ; 

With  sure  spears  of  mighty  tree. 
They  came  in  on  every  side. 


Trifariam  struxit  aciem, 
Periti  ducis  arte  ; 

Cum  hastis  ligni  validi 
Ruunt  ex  omni  parte. 


Through  our  English  archery 
Gave  many  a  wound  full  wide  ; 

Many  a  doughty  they  made  to  die, 
Which  gained  them  no  pride. 


Ediderunt  stragem  plurimam 
Per  ordines  Anglorum  : 

Heroum  vitas  dempseruntj 
Non  amplius  superborum.S; 


*  I  have,  as  before,  modernised  the  spelling  of  the  old  ballad,  and  in  a 
few  places  the  language. — W.  M, 

+  i.e.,  first  flight.     Percy. — W.  iVI. 

X  Dr.  Carey  (Prosody,  p.  199,  &c,)  condemns  this  license.  I  therefore 
give  him  leave  to  alter  my  systolated  praeterites  into  preterpluperfects,  as 
he  has  done  in  all  the  passages  which  stand  in  the  way  of  his  rule.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  will  discover  some  new  picturesque  mood  and  tense 
beauty  in  the  change  quite  unknown  to  the  author. — W.  M. 

§  I  hope  I  have  hit  the  sense  of  my  original. — W.  M. 


266 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


The  English  men  let  their  bows  be, 
And    pulled    out    brands    that    were 
bright ; 

It  was  a  heavy  sight  to  see 
Bright  swords  on  helmets  light. 

6. 

Through  rich  mail  and  myne-ye-ple  * 
Many  stern  they  struck  down  straight ; 

Many  a  ficke  that  was  full  free 
There  under  foot  did  lio-ht. 


5- 
Stringunt,  omissis  arcubus, 

Angli  gladios  fulgentes  : 
Quos  miserutn  fuit  cernere 

In  cassibus  descendentes. 


Armorum  plicas  splendidas 
Mucro  strictus  penetravit  : 

Et  multos  quondam  nobiles 
Pes  vilis  conculcavit. 


At  last  the  Douglas  and  the  Percy  met, 
Like  two  captains  of  might  and  main ; 

They  swept  together,  till  they  both  sweat, 
With  swords  of  fine  Milain.f 


Persasus  mox  et  Douglasus 
(Dux  contra  vires  duels) 

Pugna  concurrunt  ensibus 
Mediolani  cusis. 


These  worthy  fickes  for  to  fight, 
Thereto  they  were  full  fain. 

Till  the  blood  out    of    their    helmets 
sprung, 
As  ever  did  hail  or  rain. 


8. 

Hi  comites  fortissimi 
Perstiterunt  pugnando, 

Donee  cruor  saliit  cassibus, 
Ut  imber  vel  ut  grando. 


"  Hold  thee,  Percy,"  said  the  Douglas, 
"And  i'  faith  I  will  thee  bring, 

Where  thou  shalt  have  an  earl's  wages 
Of  James,  our  Scottish  king  : 


"  Si  cedas,"  inquit  Douglasus, 
"  Perducam  te,  Perssee, 

Ubi  ut  comes  viveres 
Sub  rege  Scotias  meae  : 


lO. 

"  Thou  shalt  have  thy  ransom  free— 

I  bid  thee  hear  this  thing ; 
For  the  manfullest  man  art  thou, 

That  ever  I  conquered  in  field-fight- 
ing." 


lO. 


"  Et  lytrum  X  nullum  peterem, 
Nam  vere  potest  dici, 

Te  virum  esse  optimum, 

Quem  prselio  unquam  vici." 


*  "  Perhaps  many  plies  or  folds.  Monyple  is  still  used  in  this  sense  in 
the  north,  according  to  Mr.  Lambe."  Bp.  Percy.  I  have  followed  him.— 
W.  M. 

t  Swords  made  of  Milan  steel.     Percy. — W.  M. 

X  Graece,  Xvrpov.  Ennius  uses  it,  or  rather  its  plural,  lytra,  as  the  name 
of  a  play  concerning  the  ransom  of  Hector's  body.  If  this  be  not  thought 
sufficient  authority,  the  reader  may  substitute  prcetlum  in  the  text  with  all 
my  heart. — W.  M. 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


267 


II. 


"  Nay,  then,"  said  the  Lord  Percy, 

"  I  told  it  thee  beforne, 
That  I  would  never  yielded  be 

To  no  man  of  woman  born." 


II. 

Dixit  Persseus,  "  Iterum, 
Quod  antea  dixi,  edam  ; 

Id  est,  quod  nunquam  homini 
Ex  fsemina  nato  cedani." 


12. 


With  that  there  came  an  arrow  hastily 

Forth  of  a  mighty  one  ; 
It  hath  stricken  the  Earl  Douglas 

In  at  the  breast-bone. 


12. 

Ex  forti  arcu  calamus 
Turn  rapide  volavit, 

Et  inter  verba  Douglasum 
In  pectore  vulneravit. 


13- 
Through  liver  and  lungs  both 

The  sharp  arrow  is  gone  ; 
That  never  after  in  his  life  days 

He  spake  more  words  than  one  :  • 
"  Fight  ye  my  merry  men  while  you  may, 

For  my  life  days  are  gone." 


Injecore  et  pulmonibus 
Hgesit  sagita  cita ; 

Et  postea  verbum  unicum 
Hoc  tantum  dixit  ita  : 

"  Pugnate  strenue,  socii, 
Nam  ego  cedo  vita." 


14. 
The  Percy  leant  upon  his  brand. 

And  saw  the  Douglas  die  ; 
He  took  the  dead  man  by  the  hand, 

And  said,  "  Woe  is  me  for  thee. 


14. 

Persseus  nitens  gladio 
Douglass!  vidit  mortem, 

Et  manu  captu  mortui 
Ploravit  ejus  sortem  : 


IS- 
"  To    have    saved    thy  life   I'd  have 
parted  with 
My  lands  for  years  three  ; 
For  a  better  man  of  heart  nor  hand 
Was  not  in  all  the  north  country." 

16. 

Of  all  that  saw  a  Scottish  knight, 
Was  named  Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  ; 

He  saw  the  Douglas  to  death  was  dight ; 
He  spanned  a  spear  a  trusty  tree. 


IS- 

"  Tribus  annis  agros  dederem 
Servare  virum  talem  ; 

Nam  fortior  nemo  fuit  per 
Regionem  borealem." 


16. 
Hugo  Montgomorasus  hunc 

Coesum  vulnere  indigno 
Vidit,  et  hastam  arripit 

Ex  strenuo  factam  ligno. 


*  From  this  it  appears  that  Jerry-Benthamism  is  of  an  older  date  than 
the  superficial  commonly  imagine.  Fight-you-my-merry-men-while-you- 
may-for-my-life-days-are-gone  ;  or,  as  the  original  has  it,  Fyghte-ye-my- 
merry-men-whylles-ye-may-for-my-lyff-days-ben-gan,  is  as  pretty  a  single 
word  as  any  we  can  find  in  the  lucid  pages  of  this  most  I'^uphuistical  radical, 
and  most  radical  liuphuist,  who  commonly  passes  in  our  days  for  the 
inventor  of  the  many-words-clubbing-to-make-one  style.  We  have  here  a 
much  older  authority  ;  so  that  Jerry  must  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  servutn 
pecus  in  that  instance. — W.  M. 


268 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


17. 

He  rode  upon  a  courser 
Througli  an  hundred  archery  ; 

He  never  stinted  nor  never  stopped 
Till  he  came  to  the  good  Lord  Percy. 


He  set  upon  Lord  Percy 

A  dint  that  was  full  sore, 
With  a  sure  spear  of  a  trusty  tree, 

Clean  through  the  body  he  the  Percy 
bore. 


17- 

Et  equitavit  fortiter 

Per  sagittarios  centum  ; 

Donee  ad  Anglum  comitem 
Ab  eo  erat  ventum. 

18. 
Persaeum  gravi  vulnere 

Dicto  citius  sauciavit, 
Nam  corpus  hasta  rigidk 

Penitus  perforavit. 


19. 
At  the  other  side  that  a  man  might  see 

A  large  cloth-yard  and  mare. 
Two  better  captains  were  not  in  Chris- 
tian ty 
Than  that  day  slain  was  there. 


19. 
Hasta  ex  laeso  corpore 

Exivit  ulnae  spatio ; 
Meliores  cassis  ducibus 

Non  tenuit  ulla  natio. 


20. 


An  archer  of  Northumberland 
Saw  slain  was  the  Lord  Percy  ; 

He  bare  a  bent  bow  in  his  hand, 
Was  made  of  trusty  tree. 


20. 


Sagittarius  ex  Northumbria 
Vidit  dominum  necatum ; 

In  manu  arcum  tenuit 
Ex  arbore  fabricatum. 


21, 


An  arrow  that  a  cloth-yard  long, 
To  the  hard  steel  haled  he  ; 

A  dint  that  was  both  sad  and  sore 
He  set  on  Sir  Hugh  Montgomery. 


Tres  pedes  longum  calamum 
Perduxit  ad  mucronem, 

Et  vulnere  mortifero 
Interimit  Hugonem. 


22. 

The  dint  it  was  both  sad  and  sore 
That  he  on  Montgomery  set  ; 

The  swan-feathers  that  his  arrow  bore 
With  his  heart's-blood  were  wet. 

23- 
There  was  never  a  ficke  one  foot  would 

fly. 

But  still  in  storm  did  stand. 
Hewing  on  each  other  while  they  might 
drie 
With  many  a  baleful  band. 


Pertriste  fuit  vulnus,  quod 

Hugo  accipiebat : 
Sagittse  alas  cygneas 

Cor  sanguine  tingebat. 

23- 
Nulli  volebant  fugere ; 

Sed  strenue  simul  stantes  * 
Dimicabant  quamdiu  licuit, 

Se  mutuo  laniantes. 


*  An  attempt  at  imitating  the  alliteration  of  the  original.— W.  M. 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


269 


24. 

This  battle  began  on  Cheviot, 
An  hour  before  the  noon, 

And  when  even  song-bell  was  rung, 
The  battle  was  not  half  done. 


24. 

Ccepenint  hora  cemere 

Antemeridiana ; 
Et  prselium  snsviit  vesperis 

Cum  sonuit  campana. 


25- 

They  took  on,  on  either  hand, 

By  the  light  of  the  moon  ; 
Many  had  no  strength  to  stand, 

In  Cheviot  the  hills  aboun. 

26. 
Of  fifteen  hundred  archers  of  England 

Went  away  but  fifty  and  three  : 
Of  twenty  hundred  spearmen  of  Scot- 
land 
But  even  five  and  fifty. 


25- 

Etiam  sub  Lunas  radiis 
Perstabant  sic  pugnare  ; 

Donee  sauciati  plurimi 
Non  potuerunt  stare. 

26. 
Quinquaginta  tres  rediere  ex 

Anglorum  ter  quingentis  ; 
Quinquaginta  quinque  tantum  ex 

Bis  millibus  Scotae  gentis. 


27. 

But  all  were  slain,  Cheviot  within, 
They  had  no  strength  to  stand  on  high ; 

The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn  ; 
It  was  the  more  pity. 

28. 
There  was  slain  with  the  Lord  Percy 

Sir  John  of  Agerstone, 
Sir  Roger,  the  kind  Hartley, 

Sir  William  the  bold  Heron. 


27. 

Ceciderunt  sane  creteri 
In  montibus  Cheviatis ; 

Puer  nondum  natus  fleret  hoc 
Quod  est  dolendum  satis. 

28. 
Occisi  cum  Persajo  sunt* 

Johannes  Agerstonus, 
Rogerus  mitis  Hartlius, 

Gulielmus  et  Heronus  ; 


29. 
Sir  George  the  worthy  Lovel, 

A  knight  of  great  renown. 
Sir  Ralph,  the  rich  Rokeby, 

With  dints  were  beaten  down. 


29. 

Et  Georgius  dignus  Lovelus, 
Bellator  famas  veras, 

Rodolphus  dives  Rokebius 
Confossi  cecidere. 


*  How  beautifully  Homeric  !     How  like  the  catalogues  of  the  slain  in  the 
lines  of  the  prince  of  poets  !     Particularly,  how  like  the  following  : 

Kal  avv  IlfpiTaraj  iodfxev  'AyacrTwvos  d/MVfj.wi', 
'AprXelos  T  ayadbs,   Hpwvos  &  lirirbTa  Stos  ; 
Kal  Ao/3Aos  Kparepds  alxpt'T^'V^,  V^^  'Po/Saios 
'A^vetos  ^idroio  iriaov  xo-^Koio  Tvnrjcn. 

The  names  in  the  Greek  are  not  expressed  so  roughly  as  in  the  English, 
but  there  is  a  manifest  resemblance  between  the  passages. — W.  M. 


270 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


30. 
For  Withrington  my  heart  is  wo, 

That  ever  he  slain  should  be  : 
For  when  his  legs  were  hewn  in  two, 

He  Icnelt,  and  fought  upon  his  knee. 


30- 
Pro  Withringtono  doleo 

Quern  fatum  triste  stravit ; 
Nam  binis  fractis  cruribus 

In  genibus  pugnavit. 


31.  31- 

Therewasslainwiththedoughty Douglas  Montgomoroeus  cecidit 
Sir  Hugh  Montgomery,  Cum  Douglaso  die  eo  ; 

Sir  David  Liddel,  that  worthy  was,  Atque  Liddelus,  dignus  vir 

His  sister's  son  was  he.  Nepos  Montgomerajo.* 


32. 
Sir  Charles  Murray  in  that  place. 

That  never  a  foot  would  fly  ; 
Sir  Hugh  Maxwell,  a  lord  that  was. 

With  the  Douglas  did  he  die. 


32- 
Morseus,  virtus  bellica, 

Quem  fugere  non  sivit ; 
Hugo  Maxwellus  dorninus 

Cum  Douglaso  obivit. 


33. 
So  on  the  morrow  they  made  them  biers 

Of  birch  and  hazel  gray ; 
Many  widows,  with  weeping  tears. 

Came  to  fetch  their  mates  away. 


33- 
Feretra  luce  postera 

Ex  betula  fecerunt ; 
Et  lachrymantes  viduae 

Maritos  avexerunt. 


34-  34- 

Tividale  may  carp  of  care  !  Tiviotas  vaUis  lugeat ! 

Northumberland  may  make  great  Northumbris  sint  dolores  ! 

moan  !  Nam  nunquam  erunt  finibus 

For  two  such  captains,  as  slain  were  there,     Principes  meliores. 
Of  the  march  party  shall  never  be  none. 


35- 
Word  is  come  to  Edinburgh, 

To  James  the  Scottish  king, 
That  doughty  Douglas,  lieutenant  of  the 
march. 
He  lay  slain  Cheviot  within. 

36. 
His  hands  did  he  weal  and  wring. 

He  said,  "Alas  !  and  wo  is  me  ! 
Such  another  captain  Scotland  within," 

He  said,  "  I'faith  shall  never  be." 


35- 
Edinam  regi  Scotico 

Mox  nuncium  est  relatum, 
Marchiarum  prasidem  Douglasum 

Esse  coUibus  necatum. 


36. 
Fsedavit  pugnis  pectora, 

Exclamans  voce  tristi, 
"  Vce  mihi !  quis  in  Scotia 

Est  comparandus  isti  ? " 


*  I  confess  that  I  am  not  sure  whether  the  author  means  that  Sir  David 
Liddel  was  nephew  to  Earl  Douglas  or  Sir  H.  M.  ;  but,  as  the  latter  is  more 
syntactical,  I  have  preferred  it. — W.  M. 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


271 


37. 

Word  is  come  to  lovely  London, 
To  the  Fourth  Harry  our  king. 

That  Lord  Percy,  lieutenant  of  the 
marches, 
He  lay  slain  Cheviot  within. 

38. 
"God  have  mercy  on  his  soul,"  says  King 
Harry, 
"Good  Lord  if  thou  will  it  be  ! 
I  have  a  hundred  captains  in  England 

As  good  as  ever  was  he. 
But,  Percy,  an  I  brook  my  life, 
Thy  death  well  quit  shall  be." 

39. 

As  our  noble  king  made  his  avow. 
Like  a  noble  prince  of  renown. 

For  the  death  of  the  Lord  Percy, 
He  did  the  battle  of  Humbledown. 

40. 
Where  six-and-thirty  Scottish  knights 

On  a  day  were  beaten  down  ; 
Glendale  glittered  with  their  armour 
bright, 
O'er  castle,  tower,  and  town. 

41. 
(Thisf  was  the  hunting  of  the  Cheviot ; 
That  tear  began  this  spurn  ; 


37. 

I>ondinumque  amabilem* 
Henrico  est  relatum, 

Persasum  finium  prsesidem 
Esse  coUibus  necatum. 


38. 

"  Salus  sit  animas,"  inquit  Rex, 

Si  ita  placeat  deo  ! 
Sunt  pares  fortitudine 

Centum  duces  regno  meo  ; 
Sed  tamen  Scotos  puniam 

Pro  nobili  Persceo." 


39- 

Et  Homilduni  fortis  rex 
Patravit  id  quod  dixit ; 

Ubi  propter  cassum  comitem 
Cum  hostibus  conflixit. 

40. 

Ubi  quater  novem  equites 
Scoti  simul  periere  ; 

Glendalte  turres  castraque 
Sparsis  armis  micuere. 


41. 
Et  causam  dedit  praelii 
Venatio  Cheviata  : 


*  Another  Homerism,  Avyeias  ipareLvas.  Iliad,  B.  532,  5S3.  'AprjVTjv 
epareiVTjv.  591.  'yiavTipe-)jv  ipareivT]!'.  607,  and  a  thousand  other  places. 
The  author  had  manifestly  made  Homer  his  study, — W.  M. 

t  Bp.  Percy  suspects  these  two  verses,  41,  42,  to  be  spurious.  So  do  J,  as 
they  stand  at  present ;  but  I  think  we  might  make  a  good  verse  out  of  the 
two,  thus  : 

This  was  the  hunting  of  the  Cheviot, 

Upon  a  Monday  ; 
There  was  the  doughty  Douglas  slain, 
The  Percy  never  went  away. 

This  will  get  off  the  confusion  with  regard  to  the  battle  of  Otterburn,  and 
strange  language  of  these  verses.  Percy's  interpretation  of  "That  tear 
began  this  spurn,"  is,  "That  tearing  or  pulling  occasioned  this  spurn  or 
kick."  I  have  followed  him,  though  I  confess  1  am  not  satisfied  with  it. 
— W.  M. 


272 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


Old  men,  that  knew  the  ground  well 
enough, 
Call  it  the  battle  of  Otterburn. 


Pugna,  loci  gnaris  senibus, 
Otterburni  est  vocata. 


42. 

At  Otterburn  began  this  spurn 

Upon  a  Monday ; 
There  was  the  doughty  Douglas  slain, 

The  Percy  never  went  away.) 


42. 
Otterburni  die  Lunre  sic 

Incepi  hie  venatus ; 
Ibi  Persceus  cecidit, 

Et  Douglasus  est  stratus. 


43- 
There  never  was  a  time  on  the  march 
parties, 
Since  the  Douglas  and  the  Percy  met, 
But  it  was  marvel  an  the  red  blood  ran 
not 
As  the  rain  does  on  the  street. 


43. 

Cum  se  in  marchiis  Douglasus 
Persaso  obviam  daret, 

Fuit  mirum,  si  effusius 
Cruor  imbre  non  manaret. 


44. 
Jesus  Christ  our  *bales  bete, 

And  to  the  bless  us  bring  ! 
This  was  the  hunting  of  the  Cheviot  ; 

God  send  us  all  good  ending  1 

(i^ipltcctfj  i^icfjarU  S'ficalet  temp. 


44. 

Miserere  nostrum  Domine, 

Et  nos  salute  dona  ! 
Venatio  ista  finiit  sic  ; 

Sit  nobis  finis  bona  ! 

expMtit  ®.  ^.  temp,  ffico.  EF. 


*  i.e.  Better  our  bales,  remedy  our  evils.     Bp.  Percy. — W.M. 

t  The  author  of  this  ballad,  as  the  reader  may  see  by  the  expliceth,  is 
Richard  Sheale,  a  gentleman  not  to  be  confounded,  as  honest  old  Tom 
Hearne  has  done,  with  a  Richard  Sheale  who  was  living  in  1588.  Nor  is 
he  to  be  confounded  with  a  Richard  Shell  who  is  alive  in  1820,  writing 
tragedies  and  other  jocose  performances.  I  waive  the  objection  arising 
from  Chronology,  as  that  is  a  science  I  despise,  therein  imitating  Lady 
Morgan,  the  Edinburgh  Reviewers,  Major  Cartwright,  and  various  other 
eminent  persons.  For  (to  take  one  instance  from  the  works  of  the  first- 
cited  authority)  might  not  Mr.  Richard  Shell  of  1820  be  as  capable  of 
writing  a  ballad  in  the  days  of  Henry  VI.  as  the  wife  of  the  Grand 
Conde  of  intriguing  with  a  king  who  was  dead  before  she  was  born  ?  (See, 
if  extant.  Lady  Morgan's  France.)  My  objections  to  their  identity  are  of  a 
graver  and  more  critical  nature,  ist,  Richard  Shell  of  Chevy  Chase  is  an 
original  writer,  which  nobody  accuses  Richard  Shell  of  Evadne  of  being. 
2ndly,  Although  in  verse  33,  Second  Fytte,  the  ballad-monger  had  an 
opportunity  of  bringing  up  the  children  with  their  mothers,  to  serve  as  a 
clap  trap,  he  has  not  done  so  ;  an  omission  of  which  the  tragedy-monger 
of  Ballemira  would  never  have  been  guilty,  sdly.  The  people  in  the  poem 
of  the  rhymester  are  decent  men,  who  talk  plain  language  ;  whereas  the 
people  in  The  Apostate  are  stalking-talking  rogues,  who  discourse  in  the 


CHEVY  CHASE. 


273 


PERORATIO. 


I. 


Vale!  I,  carmen  meum,  i, 
Pulcherrimarn  Edinam, 

Et  ibi  pete  illico 
Blackwodi  Magazinam. 


Quid  agam  si  interroget, 
Respondeas,  "  Nihil  sane 

Est,  bibit,  garrit,  dormitat, 
Meridie,  vespere,  mane." 


Invenias  tum  Christophorum 
A  Borea  nominatum  ; 

Cui  tuum  spero  numerum 
Rhythmicum  fore  gratum. 


Et  addas,  "  Te,  Christophore 

(Ut  liquido  juravit), 
In  tribus,  cum  me  mitteret, 

Cantharis  propinavit." 


Finiamus  nunc.     Lectoribus 

(Si  uUi  sint  lectores) 
Arrideant,  precor,  veneres, 

Et  gratias,  et  amores. 

I  have  done  with  Chevy  Chase  ;  but,  as  I  am  in  a  garru- 
lous disposition,  I  wish  to  add  a  few  words.  Every  true 
lover  of  English  literature  must  acknowledge  the  great 
benefit  conferred  on  it  by  Bishop  Percy,  in  publishing  his 
Relics.  That  work  has  breathed  a  spirit  of  renovated 
youth  over  our  poetry,  and  we  may  trace  its  influence  in 
the  strains  of  higher  mood  uttered  by  the  great  poets  of  our 
own  days.  The  Bishop  was  qualified  for  this  task  by 
exquisite  poetical  feeling,  a  large  share  of  varied  antiquarian 
knowledge,  and  general  literary  acquirements — united 
accomplishments  which  he  possessed  in  a  greater  degree 
perhaps  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  But  since  his 
time,  and  in  a  great  measure  in  consequence  of  his  work, 
and  those  which  it  called  forth,  so  much  more  is  known 
with  respect  to  early  English  literature — I  might  say  with 
respect  to  early  English  history— and  the  taste  of  the  public 


most  sarsenet  phraseology.  d,thly  and  lastly,  The  ballad  of  the  Percy  and 
Douglas  (teste  Sir  P.  Sidney)  moves  the  heart  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet, 
whereas  the  tragedy  of  Adelaide  puts  one  to  sleep  more  effectunlly  than  a 
double  dose  of  diacodium.  Wherefore  I  am  of  opinion  that  Mr.  R.  Shell 
now  extant  is  not  the  author  of  Chevy  Chase.  Q.  E.  D. — W,  M. 
VOL.  I.  S 


274  CHEVY  CHASE. 

is  so  much  more  inclined  to  such  studies,  that  I  think  a 
general  collection  of  our  old  English  ballads,  comprising  of 
course  those  of  Percy,  Ritson,  and  others,  which  may  merit 
preservation,  is  a  great  desideratum.  Little  skilled  as  I  am 
in  such  subjects,  I  could  point  out  deficiencies  in  the  plan 
or  the  details  of  every  work  of  the  kind  I  have  ever  seen ; 
deficiencies,  however,  which  I  have  not  had  time  to  notice, 
nor  perhaps  would  this  be  the  proper  place  to  do  it,  or  I 
the  proper  person,  after  travestying  the  first  of  the  old 
ballads  into  Monkish  Latin.  I  should  require  in  the  editor 
high  poetic  taste,  a  deep  and  minute  knowledge  of  the 
history  and  antiquities  of  the  country,  a  profound  acquaint- 
ance with  the  customs,  the  language,  the  heraldry,  the 
genealogy  of  our  ancestors,  a  critical  judgment  with  respect 
to  ancient  poetry,  and  a  perfect  familiarity  with  all  our 
poetic  stores,  ancient  and  modern — -besides,  what  are  not 
so  common  as  may  be  imagined,  undeviating  honesty  and 
fidelity.— Yours,  &c.  &c.  O.  P. 

Dublin,  May  31,  1S20. 


XLbc  ipewter  (Stuart. 

a  Ji^eto  Song  to  an  olti  ®une. 

^ximn  anti  ComposeD  for  tfjc  ■Jollification  of  93ibber0  of  3Srer, 

lIDortcr,  9Ic,  Stout,  Jl5appi?, 

anti  all  otjjcr  eionfieurations  of  iilalt  anu  E:)op. 

Preface  to  the  reader^  which  serves  also  for  invocation. 

©EUtle  reanet ! 

|9oets!  t^ere  toere,  in  ajcsi  liacfe, 

caijti  Eiltng  tlic  fame  of  tljc  lionup  lilacfe  jacfej 

Dtfjcrg  tiincD  Tjarmonioiiji  lapji 

3!n  ti)e  Icatljfrn  iottlc'si  praijsc. 

'g'^all  not  31  tfjcn  lift  mp  qutll 

Co  Ijgmn  a  measure  liriglitcr  Stilt? 

©aiDcng,  lulio  Jjclicon'S  i)ill  rfgott, 
am  me  to  c!)ant  of  tlje  petotcr  quart. 


Here,  boy,  take  this  handful  of  brass  ; 
Across  to  the  Goose  and  Gridiron  pass, 
Count  the  coin  on  the  counter  out, 
And  bring  me  a  quart  of  foaming  stout : 
Put  it  not  into  bottle  or  jug. 
Cannikin,  rumkin,  flagon,  or  mug  ; 
Into  nothing  at  all,  in  short, 
Except  the  natural  pewter  quart. 


As  for  the  glass,  though  I  love  it  well. 
Yet  the  quart  I  take  to  be  prefera — ble 


276  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

For  it  is  solid  and  stout,  like  what 
Bubbles  and  froths  inside  the  pot : 
Why  should  anything,  brittle  or  frail, 
Fence  England's  liquor,  valorous  ale  ! 
He  was  a  man  of  taste  and  art. 
Who  stowed  it  away  in  a  pewter  quart. 

3. 

In  the  bowels  of  England's  ground 
Its  materials  all  are  found  ; 
From  its  sides  should  flow  again 
What  cheers  the  bowls  of  England's  men  : 
Can  the  same  be  said,  I  ask, 
In  favour  of  foreign  flagon  or  flask  ? 
None  can  of  them  the  good  ixport 
We  can  of  our  national  pewter  quart. 

4- 
Pleasant  it  is  their  shine  to  see 
Like  stars  in  the  waves  of  deep  Galilee  ; 
Pleasant  it  is  their  chink  to  hear 
When  they  rattle  on  table  full  charged  with  beer  ; 
Pleasant  it  is,  when  a  row's  on  foot. 
That  you  may,  when  you  wish  to  demolish  a  brute, 
Politely  the  lad  to  good  matiners  exhort, 
By  softening  his  skull  with  a  pewter  quart. 

s. 

As  for  the  mallet-pate,  pig-eye  Chinese, 
They  may  make  crockery  if  they  please  ; 
Fit,  perhaps,  may  each  vehicle  be 
For  marrowless  washes  of  curst  Bohea  ; 
That  is  a  liquor  I  leave  to  be  drunk 
By  Cockney  poet  and 'Cockney  punk  ; 
Folks  with  whom  I  never  co?tsori, 
Preferring  to  chat  with  my  pewter  quart. 

6. 

Silver  and  gold  no  doubt  are  fine. 
But  on  my  table  shall  never  shine  ; 
Being  a  man  of  plain  common  sense, 
I  hate  all  silly  and  vain  expense. 
And  spend  the  cash  these  gew-gaws  cost. 
In  washing  down  gobbets  of  boiled  and  roast 
With  stingo  stiff  of  the  stiffest  sort, 
Curiously  pulled  from  a  pewter  quart, 

7- 

Beakers  and  bowls,  I  am  told,  of  wood. 
For  quaffing  water  are  counted  good  ; 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  277 

They  give  a  smack,  say  the  wat'ry  folks, 
Like  drinking  after  artichokes. 
Devil  may  care  !  I  never  use 
Water  in  either  my  belly  or  shoes, 

And  shall  never  be  counted  art  or  part 

In  putting  the  same  in  a  pewter  quart. 

8. 

Galvani  one  day,  skinning  a  frog. 

To  pamper  his  paunch  with  that  pinchgut  prog, 

Found  out  a  science  of  wonderful  wit, 

Which  can  make  a  stuck  pig  kick  out  in  a  fit, 

Make  a  dead  thief  dance  a  Highland  reel, 

And  butcher  a  beast  without  cleaver  or  steel ; 

And  he  proves  by  this  science,  with  erudite  art. 
That  malt  must  be  drunk  from  a  pewter  quart. 

9. 
If  hock  there  loves  the  glass  of  green. 
And  champagne  in  its  swan-necked  flask  is  seen  ; 
If  Glasgow  punch  in  a  bowl  we  lay, 
And  twist  off  our  dram  in  a  wooden  quaigh  ; 
If,  as  botanical  men  admit, 
Everything  has  its  habitat  fit. 

Let  Sir  John  Barleycorn  keep  his  court, 

Turban\i  with  froth  in  his  pewter  quart. 

10. 

So,  boy,  take  this  handful  of  brass, 
Across  to  the  Goose  and  Gridiron  pass. 
Count  the  coin  on  the  counter  out. 
And  bring  me  a  quart  of  foaming  stout  ; 
Put  it  not  into  bottle  or  jug. 
Cannikin,  rumkin,  flagon,  or  mug— 

Into  nothing  at  all,  in  short. 

Except  the  natural  pewter  quart. 


HERE  FOLLOW.S  A  DISSERTATION  ON  TtiE  LEATHER  BOTTLE 
AND  THE  BLACK  JACK. 

In  the  works  of  the  ingenious  D'Urfey,  which  he  who  studies 
not  with  nocturnal  and  diurnal  attention  is  worthy  of 
infinite  reprobation,  not  to  say  worse,  will  be  discovered 
two  poems,  which  have  not,  as  yet,  excited  the  notice  of 
the  learned  in  the  manner  which  they  deserve.  I  shall 
therefore,  as  briefly  as  the  importance  of  the  matter  will 


278  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

admit  of,  dissertate  somewhat  upon  them;  inviting  the 
attention  of  the  sage  and  erudite  to  my  remarks,  perfectly 
regardless  of  the  approbation  or  disapprobation  of  those 
whom  my  friend  the  Reverend  Edward  Irving  calls  "  the 
flush  and  flashy  spirits  of  the  age,"  thereby  making  an 
agreeable  and  euphuistical  alliteration  at  head  and  tail. 

In  the  third  volume  of  "  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy,"  the 
two  hundred  and  forty-seventh  page  and  first  verse,  will  be 
found  these  words  : — 

€T)e  JLeatljer  TSottle. 

515olB  ®oti  aliotic,  rtat  inaOc  all  tTjtnjg, 

Ipcaijcn  anD  rartl),  anti  all  tljcrcin: 

'^{)c&])i^&  upon  tl)c  ScaiS  to  sitoim, 

tJTo  fecfp  fociS  out,  tTjep  come  not  in. 

jRoto  Etierp  one  Dot!)  iuljat  \)t  can 

an  for  t\)e  UiSe  anB  pratsie  of  man. 
31  toisil)  in  ii;)caucn  tljat  &ou\  map  niacn 
Elat  first  BeutsietJ  tljc  katljern  tottlc. 

A  more  splendid  exordium  is  not  in  the  whole  compass 
of  our  poetry.  The  bard,  about  to  sing  of  a  noble  invention, 
takes  high  ground.  His  eye,  with  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
glances  at  the  origin  of  the  world,  the  glories  of  heaven 
and  the  utilities  of  earth  ;  at  old  ocean  murmuring  with  its 
innumerable  waves,  and  the  stately  vessels  walking  the 
waters  in  all  their  magnificence  ;  and  then,  by  a  gradual 
and  easy  descent,  like  Socrates  bringing  philosophy  from  the 
abodes  of  the  gods  to  the  dwellings  of  men,  chants  the 
merits  of  him  who,  for  the  use  and  praise  of  man,  devised 
the  leathern  bottle.  Compare  Pindar's  celebrated  opening 
with  this,  and  you  will  see  how  short  is  the  flight  of  the 
Boeotian  muse  contrasted  with  that  of  our  own  swan. 
Observe,  moreover,  the  solid  British  feeling  of  the  illustrious 
poet.  No  sooner  does  he  mention  ships  than  the  national 
spirit  breaks  forth. 

t5ET)c  sl)tp3  upon  t^e  Scaj;  to  stoim, 
Co  feeep  foes!  out,  tljep  come  not  in. 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  279 

Had  the  man  who  wrote  this  one  idea  inconsistent  with 
the  honour  and  glory  of  Britain  ?  I  lay  a  thousand  pounds 
he  had  not.  Had  he  lived  in  our  days  he  would  have  con- 
signed the  economists  to  the  Devil  and  the  Scotsman. 
Conceive  for  a  moment  this  great  man,  big  with  beer,  and 
thoroughly  impressed  with  veneration  for  our  walls  of  wood, 
reading  that  article  in  the  Edinburgh  on  the  Navigation 
Laws.  What  an  up-curled  lip  of  indignation  would  he  not 
display !  How  hearty  would  be  his  guffaw  of  contempt ! 
How  frequent  his  pulls  at  the  vessel  inserted  in  his  dexter 
paw,  in  order  to  wash  down  the  cobweb  theories  he  was 
endeavouring  to  swallow !  How  impatiently  would  the 
pigtail  turn  under  his  nether-gum,  until  at  last,  losing 
patience,  he  would  fling  the  Balaam  over  the  bannisters, 
and  exclaim,  "  Here,  John,  take  it  away  from  me,  and  put 
it  in  the  only  place  where  it  can  be  at  all  for  the  use  and 
praise  of  man."  What  place  that  is  it  is  not  necessary  for 
me  to  mention. 

j^oto  loliatuo  pou  sap  to  rtc  caiig  of  iuooTi? 
jFait!)  tl)cp  ate  noun;1)t,  tl;cp  cannot  lie  jooD. 
SU()cn  a  man  fot  tcct  T)c  tioti)  tljctctn  Scnti 
STo  Ijanc  tljcm  fiUcti,  as  \)t  Dotl)  intcnO, 
€1)e  liearer  gtumblct^  lip  xMt  toap, 
Hnti  on  tT)c  g:tounti  T)i)5  lititiot  Botl)  lap  j 
^f)en  jstratijfjt  tljc  man  l)fn;in!S  to  lian, 
ann  dtocarg  it  'tltjas  lono:  of  tljc  toooBcn  can  j 
15ut  f)ati  it  liccn  m  a  katljrrn  liottic, 
fllt1)oiigT)  1)c  stumltlcD  all  Ijati  lieen  toellj 
«^o  safe  tljftfin  it  looulti  remain 
(Until  tf)f  man  ffot  up  again. 

ann  31  iJjiiSl)  inl^caien,  &c. 

The  ambling  pace  of  the  verse  cannot  be  sufficiently 
commended.  Here  we  go  on  jog-trot,  as  Sancho  Panza  on 
Dapple.  Nothing  stops  the  full  gush  of  poetry  poured  out 
in  a  ceaseless,  murmuring  flow,  like  a  brook  rolling  at  the 
feet  of  two  lovers  by  moonlight.  Remark,  too,  the  insight 
this  verse  gives  us  of  the  manners  of  the  poet.  His  habits 
are  completely  anti-domestic ;  they  have  what  King  Leigh 


28o  THE  PP:\VTER  QUART. 

calls  "  all  the  freshness  of  out-of-doors  life."  He  has  no 
store  at  home.  When  he  wants  to  drink,  he  sends  for  the 
quantity  required.  All  the  bother  of  butlers  is  done  away 
with.  The  whole  tribe  of  tapsters  are  his  footmen,  and  the 
wide  world  his  cellar.  You  perceive,  too,  the  habit  of  his 
household  :  it  is  in  a  state  of  perpetually  blissful  intoxication. 
Nothing  can  be  more  a  matter  of  course  than  that  any  mes- 
senger of  his  should  stumble  by  the  way :  it  is  a  regular 
affair  of  ordinary  speculation.  And  then  see  his  mag- 
nanimity. Grieved  as  he  is  at  the  loss  of  his  liquor,  he  has 
no  indignation  against  the  drunken  bearer,  but  transfers  his 
wrath  to  the  vessel,  resolving  henceforward  to  alter  his 
measures.  In  all  this  there  is  something  Christian-like  and 
philanthropic. 

J^oto  for  tTK  porst  ijottT)  ^annrcsi  tTjree, 
jfait^b  rtcp  sTjall  Tjatic  no  praijie  of  me. 
mi)tn  a  man  ano  ))[&  lutfe  Do  fall  at  strife 
(aji  manp,  3[  fear,  !)abe  Bone  in  tT)eir  life), 
€!)cv  lap  tTjcir  IjanDS  upon  tT)c  pot  IjotTj, 
flnti  ibrralv  t^c  jaame,  tTjoitn;^  t()cp  lucre  lotiji 
JKIfjtr!)  t^cp  )3l)aII  anjilucr  another  Bap 
jFot  cajStinty  tfjcir  liquor  go  bainip  aijoapi 
•But  Ijati  it  lifcn  in  a  liottle  fincD, 
•Srijc  one  mtixTjt  Ijabe  tuffcceD,  t^e  ot]&cr  l^atje  fjelD  ; 
tSrijcp  Imtlj  mityljt  Ijabe  tun;gcti  tilt  t\)dt  IjcartS  Din  afee, 
Ann  pet  no  Ijarm  tTjc  bortic  tooitlD  tafee, 
SlnD  31  totsilj  inJl,)eaS)en,  &c. 

The  philosophy  of  this  verse  is  worthy  of  Lord  Bacon  or 
his  commentator.  The  philosopher,  knowing  the  pugnacity 
of  human  nature,  feels  no  surprise  at  a  matrimonial  scuffle ; 
but  instantly  his  great  object  occurs  to  his  mind,  "  fight 
it  out,"  quoth  he,  "  fight  it  out  by  all  means ;  but  don't  spill 
the  drink."  The  whole  forms  a  pleasant  domestic  picture  ; 
the  husband  on  one  side  of  the  table,  warming  his  bunions 
at  the  fire  ;  the  wife,  mending  a  pair  of  breeches  at  the 
other ;  and  a  three-handled  pot,  lying  in  quiet  serenity  be- 
tween them,  upon  a  deal  table.     Suddenly  arises  a  storm, 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  281 

occasioned  by  what  we  are  not  informed  by  the  poet,  but 
most  probably  by  an  unequal  division  of  the  contents  of 
the  aforesaid  pot — and  a  combat  ensues.  Both  seize  the 
pot,  and  the  liquor  is  spilt.  How  touchingly,  and  yet  with 
a  just  indignation,  does  our  friend  reflect  on  this  ! 

jFor  to^iclb  tljep  iSljan  angljocr  another  Dap 
Jfoc  casiting  tTjcir  Itqiinr  00  Datnip  aluap. 

The  solemnity  of  this  threat  is  awfully  impressive.  It 
sounds  like  a  voice  from  Delphi,  or  like  a  deep-toned  im- 
precation uttered  from  the  mystic  groves  of  Eleusis.  There 
is  nothing  like  it  in  all  Paradise  Lost. 


'o 


Ji3olu  toT)at  of  t1;c  ffagoniS  of  siliicr  fine? 
jFnitl)  tT)cp  jSljall  !)at)c  no  praise  of  mine. 
CCIf}cn  a  nolilcman  ibe  Botij  tfjcm  iSenti 
tlo  Ijaiie  tfjem  finet  aiS  T)c  tiotl)  intenD, 
tl^e  man  lott'f)  Tjig  ffaijon  ntnsf  q-iitte  atoap, 
9nti  netier  ig  siccn  an,ain  after  tljat  Bap. 
©f)  tfjen  T;is!  {oro  lictjins  to  tian, 
Jlnu  stocarsi  'ijc  liatT)  losit  liotlj  flajon  anti  man. 
"Snt  it  ne'er  toas!  fenoton  tljat  jjage  or  tjroom 
But  toitf;  a  leatiicrn  liottle  again  laouin  come. 
anD  31  iuisilj  iiilpeauen,  vS,-c. 

You  see  here  the  touches  of  a  fine  archaic  simplicitv. 
The  silver  flagon  indicating  that  its  possessor  is  a  nobleman  ; 
the  provision  for  life  which  it  affords  the  flying  footman, 
w/io  never  again  is  seen  after  that  day;  the  baronial  swear- 
ing of  his  lordship,  and  his  regret  at  the  loss  of  his  property, 
first  in  the  flagon,  and  then  in  the  man, — all  take  us  back  to 
the  feudal  times,  and  make  us  think  of  beetle-browed  castles 
frowning  over  foaming  cataracts  ;  of  knights  clad  in  the 
panoply  of  plate  and  mail  pricking  forth  upon  the  plain  ;  of 
ladye  love  and  chivalrye  ; 

Of  tilting  furniture,  emblazoned  shields, 
Impresses  quaint^  caparisons  and  steeds. 
Bases  and  tin  kI  trappings,  gorgeous  knights. 
At  tilt  and  tourtiament ;  then  marshalPd  feast. 
Served  up  in  hall  with  sewers  atid  seneschals. 


282  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

It  is  agreeable  to  yield  the  mind  occasionally  to  these 
soft  delusions  of  fancy,  and  to  let  our  souls  revel  in  the 
beauties  and  splendours  of  times  past  by.  But,  alas  !  as 
Burke  says,  "the  day  of  chivalry  is  gone,  and  the  glory  of 
Europe  is  departed."  I  agree  with  that  great  orator,  but 
shall  nevertheless  proceed  with  the  Leathern  Bottle. 

iI5otu  toljat  Do  pou  sap  to  tfjf&c  tjIaiSsieiS  fine? 
JfattI)  tTjej)  iSTjan  Ijabc  no  praisic  of  mine. 
Snijcn  frtcnug  arc  at  a  talilc  $n, 
^nn  lip  tl;cm  sscticral  jsortsi  of  meat, 
^I)c  one  fotes  flcjiT),  tf)e  ot^er  fisTj,- 
among  tljcm  nil  rrmobe  a  tisil) : 
^oticl)  but  a  glass  uyon  t])e  litim, 
tlije  glassi  1$  Ijroke ;  no  iutne  left  in. 
^T)cn  lie  pour  talilc-rrotT)  ne'er  go  fine, 
^!jere  lies  pour  Iiccr,  pour  ale,  pour  laine. 
9nli  Doulitless  for  sio  small  aluiSc 
a  poung  man  map  l)is  Service  lose, 
ano  31  luisl;,  &c. 

I  am  sorry  the  poet  wrote  this  verse.  There  is 
something  flunkyish  and  valleydeshammical  in  the  whole 
passage ;  something,  in  fact,  Moorish — I  mean  Peter- 
Moorish  ;  and  I  suspect  an  interpolation.  What  need  we 
care  for  the  discarded  skip,  or  the  stained  diaper  ?  Get  it 
washed.  Warrant  it  will  not  add  a  shilling  to  your  washer- 
woman's bill  in  the  twelvemonths.  But  perhaps  you  are 
afraid  of  the  stains  remaining  to  offend  your  optic  nerve. 
Make  your  mind  easy  on  the  subject.  You  will  find  your 
remedy  in  the  two  hundred  and  ninety-ninth  page  of  the 
Book  of  Rundell.  "Rub  your  part,"  says  that  she-Kitchener, 
"  on  each  side  with  yellow  soap  ;  then  lay  on  a  mixture  of 
starch  in  cold  water,  very  thick ;  rub  it  well,  and  expose  the 
linen  to  the  sun  and  air,  till  the  stain  comes  out.  If  not 
removed  in  three  or  four  days,  rub  that  off,  and  renew  the 
process.  When  dry,  it  may  be  sprinkled  with  a  little  water." 
Observe,  it  way  be  sprinkled  ;  for  she  does  not  insist  on 
f/iai  with  dogged  pertinacity.  Nothing  can  be  more  simple 
than  the  process ;  and  I  am  sorry  the  matter  was  mentioned. 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  2S3 

If  it  really  be  a  bona-fide  part  of  the  composition,  I  must 
only  class  it  among  the  follies  of  the  wise,  and  mourn  over 
the  frail  condition  of  human  nature. 

Jiaoto  toljcn  t\\t,  iottic  is  proton  olD, 

anti  tijat  it  lutU  no  longer  ^olB, 

Cut  of  t\)z  Site  poll  map  cut  a  clout 

tSTo  menu  pour  silioc  infjcn  toorn  out, 

©r  !]ang  t^c  ot^cr  iSitic  on  a  pin  3 

'Slljoill  ScrSe  to  put  ntanp  odd  triffes  in, 

ns  nailsi,  atol0,  ann  cancles'  ciiBs!  5 

Jfor  poung:  ieginncrsi  ncet)  sucf)  tijintjj!. 
31  toisil)  tn5)cabcnl3is  soul  map  niocn 
^Ijat  first  inDcntcU  t!;c  (eatljern  bottle. 

This  is  a  brilliant  verse,  and  displays  a  genius  for 
mechanical  invention  which  would  do  honour  to  a  Perkins. 
The  thrifty  management,  too,  is  highly  commendable ;  and 
the  care  he  manifests  for  young  beginners  marks  a  parental 
and  humane  disposition,  which  converts  our  admiration  of 
the  poet  into  love  for  the  man.  He  appears  to  be  of  the 
opinion  of  that  eminent  statesman — the  Mr.  Maberley  of 
his  day — who  declared  that  there  is  nothing  like  leather. 
Much  may  be,  and  indeed  has  been  said  on  both  sides  of 
the  question,  but  though  the  controversy  is  far  from  being 
set  at  rest,  I  shall  not  agitate  it  on  the  present  occasion. 

Let  me  now  turn  to  the  second  head  of  my  discourse  ; 
namely,  the  black  jack. 

'Cis  a  pitiful  tijing  tl)at  noii)=n=tiapS,  sirs, 

SDur  poets  turn  Icatf)crn4iottlc  praiscrs. 

■^JSiit  if  a  (eatijcrn  tfjcmc  tijep  DiD  iacl;, 

^ftep  migfit  better  Ijabe  cfjosen  i\\t  bonnp  Iilacfe  jack  3 

jFor  \sA)t\\  t^jcp  arc  botl)  noto  \)ii\\  luorn  ant  tecapet, 

JFor  tfje  jack  tfian  tlje  liottfe  mucfj  more  can  I'c  satti. 

ant  31  toisf)  l)is  Soiif  mucT)  goot  map  partafee 

Cf)at  first  Dctiisen  i\)t  bonnp  blacfe  jack. 

I  for  one  am  free  to  admit  that  I  do  not  like  this  com- 
mencement. There  is  something,  as  Leigh  Hunt  says,  base 
and  reviewatory  in  it.     Why  need  he  disparage  the  valuable 


284  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

labours  of  his  predecessor  bard  ?  The  world  was  large 
enough  tor  them  both.  But  the  poetic  tribe  is  irritable. 
This  very  moment  there  is  barbarous  civil  war  going  on 
among  them.  Southey  calls  Byron  Satan,  and  Byron  com- 
pliments the  Laureate  with  the  soothing  title  of  rogue. 
Bernard  Barton  has  been  heard  to  declare  that  he  did  not 
think  ODoherty's  poetry  had  anything  Miltonian  about  it, — 
to  be  sure  it  was  in  private, — and  he  qualified  the  assertion 
by  adding  that  he  gave  it  merely  as  matter  of  opinion  ;  but, 
after  all,  it  was  shabby  on  the  part  of  Broadbrim.  I  say 
nothing,  and  mention  the  business  just  in  illustration. 

Slwa  noto  31  totH  iegtn  to  Declare 

Klbat  t])c  couDcnicnresi  of  tTje  jaclt  are. 

jFtrsit,  tolKtt  a  gantj  of  goon  fcllotogi  no  meet, 

3.0  oft  at  a  fair  or  a  toake  ^oti  iSTjaH  siec't^ 

'E\)tv  rcfinluc  to  ^atic  Some  mcrrp  caroujSesf, 

9nri  pet  to  get  Ijomc  in  goon  time  to  tijeir  fjougc^. 

'(K\)tn  tT)e  iottle  it  runjs  as  Sloiu  as  mp  r1]ime, 

CQitt)  jadt  tTjep  mig1)t  I;a\je  ad  liccn  nrunk  in  goon  time» 

ann  31  toisfj  T)is  Soul  in  peace  map  niucll 

■vlljat  first  neuiscn  tijat  sjjecnp  uesscU 

The  writer  of  this  is  evidently  an  intensely  moral  and 
domestic  man.  It  being  an  object  of  necessity  to  get 
drunk,  the  question  arises  how  this  is  to  be  done  with  the 
most  decorous  propriety.  Arguing  then  with  Macbeth  that 
when  a  thing  is  to  be  done,  'twere  well  that  it  were  done 
quickly,  and  anxious  to  delight  the  family  at  home  with 
an  early  visit,  he  naturally  prefers  the  jack,  or,  as  he  most 
poetically  calls  it,  the  speedy  vessel.  He  manifestly  hates 
loitering  and  lingering  in  any  work  in  which  he  is  engaged, 
and  is  quite  shocked  at  the  idea  of  intruding  on  domestic 
arrangements  by  any  absence  of  his.  He  feels  the  duties 
of  the  head  of  a  household  too  keenly  ;  he  is  too  much 
interested  in  the  proper  ordering  of  affairs  at  home.  Cer- 
tain I  am  that  family  prayers  were  the  regular  order  of  the 
day  in  his  establishment. 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  285 

JlnB  tTjcrcforc  Icatie  pour  ttoittTe  tluattle. 

Praise  tlic  jacfe,  pratiSc  no  more  tlje  leatTjcrn  liottle; 

jFor  tlje  man  at  tlje  bottle  map  Crinfe  till  !)e  IiurSt, 

SnD  pet  not  Tjanngiomelp  qucncT)  ])i$  tljirst. 

■Sfje  master  !)crcat  mafecti)  great  moan, 

SnO  OoulitiS  ])[&  Iiottle  Tjas  a  ssptcc  of  tlje  Stone ; 

■But  if  it  Ijaa  licen  a  generous  jacfe, 

l)c  migiit  Ijaiie  TjaD  currently  luljat  Ije  Din  lack. 

3nii  31  ioislj  l)iS  Soul  in  ParaDiSe 

€:?)at  first  founn  out  tT;at  l^appp  Debice. 

The  lament  of  the  unsated  beer-bibber  is  given  here  with 
a  pathos  which  must  draw  tears  from  the  eyes  even  of  the 
most  hard-hearted.  No  words  are  thrown  away.  We  see 
him  endeavouring  to  effect  his  purpose  at  the  bottle's 
mouth  ;  and,  finding  his  efforts  vain,  he  "■thereat  viaketh great 
moan:'  How  simple,  yet  how  tender  !  Had  Shiel,  or  any 
poetaster  of  that  stamp,  such  a  passage  in  his  hands,  into 
what  a  bladder  of  wordy  amplification  would  he  not  have 
blown  it  !  We  should  infallibly  have  had  the  wife  and 
children  drawn  in  to  participate  in  the  father's  sorrow; 
but  here  we  have  a  strain  of  higher  mood  : 


'O' 


lie  pour  [iquor  Small  or  tljicfe  as  mun, 

tillje  cljcanng  bottle  tl]at  cries  gooD,  (vooD  ; 

■Eljen  tl)c  master  again  begins  to  storm, 

"Because  it  SaiD  more  t^an  it  coulti  perform  : 

"But  if  it  ban  been  in  an  bonest  black  jack, 

31t  tootilti  batie  proiicD  better  to  Sigbt,  Smell,  anu  smack. 

Jlnt)  31  iniSlj  ijiS  Soul  in  DeaDen  map  rest 

"SEljat  aDDeD  a  jack  to  T5accbus's  feast. 

On  this  verse  I  make  no  remark,  as  I  am  sure  that  by 
this  time  the  reader  of  moderate  abilities  or  proper  applica- 
tion will  be  able  to  discover  its  scope  and  tendency. 

J^o  flagon,  tankattj,  bottle,  or  jug, 

31s  f)alf  So  fit,  or  so  toed  can  bolD  tug  ; 

JFor  ijobcn  a  man  ann  bis  iuifc  plap  at  tljluacks, 

tilbere  is  notf)ing  so  gooD  as  a  pair  of  black  jacks  : 

tJT^us  to  it  tOep  go,  tbep  Slocar,  ann  tbep  curse, 

31t  makes  tbem  botb  better,  tbc  jack's  ne'er  ttc  luorsci 


286  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

jFor  tT;ep  migljt  Ijabe  lianjjcn  iotT)  till  t^etr  TjeartiS  Din  alie, 

ann  ret  no  ^jttrt  t()c  jacks  cotiln  take : 
JlnB  31  toislj  Ijisi  ijcirg  map  l;aDc  a  pcnjsion 
tJEljat  first  proiJuceB  tijat  luckp  inUention. 


I  am  afraid  my  friend  Joe  Hume  would  hardly  agree  with 
this  last  prayer,  but  it  is  evident  that  Joseph  has  no  taste 
for  the  fine  arts.  The  philological  student  will  discover  in 
this  verse  the  origin  of  the  phrase,  "  leathering  a  man's 
wife."  On  the  moral  propriety  of  conjugal  fistycuffery  I 
had  prepared  some  copious  remarks,  when  I  received  infor- 
mation from  a  sure  hand  that  my  Lord  Holland  has  a  folio 
on  the  subject  nearly  ready  for  the  press,  and  I  bow  to  his 
lordship's  superior  talents  and  experience. 

•giocratcjS  aim  Aristotle 
'g'ucfect)  no  iMtt  from  a  leatTjcrn  iottlc ; 
jFor  siirclp  31  tljinlt  a  man  as  soon  map 
jFtnti  a  necDlc  in  a  liottic  of  fjap. 
TBut  if  ti)c  lilacfe  iack  a  man  often  tosS  ober, 
'Stuin  make  f)int  as  Britnk  as  anp  pTiiloSop'ber  3 
OHlien  Ijc  tijat  makes  jacks  from  a  peck  to  a  quart, 
GLonjurcs  not,  tTjougT)  Ije  ItucS  ip  ti)c  Hack  art. 
anil  31  toiiSi),  &c. 

I  care  not  a  fig  for  the  black  art,  and  defy  the  foul  fiend, 
Prince  Hohenlohe,  and  Ingleby  the  Emperor  of  the  Con- 
jurors, so  shall  make  no  remark  on  the  last  two  lines.  It 
would  lead  us  into  too  deep  a  historico-metaphysical  dis- 
quisition were  I  to  enter  into  a  history  of  the  fortunes  of 
the  Aristotelian  philosophy.  During  the  life  of  Aristotle, 
he  was  looked  on  as  the  prince  of  philosophers,  and  such 
did  his  estimation  continue  as  long  as  there  were  minds  in 
the  world  manly  enough  to  understand  him.  While  Europe 
was  sunk  in  darkness,  he  was  taken  up  by  the  acute  Ara- 
bians, then  at  the  head  of  the  intellect  of  the  earth.  From 
them  the  schoolmen  caught  him,  badly  translated  and  im- 
perfectly understood;  and,  when  their  day  was  over,  the 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  2S7 

puny  whipsters  who  had  got  possession  of  the  ear  of  the 
metaphysical  world  thought  nothing  could  be  finer  than  to 
disparage,  because  he  had  been  caricatured,  him  whom 
they  could  not  read ;  and  we  see,  in  our  own  day,  Stewart 
mumping  and  mumbling  pretty  little  nothings,  with  full 
assurance  that  the  Peripatetic  whom  he  cannot  construe, 
or  who,  if  construed  for  him,  is  far  above  any  reach  of 
thought  he  could  bring  to  the  consideration,  is  unworthy  to 
unloose  the  latchet  of  his  shoe.  But  to  his  fortune  in  our 
poetry  I  may  briefly  advert  :  it  is  a  fine  illustration  of  the 
elder  Mr.  Shandy's  theory  of  the. influence  of  a  name. 
That  he  was  a  hard  drinker  I  hope,  for  he  was  a  great  man; 
but,  whether  he  was  or  not,  no  name  of  the  ancients  occurs 
so  often  in  juxtaposition  with  the  bottle.  See  the  verse 
above.     So  also  the  eminent  Harry  Carey  : 

Zeno,  Plato,  Aristotle 

A II  were  lovers  of  the  bottle. 

So  in  MS.  penes  me  : 

To  moisten  our  throttle. 
We'll  call  the  third  bottle. 
For  that  was  the  practice  of  wise  Aristotle. 

All  owing  to  the  two  last  syllables  of  his  name.  With 
respect  to  the  remark  in  the  text,  that 

3If  t\)t  Iilacfe  jack  a  man  often  tofis!  olicr, 
'(HdiII  make  Ijtm  as  Oriinlt  asi  anj  jjfjilosiopljcr, 

I  can  vouch,  from  my  own  experience,  that  the  illustration 
is  correct,  for  I  have  had  the  honour  of  being  intimately 
acquainted  with  fifteen  of  the  first  philosophers  of  the  age, 
fourteen  of  whom  went  to  bed  drunk  as  widgeons  every 
night  of  their  lives,  and  the  fifteenth  retired  when  he  found 
himself  tipsy. 

TBc^ilicsf,  mp  ffoon  frieuD,  let  me  tell  pou,  tijat  felfloiM 
tJtjjat  ftameo  tf)c  bottle  ijiji  brainjs  inere  Ijiit  ^fjalloU). 


288  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

CT)C  casic  isi  so  clear,  31  tiotljino:  "CfU  mention, 

€:fte  jack  is  a  nearer  antJ  Deeper  inlientipn. 

cBfjen  tiK  liottle  is  cleaneB,  tfje  DregS  f{p  a!)out 

flS  if  tT)e  a;iits  anu  t])e  Iirains  flclu  nut ; 

Tnit  if  in  a  cannon-liore  jack  it  IjaD  lieen, 

JFrom  t!)e  top  to  tlje  liottom  all  nticcljt  Ijabe  lieen  clean. 
3nti  31  loislj  T)is  soui  no  comfort  map  lack 
^Ijat  first  OcUiSeli  tiK  liotincing  l)lack  jack. 

I  am  not  antiquarian  enough  to  decide  on  the  correct- 
ness of  the  above  objurgation  against  the  uncleanHness  of 
the  bottles  of  the  olden  time,  and  willingly  leave  the  con- 
sideration of  the  matter  to  Mr.  John  Nichols,  who  presides 
(and  long  may  he  preside  !)  over  the  archaeologists  who  wield 
the  pen  for  the  Gentleman  s  Magazine,  in  which,  perhaps, 
he  will  favour  us  with  an  engraved  likeness  of  a  leathern 
bottle,  as  I  think  churches  are  running  rather  low.  But 
be  that  as  it  may,  he  must  have  little  gusto  for  the  sublime 
who  can  fail  to  admire  the  splendid  epithet  of  the  Cannon- 
bore  Jack.  What  vast  ideas  of  stupendous  bibosity  does 
not  it  excite  ?  Conceive  a  nine-pounder-like  machine 
charged  with  ale,  levelled  on  your  table,  in  full  range  against 
your  brains  !  Nay,  the  very  word  is  good.  It  makes  us 
think  of  battle  and  blood — of  square  column  and  platoon 
mowed  down  in  unrelenting  sweep — of  Sir  William  Con- 
greve,  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and  the  field  of  Waterloo — 
of  Buonaparte,  St.  Helena,  and  Sir  Hudson  Lowe — and 
thence,  by  the  association  of  ideas,  of  Barry  O'Meara,  and 
the  horse-whipping  of  old  Walter  of  the  Times.  I  shall 
lump  my  dissertation  on  the  four  following  verses  : — 

^onr  leatliet  liottle  is  ttSeti  lip  no  man 
tlljat  is  a  Ijair'S'lircantb  aliouc  a  plotoman  3 
^l)£tt  let  us  gang  to  tT)e  i^crcules  pillars, 
anU  tljere  let  us  liiStt  tT)ose  gallant  jack  slxiillers. 
31n  tljese  small,  strong,  sour,  mila,  anD  Stale, 
^l)ep  Brink  orange,  lemon,  anD  JLamlietlj  ale: 
Cl)E  cl)ief  of  l;eralDS  t\txt  allolus 
Clje  jack  to  lie  of  an  ancienter  l)ouSe. 
anD  luap  l)is  successors  nelier  Iriant  sack 
^Ijat  first  DeiiiscD  tl)e  long  Icatljer  jack. 


THE  PEWTER  QUART.  2S9 

■CTTjcn  for  tTje  liottfc,  you  cannot  IdcH  fill  it, 
Caitljoitt  a  tunnel,  but  tljat  pou  must  jsptH  it. 
'^10  as  Ijarn  to  tf  ct  in  ajs  it  is  to  jct  out : 
'©S  not  so  luttl)  a  jack,  for  it  runs  like  a  spout, 
^fjcn  Inirn  pour  liottk,  iuljat  goon  is  in  it? 
SDnc  cannot  iBell  fill  it,  nor  Orink,  nor  clean  it; 
T3ut  if  it  Ijati  lieen  in  a  jollp  Ijlack  jack, 
'(JCtoouln  come  a  great  pace  ano  Ijoln  jjou  goon  tack, 
ann  31  totsl)  IjiS  soul,  ^c. 

\S?t  tT)at's  nrunfe  in  a  jack  looks  as  fierce  as  a  spark 
^Ibat  inerc  just  reanp  cockt  to  sljoot  at  a  mark  j 
CJITjen  tT)c  otljer  tl)ing  up  to  tijc  moutlj  it  goes, 
^akcS  a  man  look  luitl)  a  great  liotttc  nose, 
ail  ioisc  men  conclune  tljat  a  jacfe,  nelu  or  olu, 
■GTljougl)  T)cginning  to  Iraft,  is  Ijoioetjer  loortl;  goln  3 
jfor  ixifjen  tlje  poor  man  on  tije  toap  toes  truOgc  it, 
J^iS  luorn=out  jack  serbcs  Ijtm  for  a  iutiget. 
ano  31  toisf)  1)iS  lieirs  mny  neber  lack  Sack  '■, 

^f)at  first  contriDefl  tfje  leatljer  ilack  jack. 

tKl)cn  Ijottlc  anti  jack  Stann  togetT)er,  fie  on't, 
tEibe  liottlc  looks  just  like  a  Diuarf  to  a  giant  j 
tiTljen  !)ai)e  toe  not  reason  t!)e  jack  for  to  cljoose, 
JTot  tT)cp  can  make  lioots  luljen  tl)e  iottle  mcnns  sTjoes  ; 
JFor  atin  liut  to  cDerp  jack  a  foot, 
ann  etierp  jack  becomes  a  Boot : 
®f)cn  gilje  me  mv  jack,  rl)ere'S  a  reason  luTjp 
t>El)ep  Ijaie  kept  us  toct,  tfjep  toill  keep  us  Dtp. 
31  nolo  sl)all  cease,  iut  as  31  am  an  Tjonest  man, 
^l)e  jack  neserbcs  to  lie  callcti  ^ir  31oT;n. 
ann  map  tfjcp  ne'er  liiant  for  liellp  nor  liack 
^fjat  keep  up  tl)e  trate  of  tl)c  l3onnp  black  jack. 

Amen  !  and  virtue  be  its  own  reward  ! 

On  the  above  four  things  are  to  be  particularly  noticed — 

I.  That  the  Hercules  Pillars  is  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  signs. 

II.  That  the  progress  of  time  has  extinguished  various 
sorts  of  ales ;  for  who  nowadays  drinks  orange,  lemon,  or 
Lambeth  ?  They  sleep  with  the  Chians  and  Falernians  of  the 
days  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

III.  That  a  partiality  for  a  man's  favourite  pursuit  may 
lead  him  to  bestow  on  it  unjust  and  undeserved  praise ;  for 

VOL.  I.  T 


290  THE  PEWTER  QUART. 

after  various  and  repeated  experiments  in  drinking  out  of 
every  vessel  under  the  sun,  I  can  give  it  as  my  unbiassed 
opinion  that  the  shape  of  the  instrument  imparts  no  addi- 
tional value  to  the  liquor  drunk,  and  that  therefore  the 
idea  that  he  who  imbibes  from  a  black  jack  acquires  a 
superior  fierceness  or  martiality  of  aspect  must  be  classed 
among  such  innocent  delusions  as  induced  the  barber  to 
recommend  white-handled  razors  as  the  best  fitted  for 
abrading  of  beards. 

Lastly  and  finally,  we  cannot  help  being  pleased  by  the 
vein  of  genuine  and  unaffected  piety  which  runs  through 
both  these  dignified  compositions.  The  prayers  which  in 
both  conclude  each  verse,  though  more  varied  and  poetical 
in  the  latter,  are  not  more  solemn  and  impressive  than  the 
solitary  ejaculation  of  blessing  bestowed  on  the  earlier  pro- 
duction. There  is  something  striking  which  sinks  into  the 
soul  in  the  constant  choral-like  repetition  of  the  one  for- 
mulary which  amply  compensates  for  the  picturesque  diver- 
sity which  excites  our  admiration  but  fills  us  not  with  awe. 
The  one  goes  to  the  head,  the  other  to  the  heart.  To  con- 
clude, if  the  brows  of  the  inventors  of  the  bottle  and  jack 
deserve  to  be  bound  with  snow-white  fillets,  as  being  men 
who  civilised  life  by  new  productions  of  art  and  genius,  the 
bards  who  hymned  their  exploits  may  justly  claim  the  same 
honour  as  being  pious  poets,  who  spoke  things  worthy  of 
Apollo.  M.  OD. 


JLU  IRiobt  Malign-. 

"  Midnight !  yet  not  a  nose,  from  Tower  Hill  to  Piccadilly,  snored  !  " 

In  a  crowded  and  highly  cultivated  slate  of  society  like 
that  of  London,  the  race  of  exertion  against  time  is  incessant. 
Take  a  distant  village,  although  a  populous  one  (as  in 
Devonshire  or  Cornwall),  and  even  discord,  during  the 
hours  of  darkness,  is  found  forgetting  herself  in  rest.  The 
last  alehouse  closes  before  the  clock  strikes  ten,  sendins; 
the  very  scapegraces  of  the  hamlet  in  summer  to  bed  by 
daylight ;  no  lady  would  choose  after  curfew  hour  (even 
by  beating  her  husband)  to  disturb  her  neighbours  ;  and 
unless  some  tailor  happens  to  be  behindhand  with  a  wed- 
ding pair  of  small  clothes,  or  some  housewife  prolongs  the 
washing-day  and  gives  an  extra  hour  to  her  lace  caps,  or 
unless  the  village  be  a  post-stage,  where  the  "  first-turn- 
boy  "  must  sleep  in  his  spurs,  or  where,  the  mail  changing 
horses,  some  one  sits  up  to  give  the  guard  his  glass  of 
rum,  no  movable  probably  like  a  lighted  candle  is  known 
to  such  a  community  from  eleven  o'clock  on  the  Saturday 
night  to  six  o'clock  on  the  Monday  morning.  In  Lon- 
don, however,  the  course  of  affairs  is  widely  different. 
As  the  broad  glare  of  gas  drives  darkness  even  from  our 
alleys,  so  multitudinous  avocations  keep  rest  for  ever  from 
our  streets.  By  an  arrangement  the  opposite  to  that  of 
Queen  Penelope,  it  is  during  the  night  that  the  work  of 
regeneration  in  our  great  capital  goes  on  ;  it  is  by  night  that 
the  great  reservoirs  which  feed  London  and  Westminster 
repair  the  vast  expenditure  which  they  make  during  the  day. 
As  the  wants  of  twelve  hundred  thousand  persons  arc  not 
ministered  to  with  a  wet  finger,  this  operation  of  replenish- 


292  THE  NIGHT  WALKER. 

inent  does  not  proceed  in  silence.  Its  action  is  best  observ- 
able (as  regards  the  season)  towards  the  end  of  spring  ; 
when,  the  town  being  at  the  fullest,  the  markets  are  most 
abundantly  supplied.  Then  every  succeeding  hour  of  the 
four-and-twenty  brings  its  peculiar  business  to  be  performed, 
and  sets  its  peculiar  agents  into  motion. 

Between  half-past  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  at  night  the 
several  theatres  of  the  metropolis  discharge  themselves  of 
their  loads,  and  at  that  hour  it  is  (unless  the  House  of 
Commons  happens  to  sit  late)  that  the  last  JlusA  of  passengers 
is  seen  in  the  streets  of  London.  The  forth-rushing  multi- 
tudes of  Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane  pass  westward 
in  divisions  by  King  Street  and  Leicesterfields,  eastward 
by  Catherine  Street,  the  Strand,  and  Temple  Bar;  they  are 
crossed  at  the  points  of  Blackfriars  and  St.  Martin's  Lane 
by  the  Middlesex-dwelling  visitors  of  Astley's  and  the 
Circus,  and  may  be  distinguished  from  the  chance  travellers 
(pedestrians)  of  the  same  direction  by  their  quick  step, 
hilarious  mood,  and  still  more  by  that  style  of  shoiddering 
in  which  Englishmen  when  they  walk  in  a  body  always 
indulge  towards  the  single-handed.  About  this  time,  too, 
the  hackney  horses  put  their  best  feet  (where  there  is  a 
choice)  foremost,  knowing  of  old  that  whence  comes  one 
lash  there  as  easily  come  two.  The  less  public  and  more 
peaceful  districts  of  town  are  next  flattered  for  some  twenty 
minutes  by  the  loud  knocks  of  coachmen,  occasionally 
commuted  into  "  touches  of  the  bell "  for  the  sake  of  "  the 
lodgers,"  or  "the  children,"  or  sometimes  "the  old  lady 
opposite."  And  before  the  stroke  of  midnight,  in  these 
comparatively  pacific  regions  the  tom-cats  and  the  watch- 
men reign  with  undisputed  sway. 

In  the  greater  thoroughfares  of  London,  however,  and 
especially  about  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand,  the  tumult  of 
evening  does  not  subside  so  easily.  From  twelve  by  Paul's 
clock  until  after  two  in  the  morning  the  Gates  of  the 
Temple,  and  the  nooks  under  St.  Dunstan's  Church,  the 
corners  of  Bell  Yard,  Star  Court,  and  Chancery  Lane,  the 


THE  NIGHT  WALKER.  293 

doors  of  the  Rainbow,  the  Cock,  and  the  other  minor 
coffee-houses  of  Fleet  Street  are  beset  by  habitual  idlers 
or  late-stirring  "professional  people,"  members  of  spouting- 
clubs  and  second-rate  actors,  barristers  without  law  and 
medical  students  guiltless  of  physic;  besides  these,  there 
flourish  a  set  of  City  "  choice  spirits,"  who  can't  get  so  far 
west  as  "  Pedley's  Oyster-rooms,"  or  "  The  Saloon,"  in 
Piccadilly,  but  must  take  their  "  lark  "  (moving  homewards) 
between  the  Adelphi  Theatre  and  Whitechapel ;  and  now 
and  then,  perhaps,  some  grocer  of  Farringdon  falls  {vino 
gravidus)  into  the  irregularity  of  a  "  set-to,"  and  pays  thirty 
shillings  "  making-up  "  money  to  his  Jew  antagonist  at  St. 
Bride's  Watch-house,  to  save  a  jobaiio7i  at  Guildhall  from 
the  sitting  alderman  next  day. 

This  is  the  very  "witching  time,"/^7r  excelleiice,  of  night, 

' '  When  graves  yield  up  their  dead  " 

(because  resurrection-men  will  have  it  so),  when  lamps  are 
"  rifled  at,"  and  sots  pushed  out  of  public-houses  ;  and  when 
the  sober  wayfarer  starts  ever  and  anon  at  the  prolonged 
hilly-oh-ho-ho  !  that  bellow,  as  it  were,  crescendo,  peculiar 
I  think  to  the  throats  of  the  English,  which  frightens 
watchmen  into  their  hutches  and  quiet  citizens  into  the 
kennel.  This  whoop  by  the  way  prolonged,  which  invites 
MANKIND,  as  it  were,  to  clear  the  way,  is  with  us  a  pure 
national,  and  not  a  local,  characteristic.  Both  high  and 
low  affect  the  practice ;  both  "  good  men "  and  bullies. 
We  have  it  at  Oxford  and  at  Cambridge,  where  the  gowns- 
men if  opposed  strip  and  bufi"  to  their  work  like  stout 
"  forty  minutes  "  fellows  ;  and  again  in  London,  where  your 
flustered  haberdasher,  after  defying  perhaps  a  whole  street, 
at  last  provokes  somebody  to  thrash  him,  and  is  beat  with- 
out a  blow  in  his  defence. 

By  two  o'clock,  however,  the  riotous  get  pretty  well  dis- 
posed of;  some  snug  and  flea-bitten  in  their  own  personal 
garrets,  more  (and  still  flea-bitten)  in  the  compters  of  the 
police.      The  wickets  of  the  ni^ht-houses   after  this  open 


294  THE  NIGHT  WALKER. 

only  to  known  customers,  and  the  flying  pieman  ceases 
his  call.  The  pickpockets,  linked  with  the  refuse  of  another 
pestilence  of  the  town,  are  seen  sauntering  lazily  towards 
their  lurking-places  in  gangs  of  five  and  six  together.  And 
when  these  last  stragglers  of  darkness  have  swept  over  the 
pav'e^  the  debris  of  the  evening  may  be  considered  as  cleared 
off;  and  except  an  occasional  crash  of  oyster-shells  cast 
{inaugre  kn^^tXo  Taylor)  from  some  lobster-shop,  or  the  sharp 
rattle  of  a  late  billiard-ball  echoing  from  the  rooms  over 
l\Irs.  Salmon's,  silence,  or  something  like  it,  obtains  for 
some  brief  minutes,  while  the  idlers  of  night  give  place  to 
the  dark -working  men  of  business. 

The  earliest  disturbers  of  London  until  within  these  few 
years  were  the  market  gardeners,  who  rolled  lazily  through 
the  suburbs  about  three  with  their  filled-up  carts  and 
waggons,  some  "  well  to  do  "  and  pompous,  parading  their 
four  high-fed  horses  apiece,  others  poor  (and  modest) 
drawing  with  a  single  quadruped,  and  he,  God  wot,  looking 
as  though  stray  cabbage-leaves  were  his  holiday-fare,  that 
is,  supposing  (what  is  not  supposable)  that  such  a  thing  as 
a  holiday  ever  happened  to  him  ;  all  the  sprhig  vehicles, 
however,  top-heavy  with  baskets  of  raspberries,  strawberries, 
and  currants ;  and  followed  by  heavier  machines  bearing 
gooseberries,  or  frame  potatoes ;  the  cauliflowers,  peas, 
and  such  more  ponderous  and  plebeian  esculents  having 
creaked  into  town  (as  they  might)  in  the  course  of  the  pre- 
ceding evening. 

But  two  or  three  mild  winters  of  late  in  succession  have 
brought  a  new  article  of  foreign  trade  into  England.  Ice, 
for  the  use  of  the  confectioners,  comes  now  to  us  all  the 
way  from  Norway,  where  a  gentleman,  we  understand,  is 
making  arrangements  to  send  over  even  snow,  at  a  far 
cheaper  rate  than  it  can  afford  to  fall  in  this  country ;  so 
that  frost,  in  fact  (as  regards  Great  Britain  and  Ireland), 
may  consider  itself  discharged  from  further  attendance ; 
and,  with  the  help  of  a  few  more  devices  in  the  way  of 
commercial  arrangement,  and  perhaps  a  new  improvement 


THE  NIGHT  WALKEE.  295 

or  two  as  to  the  application  of  steam,  it  shall  go  hard  but 
we  will  shortly  turn  the  seasons  out  of  doors  altogether. 
And  this  imported  ice  (jealous  of  sunshine)  is  foremost  in 
our  streets  now  of  mornings,  moving  along,  in  huge  cart- 
loads, from  the  below-bridge  wharfs  ;  and  looking,  as  it 
lies  in  bulk,  like  so  much  conglutinated  Epsom  salts. 

Meantime  the  river  above  bridge  is  not  suffered  to  lie 
idle ;  but  the  fruits  of  Putney  and  Fulham  walk  upon  the 
shoulders  of  porters,  from  Hungerford  and  the  Adelphi  stairs, 
to  the  great  mart  of  vegetable  matter,  Covent  Garden.  And 
upon  this  spot  (Covent  Garden),  which  circumstances  seem 
to  have  erected  into  a  sort  of  museum  for  all  the  varied  staple 
of  a  crowded  capital  city  ;  to  which  all  the  patron  friends  of 
all  the  ills  that  scourge  mankind  seem  to  have  rushed 
with  one  consent,  day  and  night,  to  hold  divan ;  where 
Luxury  roams  gorgeous  through  her  long  range  of  lighted 
taverns,  and  brims  the  bowl  with  wine,  which  Discord  waits 
to  dash  with  blood ;  where  hunger,  squalor,  nakedness,  and 
disease  dance,  antic,  round  our  national  monuments  of 
national  wealth  and  superfluity ;  where  vices,  too  hideous 
to  be  contemplated  in  detail,  assert  their  royalty  over  us, 
alike  in  every  class  and  every  condition,  blazing  in  tran- 
sient lustre  amid  the  splendid  hotels  of  the  Piazza,  starving, 
in  rags  (yet  scarce  more  abject)  amongst  the  horrid  fast- 
nesses of  Bedford  Court ! — upon  this  spot,  where  all  things 
monstrous  are  crowded  and  jumbled  together ;  where  the 
sounds  seem  all  confused,  and  the  sights  all  anomalous ; 
where  the  wild  laugh  of  revelry,  and  the  low  moan  of 
suffering,  the  subdued  whisper  of  entreaty,  and  the  hoarse 
bark  of  execration  mingle  and  mix  and  blend,  and  half 
neutralise  each  other ;  upon  this  spot,  Covent  Garden — 
jovial  Covent  Garden,  the  darling  haunt  alike  of  folly  and 
of  wit,  the  great  mart  of  all  London  for  oranges,  outcasts, 
and  old  clothes,  where  the  jokes  are  mostly  good,  where 
the  cookery  is  always  excellent,  where  the  claret  is  commonly 
the  best  in  England,  and  the  morality  never  failingly  the 
worst — on  this  spot,  one  continued   uproar  of   labour  or 


296  THE  NIGHT  WALKER. 

dissipation  has  endured  without  intermission  for  nearly  a 
century  gone  by ;  and  here,  so  long  as  London  shall  keep 
her  holding  as  a  city,  silence,  probably,  by  night  or  day, 
shall  never  find  a  resting-place. 

But  we  will  tear  ourselves  from  Covent  Garden  even  in 
"the  sweet"  (as  Falstaff  calls  it)  "of  the  night,"  for  we 
must  take  a  peep  at  the  other  points  of  provisional  concen- 
tration about  town.  We  must  look  towards  Cockspur 
Street,  where  the  hay  collects  itself  in  such  quantities  that 
nothing  but  the  stomach  of  a  horse  could  ever  hope  to 
make  away  with  it.  And  we  must  cross,  too,  into  Smithfield, 
where  herds  of  cattle  keep  coming  in  all  night,  and  where 
it  is  amazing  how  anybody  can  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the 
barking  of  the  dogs  and  the  bellowing  of  the  bulls,  and, 
loader  than  all,  the  swearing  of  the  drovers,  against  whom 
Heaven,  Richard  Martin,  strengthen  thine  arm  !  Smithfield, 
however,  to  be  seen  to  advantage,  should  be  taken  from 
its  eastern  bearing  through  the  fogs  of  a  November  morn- 
ing, when  the  lights  in  the  west  quadrangle  at  "  The  Ram," 
"  The  Goat,"  and  "  The  Bull's  Head  "  show  like  beacons 
(though  they  shine  but  dimly)  amid  the  total  darkness  on 
all  sides  of  them ;  and  when,  looking  at  the  hubbub  of 
traffic  which  roars  through  the  outward  street  against  the 
deep  unheeding  silence  that  reigns  within  the  houses,  a 
man  might  fancy  he  witnessed  the  rush  of  an  invading 
army,  or  division,  into  a  town  which  the  inhabitants  had 
the  night  before  abandoned.  Then  pick  your  way  round 
(for  there  is  no  venturing  to  cross)  and  peep  through  the 
steaming  window-panes  into  the  parlour  of  an  inn,  where 
graziers  and  salesmen,  in  their  fantastic  "auld  world" 
dresses,  flop-hatted  and  top-coated,  booted  and  waist-be- 
girt ;  knee-capped,  twenty-handkerchiefed,  mud-be-splashed, 
and  spurred,  snore  or  smoke  in  arm-chairs  ;  and,  between 
whiles,  drive  bargains  for  thousands.  Mark  the  huge  bulk 
of  these  men,  their  bluff  bearing  and  English  counte- 
nances. Hark  to  their  deep  voices,  strange  dialects,  and 
uncouth  expression.      Then  take  their  attendant  demons, 


THE  NIGHT  WALKER.  297 

the  badged  drovers,  each  his  goad  and  cord  in  hand ;  and 
with  garb  so  pieced  together,  patched,  and  tattered  that  it 
might  pass  for  the  costume  of  any  age,  being  hke  the 
costume  of  none.  Catch  the  style  of  the  old-fashioned 
building  before  you,  with  its  latticed  windows  and  pent- 
house roof.  Take  the  low  ceiling  of  the  sitting  apartment, 
and  the  huge  sea-coal  fire  that  glows  in  it.  Take  the 
figures  of  the  farmers  within  doors,  and  of  the  drovers 
hovering  without ;  of  the  gaitered,  smock-frocked  hostlers, 
carriers,  and  carmen  ;  of  the  ragged,  patient,  waiting  ponies, 
and  the  still  more  ragged  and  patient  sheep-dogs — the 
most  faithful,  intelligent,  and  ill-used  beings  of  their 
species ;  take  these  objects  amid  the  darkness  of  the  hour 
and  the  exaggeration  of  the  fog,  and  then,  with  a  little 
natural  romance  and  a  lively  recollection  of  Shakespeare, 
you  may  (almost)  fancy  yourself  thrown  back  into  the 
glorious  rudeness  of  the  thirteenth  century,  arriving  from  a 
recent  robbery  (ah  !  those  indeed  were  days)  rich  with  the 
spoils  of  ''whoreson  caterpillars,"  and  calling  for  a  light  to 
walk  between  tavern  and  tavern  ! 

But  the  sober  clearness  of  a  summers  morning  is  no 
nurse  for  these  wild  fancies.  It  shows  all  objects  too 
plainly  and  distinctly  for  picturesque  effect,  the  true  secret 
of  which  lies  in  never  exhibiting  anything  fidly^  but  in 
showing  just  enough  to  excite  the  imagination,  and  in  then 
leaving  it  room  enough  to  act.  So  we  will  turn  back  from 
Smithfield,  just  in  the  cold  grey  light  of  daybreak,  and 
cross  Holborn  to  Chancery  Lane,  where  the  kennels  by 
this  time  are  overflowing ;  and  rogues,  with  scoops,  are 
watering  the  roads — that  is,  " making  the  d'//'^/  one  mud!''' 
Now  watchmen  congregate  round  posts  for  a  little  sober 
conversation ;  old  women  make  to  their  respective  stand- 
ings with  hot  saloop  and  bread  and  butter ;  and  presently 
the  light  hung  caravans  of  the  fishmongers — built  at  first  in 
imitation  of  the  hearses,  and  now  re-imitated  into  Padding- 
ton  stage-coaches — begin  to  jingle  along  at  a  trot  by  Thames 
Street  towards  Billingsgate. 


298  THE  NIGHT  WALKER. 

As  the  last  stars  fade  in  the  horizon  and  the  sun  coquettes 
with  the  church  spires,  new  actors  in  sundry  shapes  appear 
upon  the  scene.  Milkwomen  in  droves  clank  along  widi 
their  (to  be  filled)  pails.  The  poorer  fish-dealers,  on  their 
own  heads,  undertake  the  "care  of  soks."  Chimney- 
sweepers shuffie  on,  straining  out  a  feeble  cry.  And  parties 
walk  home  (rather  chilly)  from  Vauxhall,  flaunting  in  satin 
shoes,  silk  stockings,  and  ostrich  feathers ;  stared  at  now 
and  then  by  some  gaping,  slip-shod  baker,  who  fetches 
spring  water  from  the  pump  to  cool  his  sponge^  and  looks 
like  the  statue  in  Don  Juan,  or  a  sack  of  flour  truant  from 
the  kneading-trough ;  or  hooted  by  some  lost  thing,  all 
mad,  and  pale,  and  ghastly — some  creatioji  of  gin,  and 
carmine,  and  soiled  muslin,  which  shows  by  daylight  as  a 
being  of  other  time  and  place — an  apparition,  a  prodigy, 
a  denizen  of  some  forbidden  sphere — a  foul  lamp,  thickly 
glimmering  out  its  dregs,  which  the  sun's  light  by  some 
accident  has  omitted  to  extinguish. 

Five  o'clock,  and  the  world  looks  as  if  stretching  itself  to 
awake.  Coal-waggons  and  drays  start  forth  upon  "  long 
turns,"  their  country  intent  denoted  by  the  truss  of  hay 
placed  above  the  load.  Butchers  step  sturdily  towards 
Islington  or  Smithfield.  Anglers,  children  of  hope  !  stride 
fieldwards  with  baskets  on  their  backs.  And  Holborn  and 
Snow  Hill  are  crowded  with  pony-carts  (since  the  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  rides  nothing  under  fourteen  hands) 
bearing  butter,  cheese,  poultry,  sucking-pork,  and  eggs 
from  Newgate  market  to  the  distant  parishes  of  Marylebone 
and  Pancras. 

Six  I  And  'prentices  begin  to  rub  their  eyes  and  curse 
their  indentures.  Maid-servants  at  "  the  Piccadilly  end  "  of 
the  town  are  not  bound  to  stir  just  yet,  but  Russell  Square 
and  its  dependencies  set  their  spider-killers  in  motion 
betimes ;  for  courts  of  law  and  counting-houses  both  sit  at 
nine  o'clock,  and  an  advocate  in  practice  of  ten  thousand 
a  year  must  step  into  his  carriage  at  five-and-thirty  minutes 
past  eight  in  the  morning. 


THE  NIGHT  WALKER.  299 

And  now  the  different  shops  begin  to  open  themselves 
for  action.  Our  friend  the  baker  is  first,  for  he  has  been  up 
all  night,  and  he  has  to  cool  his  loaves  at  the  open  windows 
as  he  draws  them  from  the  oven.  Next  comes  the  pastry- 
cook, lotting  his  remnant  of  cheese-cake,  selling  yester- 
day's dainties  at  half-price  to-day,  and  still  making  money 
(as  it  is  said)  by  the  dealing.  Then  coaches,  splashed  and 
dirty,  come  labouring  into  town ;  and  coaches,  fresh  and 
clean,  drive  out ;  and  by  this  time  the  mercers  and  jewellers 
set  their  portals  wide,  in  favour  of  sweeping,  sprinkling,  and 
window-cleaning;  for  the  show-glasses  (and  here  again 
sigh  our  friends  the  apprentices)  must  be  emptied  all,  and 
polished  and  refurnished  before  breakfast. 

The  clock  strikes  eight,  and  the  night-walker  must  be 
seen  no  more.  Hurry  and  bustle  and  breakfast  are  on 
foot.  The  milkman  cries  in  haste,  and  yet  can  scarce  make 
his  rounds  fast  enough.  Maids  with  clean  aprons  (and 
sometimes  with  clean  plates)  step  forth,  key  in  hand,  for  the 
modicum  of  fresh  butter ;  and  hot  rolls  (walk  as  you  will) 
run  over  you  at  every  corner.  By  nine  the  clerks  have  got 
down  to  their  offices — the  attorneys  have  opened  their  bags, 
and  the  judges  are  on  their  benches ;  and  the  business  of 
the  day  in  London  may  now  be  said  to  have  begun,  which 
varies  from  hour  to  hour  as  strangely  as  the  business  of  the 
night,  and  (to  the  curious  observer)  presents  even  a  more 
ample  field  for  speculation. 


''JBacf?  ant>  sf&e  qo  bare,  cjo  bare." 


RENDERED    INTO    LATIN. 


I. 

Backe  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Both  foote  and  hande  go  colde  ; 
But   bellye,    God  sende  thee  good   ale 
ynoughe, 

Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde. 
I  cannot  eat  but  lytle  meate, 

My  stomacke  is  not  good  ; 
But  sure  I  thinke  that  I  can  drynke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care, 

I  am  nothing  a  colde  ; 
I  stuff  my  skyn  so  full  within 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Backe  and  side  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Both  foote  and  hande  go  colde  ; 
But    belly,    God  send    thee    good    ale 
enoughe, 

Whether  it  be  newe  or  olde. 


Sint  nuda  dorsum,  latera — 

Pes,  manus,  algens  sit ; 
Dum  Ventri  veteris  copia 

Zythi  novive  fit. 
Non  possum  multum  edere. 

Quia  stomachus  est  nullus  ; 
Sed  volo  vel  monacho  bibere 

Quanquam  sit  huic  cucullus. 
Et  quamvis  nudus  ambulo, 

De  frigore  non  est  metus  ; 
Quia  semper  Zytho  vetulo 

Ventriculus  est  impletus. 
Sint  nuda  dorsum,  latera — 

Pes,  manns,  algens  sit ; 
Dum  Ventri  veteris  copia 

Zythi  novive  fit. 


I  love  no  rost,  but  a  nut-browne  toste, 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fyre  ; 
A  little  breade  shall  do  me  stead, 

Much  breade  I  not  desyre. 
No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  winde,  I  trowe, 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wolde  : 
I  am  so  wrapt,  and  throwly  lapt, 

Of  jolly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Backe  and  side  go  bare,  &c. 


Assatum  nolo — tostum  volo — 

Vel  pomum  igni  situm  ; 
Nil  pane  careo — parvum  habeo 

Pro  pane  appetitum. 
Me  gelu,  nix,  vel  ventus  vix 

Afficerent  injuria  ; 
Hsec  sperno,  ni  adesset  ml 

Zythi  veteris  penuria. 
Sint  nuda,  &c. 


3- 
And  Tyb,  my  wyfe,  that  as  her  lyfe 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seeke  ; 
Full  oft  drynkes  shee,  tyll  ye  may  see 

The  teares  run  down  her  cheeke  : 


Et  uxor  Tybie,  qui  semper  sibi 
Vult  quasrere  Zythum  bene, 

Ebibit  hasc  persaspe,  nee 
Sistit,  dum  madeant  genoe. 


"BACK  AND  SIDE  GO  BARE,  GO  BARE." 


;oi 


Then  doth  she  trowle  to  mee  the  boule, 

Even  as  a  mault-worme  shuld; 
And  sayth,   "  Sweete  hart,  I  took  my 
parte 
Of  this  jolly  good  ale  and  olde." 
Back  and  side  go  bare,  iS;c. 


Et  mihi  turn  dat  cantharum, 
Sic  mores  sunt  bibosi  ; 

Et  dicit  "  Cor,  en  !  impleor 

Zythi  dulcis  et  annosi." 

Sint  nuda,  &c. 


Now  let  them  drynke  tyll  they  nod  and 
winke, 
Even  as  good  felowes  should  doe  ; 
They  shall  not  mysse  to  have  the  blysse 

Good  ale  doth  bringe  men  to. 
And  all  poore  soules  that  have  scowr'd 
boules, 
Or  have  them  lustely  trolde, 
God   save  the  lyves  of  them   and  their 
wyves, 
Whether  they  be  yonge  or  old. 
Backe  and  syde  go  bare,  &c. 


Nunc  ebibant,  donee  nictant 

IJt  decet  virum  bonum  ; 
Felicitatis  habebunt  satis, 

Nam  Zythi  hoc  est  donum. 
Et  omnes  hi,  qui  canthari 

Sunt  haustibus  loetati, 
Atque  uxores  vel  juniores 

Vel  senes,  Diis  sint  grati. 
Sint  nuda,  &c. 


Ubere's  not  a  3o^  tbat  Xlfe  can  otve. 

Tune — Grand  March  in  Scipio. 

I. 

There' snot  a  joy  that  wine  can  give  like  that  it  takes  azvay, 
When  slight  intoxication  yields  to  drunkenness  the  sway  ; 
'Tis  not  that  youth's  smooth  cheek  its  bhcsh  surrenders  to  the 

nose, 
But   the  stomach  turns,  the  forehead  burns,  and  all  our 

pleasure  goes. 


Then  the  few  who  still  can  keep   their   chairs   amid  the 

smashed  decanters, 
Who  wanton  still  in  witless  jokes   and  laugh  at  pointless 

banters — 
The  mag?iet  of  their  course  is  gone,  for  let  them  try  to  walk, 
Their  legs  they  speedily  will  find  as  jointless  as  their  talk. 

3- 

Then  the  mortal  hotness  of  the  brain  like  Hell  itself  is 

burning  ; 
//  cafinot  feel,  nor  dream,  nor  think — 'tis  whizzing,  blazing, 

turning. 
The  heavy  wet,  or  port,  or  rum,  has  mingled  with  otir  tears, 
And  if  by  chance  we're  weeping  drunk,  each   drop   our 

cheek-bone  sears. 


THERE'S  NOT  A  JOY  THAT  LIFE  CAN  GIVE.       303 

4- 

Though  fu7i  still  flow  from  fluent  lips,  and  jokes  confuse  our 
noddles 

Through  midnight  hours,  while  punch  our  powers  insidi- 
ously enfuddles, 

'  Tis  but  as  ivy  leaves  were  worn  by  Bacchanals  of  yore, 

To  make  them  still  look  fresh  and  gay  while  rolling  on  the 
floor. 

5- 

Oh  could  I  walk  as  I  have  walked,  or  see  as  I  have  seen, 

Or  even  roll  as  I  have  done  on  many  a  carpet  green, 

As  port  at  Highland  inn  seems  sound,  all  corkish  though 

it  be, 
So  would  I  the  Borachio  kiss,  and  get  blind  drunk  with 

thee. 


^farewell,  farewell,  beooarl^  Scotlan&. 

RENDERED    INTO   LATIN. 


Farewell,  farewell,  beggarly  Scotland, 

Cold  and  beggarly  poor  countrie ; 
If  ever  I  cross  thy  border  again, 

The  muckle  deil  must  carry  me. 
There's  but  one  tree  in  a'  the  land. 

And  that's  the  bonny  gallows  tree. 
The  very  nowte  look  to  the  south, 

And  wish  that  they  had  wings  to  flee. 


Farewell,  farewell,  beggarly  Scotland, 

Brose  and  bannocks,  crowdy  and  kale  ! 
Welcome,  welcome,  jolly  old  England, 

Laughing  lasses  and  foaming  ale  ! 
'Twas  when  I  came  to  merry  Carlisle 

That  out  I  laughed  loud  laughters  three ; 
And  if  I  cross  the  Sark  again, 

The  muckle  deil  maun  carry  me. 

3- 

Farewell,  farewell,  beggarly  Scotland, 
Kilted  kimmers  wi'  carrotty  hair  ; 

Pipers  who  beg  that  your  honours  would  buy 
A  bawbee's  worth  of  their  famished  air  ! 


FAREWELL,  FAREWELL,  BEGGARLY  SCOTLAND.   305 

I'd  rather  keep  Cadwallader's  goats, 

And  feast  upon  toasted  cheese  and  leeks, 

Than  go  back  again  to  the  beggarly  North, 
To  herd  'mang  loons  with  bottomless  breeks. 


LATIN  VERSION. 

I. 

Valedico,  Scotia,  tibi, 

Mendica,  egens,  frigida  gens  ; 
Diabolus  me  reportet  ibi 

Si  unquam  tibi  sum  rediens. 
Arbor  unus  nascitur  ibi, 

Isque  patibulus  est  decens  ; 
Bos  ipse  Austrum  suspicit,  sibi 

Alas  ut  fugeret  cupiens. 

2. 

Vale,  vale,  Scotia  mendica, 

Avenae,  siliquse,  crambe,  far  ! 
Ridentes  virgines,  Anglia  antiqua, 

Salvete,  et  zythum  cui  nil  est  par  ! 
Cum  redirem  Carlilam  lostam 

Risu  excepi  effuso  ter : 
Si  unquam  Sarcam  rediens  petam, 

Diabole  ingens  !  tu  me  fer  ! 

3- 

Vale  popellus  tunicatus 

Crinibus  crassis,  et  cum  his 
Tibicen  precans  si  quid  afflatus 

Famclici  emere  asse  vis  ! 
Capros  pascerem  Cadwalladero, 

Cui  cibus  ex  cepis  et  caseo  fit, 
Potius  quam  degam  cum  populo  fero, 

Cui  vestis  sine  fundo  sit. 
VOL.  I.  u 


©It  Jrisb  SouGS. 

There  is,  I  perceive,  a  disinclination  becoming  very  visible 
on  the  part  of  the  English  to  believe  us  Irish  people  when 
we  tell  them  that  they  know  nothing  about  us.  They  look 
upon  it  as  a  sort  of  affront,  and  yet  nothing  is  more  true  ; 
and,  as  example  is  much  better  than  any  theory,  I  shall 
just  beg  leave  to  prove  my  assertion  by  what  they  put  into 
our  mouths  when  they  think  fit  to  write  as  Irish. 

The  first  book  I  lay  my  hand  on  will  do.  It  is  a  collec- 
tion of  Irish  songs,  published  in  London  without  date, 
printed  by  Oliver  &  Boyd.  It  contains  all  the  popular 
Irish  songs  which  you  hear  sung  at  the  theatres,  public- 
houses,  Vauxhall,  and  other  such  fashionable  places  of 
resort.  There  are  ninety  of  them  in  all,  and  I  shall  patiently 
examine  these  specimens  of  Irish  wit ;  these  would-be 
flowers  of  the  Hibernian  Parnassus. 

The  first  song  is  a  great  favourite — the  Sprig  of  Shillelah, 
and  it  is  not  much  amiss.  It  contains  an  immensity  of 
blarney  to  us,  which,  of  course,  is  palatable.  I  suspect  the 
author  of  never  having  been  in  Ireland,  nevertheless,  from 
these  lines : 

"  Who  has  e'er  had  the  luck  to  see  Donnybrook  Fair, 
An  Irishman  all  in  his  glory  is  there  ;  " 

for  I  have  had  the  "  luck "  to  see  that  fair,  and  I  never 
could  see  any  glory  in  it.  It  is  a  paltry  thing,  if  com- 
pared with  Bartholomew  Fair,  or  any  of  the  great 
fairs  of  London ;  and  like  them  is  a  nuisance  which 
gathers  the  blackguard  men  and  women  of  a  metropolis 
to   indulge    in   all   kinds    of  filth.      I   should  call  it  the 


ON  IRISH  SONGS.  307 

worst  specimen  of  Ireland.  Would  a  Scotchman  think  his 
national  character  would  be  favourably  exhibited  by  a 
collection  of  the  cadies  and  baker-boys  and  gutter-bloods 
of  Edinburgh,  with  their  trulls?  And  as  Dublin  is  three 
times  the  size  of  Edinburgh,  the  sweepings  of  its  streets 
must  be  three  times  as  disgusting.  The  squalid  misery, 
too,  which  is  mixed  up  with  the  drunken  riot  of  the  fairs  of 
Donnybrook,  has  always  been  quite  revolting  to  my  eyes, 
and  I  should  rather  see  the  magistracy  of  Dublin  employed 
in  suppressing  it  than  hear  silly  song-writers  using  their 
rhymes  in  its  panegyric. 

The  next  "is  Paddy  MacShane's  Seven  Ages — a  stupid 
parody  on  Shakespeare.  A  great  knowledge  of  Ireland  is 
shown  here.  Mr,  MacShane,  it  appears,  was  a  native  of 
Ballyporeen,  and  fell  in  love  with  a  lady  there ;  but 

"She  asked  me  just  once  that  to  see  her  I'd  come, 
When  I  found  her  ten  children  and  husband  at  home, 
A  great  big  whacking  chairman  of  Ballyporeen  !  " 

Now  Ballyporeen  (Heaven  bless  it  !)  is  a  dirty  village  of 
about  fifty  houses  at  the  foot  of  the  Kilworth  mountains, 
as  you  enter  Tipperary,  on  the  mail-coach  road  from  Cork 
to  Dublin.  When  I  passed  through  it  last  the  only  decent- 
looking  house  I  saw  there  was  the  inn,  and  a  poor  one 
enough  even  that  was.  I  leave  it  to  yourself  to  judge  what 
a  profitable  trade  that  of  a  chairman  would  be  in  such  a 
place  as  that,  or  how  probable  it  is  that  a  woman  with  a 
husband  and  ten  children  could  pass  off,  incog.,  as  un- 
married upon  a  native.  You  would  walk  from  one  end  to 
the  other  of  it  in  three  minutes. 
Again  he  tells  us  that 

"  I  turned  servant,  and  lived  witli  the  great  justice  Pat, 
A  big  dealer  in  p'ratoes  at  fialiyporeen  : 
With  turtle  and  venison  he  lined  his  inside. 
Ate  so  many  fat  capons,'"  &c. 

Potatoes  are  somewhere  about  the  price  of  three  halfpence 
a  stone  in  Ballyporeen,  and  they  are  cultivated  by  almost 


3o8  ON  IRISH  SONGS. 

every  one  in  it,  so  that  this  excellent  justice  had  a  fine 
merchandise  of  it.  As  for  turtle,  I  imagine  that  the  name 
of  it  was  never  heard  of  in  the  village  ;  indeed,  as  Tipperary 
is  quite  an  inland  county,  it  must  be  a  rarity  to  every  part 
of  it.  And  capons  !  I  am  quite  sure  the  dish  is  unknown 
altogether.  The  bard  shows  great  knowledge  of  the  Irish 
magistracy  even  by  the  way  he  mentions  his  justice — 
Justice  Pat  ! 
We  have  then, 

"  There  was  an  Irish  lad,  who  loved  a  cloistered  nun." 

A  good  song,  and  perhaps  Irish.  One  verse  is  like  the 
idiom.     When  the  hero  could  not  get  at  his  mistress, 

"  He  stamped  and  raved,  and  sighed  and  prayed, 
And  many  times  he  swore  ; 
The  Devil  burn  the  iron  bolts! 
The  Devil  burn  the  door  !  " 

Then  follows : 

"  Mulrooney's  my  name,  I'm  a  comical  boy, 
A  tight  little  lad  at  shillelah. 
St.  Patrick  wid  whisky  he  suckled  me,  joy, 
Among  the  sweet  bogs  of  Killalah." 

I  must  protest  that  I  never  heard  the  word  "joy"  so  used 
in  Ireland  by  anybody,  and  yet  it  is  a  standing  expression 
put  into  our  mouths  by  every  writer  of  Irish  characters. 
Of  the  existence  of  Killalah  I  am  ignorant.  We  have 
Killalah  in  Connaught,  but  it  rhymes  to  tallow.  But,  apropos 
of  rhymes,  listen  to  those  put  into  Mr.  Mulrooney's  mouth  : 

"  But  thinks  I,  spite  of  what  fame  and  glory  bequeath. 
How  conceited  I'd  look  in  a  fine  laurel  -wreath, 
Wid  my  hand  in  my  mouth,  to  stand  picking  my  teeth." 

I  flatter  myself  that  the  "comical  boy"  would  %z.y  be- 
qiiaith  and  W7-aith,  rhyming  to  faith,  and  never  think  of 
screwing  up  his  mouth  to  squeezing  these  into  hequeeth  and 
u>reeth. 


ON  IRISH  SONGS.  309 

Of  Dermot  and  Sheelah  I  shall  quote  only  the  chorus  : 

"  Beam,  bum,  boodle,  loodle,  loodle, 
Beam,  bum,  boodle,  loodle,  loo." 

Pretty  writing  that,  and  very  much  on  a  par,  in  point  of 
sense  and  interest,  with  Barry  Cornwall's  humbugs  to 
Appollor,  rather  more  musical  I  own.  But  is  it  Irish  ? 
Negatur.  I  deny  it  poz  !  Boodles  !  Why,  boodles  is  a  club 
of  good  hum-drum  gentlemen,  kept  by  Cuddington  and 
Fuller,  at  31  St.  James  Street,  but  not  particularly  Hiber- 
nian. A  chorus  in  the  same  taste  concerning  them  would 
run  thus  : 

"Bow  wow,  boodle,  noodle,  doodle, 
Bow,  wow,  boodle,  noodle,  pooh  !  " 

Close  following  comes  Paddy  O'Blarney ;  a  misnomer  on 
the  face  of  it.  Blarney  is  a  village  and  baronial  castle. 
You  might  as  well  say  Sawney  M 'Linlithgow  or  Archy 
O'Goosedubs.  The  song  is  a  brutal  attempt  at  wit  and 
mock-Irish,  e.g.  : 

"  I  found  one  who  larnt  grown-up  Jolmen  to  write, 
Just  to  finish  gay  Paddy  O'Blarney." 

yi?/^^^ ./  What's  that  ?  Put  for  y<?«//^;«if/2,  I  suppose.  This 
fellow  had  a  fresh  idea  of  the  tongue.  Such  a  word  never 
was  heard  among  us.  By  the  way,  our  plebeians  generally 
say  jintlemen,  though  the  folks  who  write  for  us  think 
otherwise. 

Hear  the  next  bard  : 

"  I'm  a  comical  fellow." 

En  passant,  I  may  remark  that  I  never  heard  any  one  say 
he  was  a  comical  fellow  that  he  did  not  prove  an  ass,  and 
the  rule  holds  here  : 

"  I'm  a  comical  fellow,  I  tell  you  no  fib, 
And  I  come  from  the  bogs  of  Killaley  ;  " 

a  various  reading,  I  suppose,  of  the  celebrated  unknown 
district  commemorated  in  another  song  by  the  name  of 
Killalah. 


310  ON  IRISH  SONGS. 

"  You  see  I'm  the  thing  by  the  cut  of  my  jib, 
And  they  christen'd  me  Teddy  O'Reilly." 

Observe  the  name  O'Reilly  rhymes  plainly  to  "  highly." 
Ask  for  O'Raly  anywhere,  and  you  will  not  be  understood. 
But  the  Christian  name  is  equally  destructive  to  its  Irish 
pretensions.  Teddy  !  A  Cockney  vulgarism  for  Edward, 
and  that  too  confined  to  the  raff  of  Cockaigne.  Thady  is 
a  common  Irish  name,  which,  as  you  know,  is  the  abbrevi- 
ation of  Thaddeus,  the  name  of  one  of  the  apostles,  accord- 
ing to  Saints  Matthew  and  Mark.  But  Teddy  is  unheard 
of;  yet  it  occurs  in  half  a  dozen  songs  of  this  volume. 

What  part  of  the  world  the  next  song  comes  from  needs 
no  ghost  to  tell  us.     One  rhyme  will  denote  it : 

"  As  the  board  they  put  out  was  too  narrow  to  quarter. 
The  first  step  I  took  I  was  in  such  a  totter." 

It  is,  you  see,  marked  with  the  indelible  damned  Cockney 
blot,  and,  in  all  probability,  proceeds  from  the  pen  of  Leigh 
Hunt.  An  Irishman,  who  sounds  the  R  as  fiercely  as  ever 
that  canine  letter  rung  from  human  organ,  could  never  have 
been  guilty  of  it. 

Cushlamachree,  which  succeeds,  is,  'tis  said,  from  the  pen 
of  Curran,  and  the  first  verse  is,  I  think,  a  good  and  warm 
one : 

"  Dear  Erin, .how  sweetly  thy  green  bosom  rises, 
An  emerald  set  in  the  ring  of  the  sea  ; 
Each  blade  of  thy  meadows  my  faithful  heart  prizes. 
Thou  Queen  of  the  West— the  world's  Cushlamachree." 

We  soon  come  to  a  strain  of  another  mood  in  Sheelah's 
Wedding,  which,  for  magnificent  ignorance  of  the  country 
in  which  the  scene  is  laid,  is  just  as  good  as  can  be  con- 
ceived. I  extract  the  whole  second  verse  as  a  sample  of 
various  beauties  : 

"  Well,  the  time  being  settled,  to  church  they  were  carried. 
With  some  more  lads  and  lasses,  to  see  the  pair  married. 
Who  vowed  that  too  long  from  the  parson  they  tarried  ; 
For  who  should  such  sweet  things  be  scorning  ? 


ON  IRISH  SONGS.  311 

Then  at  church,  arrah,  yes,  you  may  fancy  them  there  ; 
Sure  the  priest  tied  them  fast,  you  may  very  well  swear  ; 

And  when  it  was  done, 

Och,  what  laughing  and  fun 
Took  place  about  something,  and  throwing  the  stocking, 

While  the  blythe  boys  and  GIRLS 

Talked  of  ringing  the  BEI.LS 
On  St.  Patrick's  day  in  the  morning." 

The  rhyme  here  marks  this  brute  to  be  a  bestial  Cock- 
ney. The  mixture  of  the  words  "  parson ''  and  "  priest " 
convicts  him  of  not  knowing  Irish  phraseology,  which  re- 
stricts the  latter  word  to  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy,  who 
are  not  parsons.  By  the  name  Sheelah  the  lady  is  de- 
cidedly Catholic ;  and  then  how  consistently  we  have  the 
talk  about  the  "  church  "  and  the  "  bells  "  !  Roman  Catholic 
places  of  worship  all  through  Ireland  are  called  chapels,  and 
they  have  no  bells,  very  few  having  even  one.  And  the 
morning  marriage  !  There  the  ape,  if  he  knew  anything  of 
Ireland,  must  have  known  that  Catholic  marriages  there 
are  celebrated  in  the  eveni?ig.  I  have  been  at  some  hun- 
dreds of  them.  In  the  next  song,  and  several  others,  we 
have  "  taef "  for  "  thief;  "  which  is  enough.  The  vulgarism, 
inter  Hibernos,  is  "teef"  In  the  next  we  have  the  ad- 
ventures of  a  certain  Mr.  Teddy,  of  whom  I  have  already 
disposed.  I  may  pass  Mr.  Grimgruffenhoff,  and  Bumper 
Squire  Jones,  for  different  reasons.  The  latter  is  a  capital 
song  indeed,  and  written  by  an  Irish  Baron  of  Exchequer. 
The  breed  of  such  judges  is  not  extinct  while  we  have 
Lord  Norbury,  whom  God  preserve. 

Mr.  O'Gailogher  falls  in  love  in  the  next  song  with  a  lady 
named  Cicely  :  what  part  of  Ireland  he  found  her  in  is  not 
mentioned.  It  never  was  my  lot  to  meet  with  one  of  her 
name,  and  the  same  remark  I  must  extend  to  the  heroine 
of  the  following  chant,  the  celebrated  Looney  Mactwolter's 
mistress,  Miss  Judy  O l^'lannikm,  who  is  evidently  trans- 
muted from  O'Flannegan,  to  rhyme  the  opening  line, 

"Oh  !  whack,  Cupid's  a  Mannikin." 

Looney  itself  is  a  dubious  Christiafi  name,    I  have  known 


312  ON  IRISH  SONGS. 

plebeians  of  that  suf?iafne,  and  when  they  rise  in  society,  if 
they  ever  do,  they  change  it  always  to  Loane. 

"  Murphy  O'Casey  "  heads  the  next.  Psha  !  The  name 
will  not  pass  muster.  You  might  as  well  say  Blackwood 
O'Jeffrey.  Nor  can  I  panegyrise  in  another  song  Father 
O'Rook,  for  an  Irishman  would  certainly  call  him  O'Rourke. 

I  skip  a  parcel  of  mere  vulgarity  to  give  you 

"  I'm  Larry  O'Lashem,  was  born  in  Killarney," 

one  of  whose  adventures  is  described  in  the  following 
dialect : 

"  I  amused  myself  laughing,  to  see  how  the  hinder 
Wheels  after  the  fore  ones  most  furiously  paid,  [Qu?] 
Till  a  wheel  broke  its  leg,  spilt  the  coach  out  of  the  WINDER, 
While  my  head  and  the  pavement  at  nut-cracking  played." 

Winder  !  Poet  of  Cockneyland,  the  compliments  of  the 
season  to  you  !  I  disclaim  you  as  a  countryman.  Nor  shall 
I  claim  the  bard,  who,  singing  of  the  siege  of  Troy,  tells 
you  that 

" the  cunning  Ulysses,  the  Trojans  to  cross, 

Clapt  forty  fine  fellows  on  one  wooden  horse." 

From  the  theme  of  the  poem — those  old  down-looking 
Greeks — and  this  rhyme,  it  is  evident  that  it  was  written 
by  the  late  Mr.  Keats.  May  I  be  shot  if  he  was  an  Irish- 
man ! 

Molly  Astore  is  a  beautiful  tune  to  namby-pamby  New- 
Monthly-looking  words,  and  the  parody  on  it  is  quite  a  poor 
thing.     I  flatter  myself  I  have  made  better. 

A  poet  farther  on  treats  us  to  the  following  description  of 
a  Kerryman : 

"  His  hair  was  so  red  and  his  eyes  were  so  bright." 

No  doubt  there  are  red-haired  Kerrymen,  but  they  are 
not  one  in  fifty.  The  complexion  is  dark  olive,  and  the 
hair  black,  they  being  in  all  probability  descended  from  the 
Spaniards.  The  poet  was  thinking  of  a  Highlander.  Now 
the  knights  of  Kerry  wear  breeches,  and  are  in  a  small 
degree  civilised. 


ON  IRISH  SONGS.  313 

Another  Irishman  from  Cockneyshire  sings  of 

" Cormac  O'Con, 


Of  the  great  Con  grandsire, 
With  the  son  of  Combal  the  Greek  sire, 
Whose  name  sounded  afar, 
As  great  Ossian's/<z/a." 

If  I  met  this  fellow,  who  has  our  Irish  names  so  glib  at 
his  fingers'  ends,  at  the  top  of  the  highest  house  of  the  city, 
I  should  kick  him  down-stairs.  A  Ludgate  Hill  pawn- 
broker could  not  be  more  impertinent  if  he  wrote  of  the 
fine  arts. 

In  the  same  de  haut  en  has  fashion  should  I  kick  him  who 
informs  us  that 

"  I  were  astonished  as  much  as  e'er  man  was 
To  see  a  sea-fight  on  an  ocean  of  canvass." 

You  hear  the  barbarian  saying  canvass — I  long  to  pull  his 
nose. 

I  apprehend  the  author  of  the  Irish  Wedding  (see  Jon 
Bee)  is  a  Scot : 

"  First,  book  in  hand,  came  Father  Quipes." 

What  part  of  the  world  does  that  name  belong  to  ? — 

" came  Father  Quipes, 


With  the  bride's  dada,  the  Bailie,  O." 

Bailies  we  have  none  in  Ireland  ;  and,  if  we  had,  they  should 
be  all  Protestants,  and  thereby  out  of  the  pale  of  Father 
Quipes. 

A  piece  of  politics  in  another  ditty  is  quite  diverting  to 
us  who  know  a  thing  or  two  : 

*'  Though  all  taxes  I  paid,  yet  no  vote  I  could  pass  O " 

and  was  in  consequence,  though 

"With  princiijles  pure,  patriotic,  andjirm, 
Attached  to  my  country,  a  friend  to  reform," 


314  ON  IRISH  SONGS. 

obliged  to  fly.  His  case  was  certainly  hard  in  not  having  a 
vote  when  every  farmer  or  labourer  in  Ireland  may  have 
one  if  he  likes,  or  rather  if  his  landlord  likes.  In  the 
county  of  Cork  there  are  25,000  voters,  in  Down  about 
20,000,  and  so  on  ;  so  that  this  grievance  about  the  want  of 
suffrage  is  rather  singular. 

There  is  no  use  in  bothering  the  public  with  any  more 
remarks  on  such  a  subject.  I  hope  nobody  will  think  I 
have  any  spleen  against  this  collection  of  songs,  which  is 
just  as  good  as  any  other  similar  one,  but  I  wished  to  show 
that  I  had  some  ground  for  saying  that  we  are  not  quite 
wrong  in  accusing  our  English  friends  of  ignorance  of  our 
concerns.  Some  time  or  other,  perhaps,  I  may  in  the  same 
way  get  through  the  usual  stage  characters  in  which  we 
figure,  and  prove  them  equally  remote  from  truth. 

It  would,  perhaps,  be  a  good  thing  to  go  over  some  of 
the  political  speculations  on  Ireland  in  the  same  manner, 
but  I  never  liked  Irish  politics,  and  now  I  particularly  detest 
them.  I  frequently  admire  the  intrepidity  of  the  heads 
which  John  Black  spins  out  for  the  edification  of  the 
Whigamores  whenever  he  takes  us  in  his  hand.  Evidently 
wishing  to  patronise  us,  he  nevertheless  treats  us  as  mere 
barbarians.  I  remember  reading  one  morning  in  the 
Chrojiicle  that,  except  Dublin  and  Cork,  there  were  no 
large  towns  in  Ireland,  which  accounts  for  its  want  of  civili- 
sation, while  Scotland  was  indebted  for  her  superiority  over 
us  to  her  possessing  such  eminent  cities  as  Edinburgh, 
Glasgow,  Paisley,  Aberdeen,  Dundee,  Inverness,  and  some 
others  which  I  forget.  Now  Limerick  is  larger  and  more 
populous  than  any  except  the  first  two  ;  Waterford,  Galway, 
Kilkenny,  and  Belfast,  fall  little  short  of  them  ;  and,  taking 
out  the  first  half  dozen  of  Scotch  towns,  you  would  seek 
in  vain  through  Scotland  for  towns  to  compare  with  Drog- 
heda,  Sligo,  Carlow,  Clonmell,  Derry,  Youghall,  and  several 
others.     This  is  but  a  small  sample  of  his  accuracy. 

He  of  the  Courier  knows,  in  his  writings,  something 
more,  but  personally  Mudford  is  quite  horror-struck  at  the 


ON  IRISH  SONGS.  315 

notion  of  us.  The  Roman  Catholic  Association,  professedly 
friends  of  the  liberty  of  the  press,  have  brought  an  informa- 
tion against  him  for  inserting  some  remarks  of  a  corre- 
spondent on  jNIaynooth  College,  and  availed  themselves  of 
an  obscure  law  to  lay  the  venue  against  him  in  Cork.  The 
very  wind  of  the  word  has  frightened  my  friend  Mudford 
out  of  his  seven  senses.  Some  Cockney  blackguard,  with 
that  spirit  of  personality  so  disgustingly  the  distinction  of 
the  Cockney  school,  once  called  him  "a  pile  of  fleecy 
hosiery,"  but  that  name  is  every  day  becoming  less  and 
less  applicable.  He  looks  on  the  Corkagians  as  no  better 
than  Ashantees,  and  no  doubt  anticipates  from  the  jaws 
of  long  John  Brixon,  mayor  of  that  beef-abounding  city, 
the  fate  of  poor  Sir  Charles  M'Carthy.  Let  him  be  com- 
forted. Cork,  I  can  assure  him,  is  well  munitioned  with 
victual  and  drink,  and  he  has  but  a  small  chance  of  being 
eaten  alive  there,  particularly  as  he  remains  but  a  fortnight. 
Nor  let  him  dread  the  hostile  countenances  of  a  grand  jury, 
empanelled  by  Jack  Bagnell  and  Ned  Colburn — best  of 
little  men — sheriffs  of  the  aforesaid  bailiwick.  And  even  if 
that  is  improbable,  the  thing  comes  to  a  petit  jury  even 
before  them — let  him  pluck  up  courage.  Men  there  are  to 
be  found  on  all  sides  of  the  banks  of 

"The  spreading  Lee,  that  hke  an  island  fayre 
Encloseth  Corke  with  its  divided  flood," 

who  would  devour  the  boot,  from  the  silk  twist  that  hems 
its  upper-leather  to  the  iron  horse-shoe  which  guards  its 
heel,  sooner  than  give  a  verdict  against  the  right.  Coun- 
selled by  these  reflections,  let  him  devour  turbot,  hot  (as 
the  old  cookery-books  have  it)  from  the  bank  in  the  harbour  ; 
let  him  swallow  salmon,  creaming  in  everlasting  curd 
from  the  Lee ;  let  Kinsale  feed  him  with  hake,  fish  of  deli- 
cious flavour,  unheard  of  in  Augusta  Trinobantum  ;  from 
Cove  let  him  gulp  down  oysters  capacious  as  his  well-fleshed 
hand.  Kerry  will  supply  him  mutton  to  masticate,  small 
but  lively  3  Cork  itself  will  offer  its  beef  and  butter,  peerless 


3i6  ON  IRISH  SONGS. 

throughout  the  land.  Pork  is,  I  own,  inferior  to  the  flesh 
of  Anglia  pigs ;  but  Wicklow  can  send  her  turf  dried  hams, 
easily  procurable,  that  will  scarce  vail  bonnet  to  those  of 
Wiltshire.  He  may,  no  doubt,  regret  the  crammed  poultry 
of  London,  but  a  turkey  in  native  flavour  will  smoke  upon 
his  board  for  two  tenpennies.  Does  he  long  for  dainties 
more  rich  and  rare  ?  In  a  harbour  yawning  for  the  West 
Indies  he  need  not  desiderate  turtle  ;  in  a  city  within  easy 
march  of  sporting  hills  and  dales  he  need  not  be  afraid 
of  wanting  game  or  venison.  As  for  drink,  is  he  fond  of 
port?  Vessels  from  Oporto  will  jostle  the  boat  that  brings 
him  to  the  quay ;  if  of  claret,  he  must  be  unskilled  in  bibu- 
lous lore  if  he  knows  not  the  value  set  upon  the  claret  of 
Ireland.  But,  as  his  stay  is  short,  I  recommend  whisky- 
punch.  That  he  cannot  get  for  love  nor  money  in  London. 
Let  him  there  ingurgitate  that  balmy  fluid.  There's  Walker 
— there's  Wise — there's  Callaghan  —  there's  Hewitt — ex- 
cellent artists  all ;  they  will  sell  it  to  him  for  from  6s.  6d.  to 
7s.  6d.  a  gallon ;  and  a  gallon  will  make  sixty-four  tumblers 
— I  have  often  calculated  it — and  that  is  three  times  as 
much  as  he  should  drink  in  an  evening.  So  doing  he  will 
be  happy  and  fearless  of  the  act  of  Judge  Johnson. 

But  what  is  this  I  am  about  ?  digressing  from  a  disquisi- 
tion on  songs,  pseudo-Irish,  to  the  way  in  which  a  stranger 
who  knows  how  could  live  in  Cork.  It  can't  be  helped. 
I  have  lost  the  thread  of  my  argument,  so  I  think  I  had 
better  conclude. 


I  HAVE  been  tumbling  over  Ritson's  songs  listlessly  this 
morning,  for  ^Yant  of  something  better  to  do,  and  cannot 
help  thinking  that  a  much  better  selection  and  arrangement 
might  be  made.  He  assigns  304  pages  to  love-songs,  and 
but  228  to  all  others.  The  collection  of  ancient  ballads 
which  concludes  the  volume  is  not  very  much  in  place  in 
a  book  of  sojigs,  and  besides  is  far  inferior  to  what  we  now 
know  such  a  collection  ought  to  be.  Now,  I  submit,  with- 
out at  all  disparaging  that  "  sublime  and  noble,  that  some- 
times calm  and  delightful,  but  more  frequently  violent, 
unfortunate,  and  dreadful  passion  "  of  love,  as  Ritson  calls 
it — it  does  not  fill  such  a  space  in  the  good  song-writing  of 
any  country  as  a  proportion  of  fifteen  to  eleven  against  all 
other  species.  I  say  of  good  song-writing,  for  I  know  of 
namby-pamby  it  fills  nine  parts  out  of  ten. 

And  precisely  of  namby-pamby  are  composed  nine  parts 
out  of  ten  of  Ritson's  most  pedantic  divisions  into  classes 
— classes  sillily  planned  at  first,  and  not  clearly  distinguished 
in  execution  afterwards.  The  second  song  of  the  first  class, 
by  Miss  Aiken,  concludes  with  this  verse  : 

' '  Thus  to  the  rising  god  of  day 
Their  early  vows  the  Persians  pay, 

And  bless  the  spreading  fire  : 
Whose  glowing  chariot,  mounting  soon, 
Pours  on  their  heads  the  burning  noon  : 

They  sicken  and  expire." 

This  is  not  song-writing.  It  is  only  a  bombastic  repeti- 
tion of  a  middling  thought  which  had  been  already  ex- 


3i8  ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 

pressed  ten  thousand  times.     It  is,  in  short,  a  verse  out 
of  a  poor  ode  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word. 
In  Otway's  song,  p.  4 — 

"To  sigh  and  wish  is  all  my  ease, 
Sighs  which  do  heat  impart 
Enough  to  melt  the  coldest  ice, 
Yet  cannot  warm  your  heart." 

Is  this  verse  worth  printing ; — this  frigid,  trivial  conceit, 
whi'ch  has  been  tossed  about  by  the  verse-writers  of  all  the 
nations  in  the  world  ? 

In  the  same  page  sings  Viscount  Molesworth  : 

"  Almeria's  face,  her  shape,  her  air, 
With  charms  resistless  wound  the  heart" 

which,  it  is  needless  to  say,  is  rhymed  by  "  dart.^^ 

In  short,  of  the  eighty-four  songs  of  the  first-class,  with 
the  exception  of  "  Take,  oh  take  those  lips  away ! " 
"  To  all  ye  ladies  now  at  land,"  "  My  time,  O  ye 
Muses,  was  happily  spent,"  which,  though  far  too  long 
for  a  song,  contains  many  ideas  and  lines  perfectly 
adapted  for  that  style  of  composition,  and  perhaps  half-a- 
dozen  others,  all  are  of  the  same  cast ;  and,  what  makes  it 
more  provoking,  we  see  affixed  to  some  of  them  the  names 
of  Dry  den.  Prior,  &c.,  as  if  the  editor  had  a  perverse  plea- 
sure in  showing  us  that  these  men  could  write  as  tritely  and 
trivially  as  their  neighbours  on  some  occasions.  Colin  and 
Lucy,  and  Jemmy  Dawson,  which  this  class  contains,  are 
no  more  songs  than  Chevy  Chace,  or  the  Chiklren  of  the 
Wood. 

The  second  class,  in  which  "  love  is  treated  as  a  passion," 
is  better ;  for  even  attempts  at  writing  in  the  language  of 
passion  are  generally  at  least  readable  if  they  are  often 
absurd.  What  we  cannot  tolerate  is  inanity.  There  is  a 
kind  of  noisy  gallantry  about 

"Ask  me  not  how  calmly  I 
All  the  cares  of  life  defy ; 
How  I  baffle  human  woes, 
Woman,  woman,  woman  knows," 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  319 

which  is  pleasant.     Song  XII.  is  excellent.     Compare  the 
very  sound  of 

"  Over  the  mountains, 

And  over  the  waves, 
Under  the  fountains. 

And  under  the  graves  ; 
Under  floods  that  are  deepest 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  which  are  steepest, 

Love  will  find  out  his  way,"  &c., 

with  the  trim  nothingness  of  the  very  next : 

"  Oft  on  the  troubled  ocean's  face 

Loud  stormy  winds  arise, 
The  murmuring  surges  swell  apace, 

And  clouds  obscure  the  skies ; 
But  when  the  tempests'  rage  is  o'er  " — 

what  follows  ?     Why, 

"  Soft  breezes  smooth  the  main, 
The  billows  cease  to  lash  the  shore, 
And  all  is  calm  again  "  ! ! 

Compare,  again,  song  XXI  I.  : 

"Would  you  choose  a  wife  for  a  happy  life, 
Leave  the  court,  and  the  country  take, 
Where  Susan  and  Doll,  and  Hanny  and  Moll, 
Follow  Harry  and  John,  whilst  harvest  goes  on, 
And  merrily,  merrily  rake,"  &c., 

with  song  XXIV. : 

"  Happy  the  world  in  that  blest  age 

When  beauty  was  not  bought  and  sold, 
When  the  fair  mind  was  uninflamed 
With  the  mean  thirst  of  baneful  gold." 

What  jejune  trash  !  And  how  absurd  and  abominable  an 
attempt  it  is  to  put  into  this  creeping  dialect  what  we  have 
read  in  Greek  all  but  divine,  and  in  Italian  almost  as 
delicious  as  Greek  !  I  say,  compare  such  passages  as  these 
together,  and  if  you  be  not  thoroughly  sensible  of  the  vast 


320 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 


inferiority  of  the  songs  by  persons  of  quality,  and  the 
propriety  of  utterly  ejecting  them  from  collections  of  songs, 
you  will  be  fit  to  comment  on  them  in  the  style  of  Gilbert 
Wakefield,  and  to  receive  panegyrics  accordingly  from  Tom 
Dibdin.* 

*  What  is  written  above  of  English  Songs,  will,  of  course,  apply  to  the 
songs  of  all  nations.  I  shall  give  a  specimen  in  French.  I  shall  first  quote 
a  song  by  Antoine  Ferrand,  a  Parisian,  a  Counsellor  of  the  Court  of  Aids, 
who  died  in  1719  : — 

Est  moins  fraiche  et  moins  belle. 
Qu'  elle  : 

Venus  meme  n'a  pas 
Tant  d'amours  qui  marchent  sur  ses  pas, 

&c. 


Iris  est  plus  charmante 
Que  I'Aurore  naissante ; 
La  Jeunesse  brillante 

N'eut  jamais  tant  d'appas. 
Tout  le  monde  I'adore  ; 

Flore 


Here  we  have  Venus,  Flora,  and  Aurora,  in  full  fig ;  and,  in  the  name 
of  the  three  goddesses,  is  the  song  worth  a  farthing?  Now  take  a  song 
which  you  may  vote  low  if  you  have  a  mind,  but  it  is  a  good  song  neverthe- 
less, and  worth  a  cart-load  of  the  above  rubbish.     I  shall  copy  it  all  : — 

Digni  de  la  pomme. 


I. 
Malgre  la  bataille 

Qu'  on  donne  demain, 
Ca,  faisons  ripaille, 

Charmante  Catein  : 
Attendant  la  gloire, 

Prenons  le  plaisir. 
Sans  lire  au  grimoire 

Du  sombre  avenir. 

2. 
Si  la  Hallebarde 

Je  peux  meriter, 
Pres  du  corps  du  garde 

Je  te  fais  planter  ; 
Ayant  la  dentelle, 

Le  Soulier  brode, 
La  blouque  h  I'oreille 

Le  chignon  carde. 


Narguant  tes  compagnes, 
M^prisant  leurs  voeux, 

J'ai  fait  deux  campagnes 
Roti  de  tes  feux. 


Tu  re^us  ma  foi, 
Et  jamais  rogome 
Ne  fut  bu  sans  toi. 


Tien,  serre  ma  Pipe, 

Garde  mon  briquet  ; 
Et  si  la  Tulipe 

Fait  le  noir  trajet, 
Que  tu  sois  la  seule 

Dans  le  regiment, 
Qu'  ait  le  brule-gueule 

De  son  cher  amant. 


Ah  !  retien  tes  larmes, 

Calme  ton  chagrin  ; 
Au  nom,  de  tes  charmes 

Achdve  ton  vin. 
Mais,  quoi  !  de  nos  bandes 

J'  entends  les  Tambours? 
Gloire  !  tu  commandes. 

Adieu  mes  amours. 


The  author  of  this  song  is  Christopher  Mangenot,  brother  of  the  Abbe 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  321 

The  third  class  opens  beautifully  indeed  with  "  He  that 
loves  a  rosy  cheek."  Few  poems  in  our  language  resemble 
so  much  as  the  first  two  verses  of  this  song  (the  third  is 
provokingly  inferior)  the  admirable  and  indefinable  beauty 
of  the  Greek  epigrams.  I,  however,  do  not  remember  one 
exactly  in  point.  Those  following  (except  the  jocular  ones, 
as  "Why  so  pale,  fond  lover?  "  "Tom  loves  Mary  passing 
well,"  "  My  name  is  honest  Harry,"  "  My  passion  is  as 
mustard  strong,"  &c.)  are  not  particularly  worthy  of  applause. 
It  contains,  to  be  sure,  "Mary,  I  believed  thee  true,"  "Still 
to  be  neat,  still  to  be  drest,"  and  some  others  ;  but  the 
staple  commodity  is : 

"  But  passion's  wild  impetuous  sea 
Hurries  me  far  from  peace  and  thee — 

'Twere  vain  to  struggle  more. 
Thus  the  poor  sailor  slumbering  lies. 
While  swelling  tides  around  him  rise, 

And  push  his  bark  from  shore  : 
In  vain  he  spreads  his  helpless  arms  ; 
His  pitying  friends,  with  fond  alarms, 

In  vain  deplore  his  state. 
Still  far  and  farther  from  the  coast, 
On  the  high  surge  his  bark  is  tost. 

And,  foundering,  yields  to  fate." 

Is  not  this  the  quintessence  of  absurdity  nowadays? 
Fine,  pretty,  good-for-nothing  verses  I  admit  them  to  be, 
never  intended  or  fitted  to  be  sung;  and,  besides,  have  I 
not  read  somewhere — 

"  Heu  1  quoties  fidem 
Mutatosque  Deos  flebit,  et  aspera 
Nigris  sequora  ventis 

Emirabitur  insolens, 
Qui  nunc  te  fruitur  credulus  aurea"  ? 

I  own  I  have  no  patience  when  I  see  things  which  have 

Mangenot  of  the  Temple.  It  was  written  during  our  war  with  France  in 
1744.  It  was  generally  attributed  to  the  pen  of  Voltaire,  bu:  I  doubt  if  he 
could  have  written  in  this  vein.  I  wish  somebody  would  translate  it  into 
English.— M.  OD.     (Do  it  yourself.— C.  N.) 

VOL.  I.  X 


322  ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 

been  once  beautifully  expressed  re-said  in  a  manner  blunder- 
ing and  diluted. 

Class  Fourth  is  devoted  solely  to  expressions  of  love  for 
the  fair  sex  * — not  a  hopeful  subject.  Love  to  them  is  too 
serious  a  thing  to  be  jested  with  [see  Lord  Byron's  Don  Juan, 
and  also  see  Ovid,  from  whom  Lord  Byron  has  conveyed 
the  idea] ;  and  they  are  too  proud  to  complain  if  slighted. 
They  would  be  wrong  if  they  did.  It  is  our  part  to  sue  ;  it  is 
theirs  to  slight  or  to  accept.  They  should  take  the  advice 
of  Shakespeare : 

"  Sigh  no  more,  ladies,  sigh  no  more  : 
Men  were  deceivers  ever. 
One  foot  at  sea,  and  one  on  shore, 
To  one  thing  constant  never. 
Then  sigh  not  so, 
But  let  them  go, 
And  be  you  blithe  and  bonny." 

If  the  ladies  will  not  write  their  feelings,  I  am  afraid  we 
can  not.  At  all  events,  this  fourth  class  is  completely /^^^ 
There  are  some  middling  songs  in  it,  but  the  majority  are 
like  those  from  Mr.  Mosy  Mendez : 

"  Vain  is  every  fond  endeavour 
To  resist  the  tender  dart  ; 
For  examples  move  us  never  ; 
We  must  feel  to  know  the  smart." 

Which  is  just  as  much  poetry  as — 

"  Vain,  quite  vain,  the  toil  you  spend  is, 
When  your  time  in  verse  you  pass  ; 
For,  good  Mr.  Moses  Mendez, 
You  are  nothing  but  an  ass." 

The  ideas  in  Soame  Jenyns's  song,  No.  X.,  are  very 
pretty.     The  appeal  to  a  lover  acknowledged  triumphant — 

"  Say  would  you  use  that  very,  power 
You  from  her  fondness  claim, 

*  In  this  class  Ben  Jonson's  "  Drink  to  me  only"  is  inserted,  I  think 
wrongly,  for  it  appears  to  be  an  address  from  a  man,  not  a  woman.  By 
Ritson's  remark,  p.  Ixxix,  it  would  appear  that  he  did  not  know  it  was  from 
the  Greek. 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  323 

To  ruin,  in  one  fatal  hour, 

A  life  of  spotless  fame  ? 
Ah  !  cease,  my  dear,  to  do  an  ill, 

Because,  perhaps,  you  may  ; 
But  rather  try  your  utmost  skill 

To  save  me  than  betray,'' 

is  elegantly  thought  and  expressed.  There  is  something 
like  the  idea  in  the  life  of  Gilbert  Earle,  when  the  lady 
urges  her  lover  not  to  take  advantage  of  her  tenderness  to 
betray  her  honour. 

In  the  Fifth  Class  are  some  very  good  songs.  It  con- 
tains, among  others,  three  more  especial  favourites  of  mine — 
"Sally  in  our  alley"  by  poor  Harry  Carey  (Goldsmith's 
own  song,  by  the  way),  "  Black-eyed  Susan,"  and  Bishop 
Percy's  "  O  Nanny,  wilt  thou  gang  with  me  ?  "  But  I  rather 
think  I  am  not  peculiar  in  this  taste.  It  contains  also  a 
good  deal  of  very  good  nonsense.  In  general,  of  the  287 
songs  of  the  volume  I  think  we  might  fairly,  for  one  reason 
or  another,  dispense  with  at  least  200. 

Our  second  division  is  drinking.  Ritson  was  a  water- 
drinker,  and  therefore  says,  he  candidly  owns  that  he  was 
"  not  sorry  to  find  every  endeavour  used  to  enlarge  this  part 
of  the  collection  with  credit  (and  he  may  probably,  as  it 
is,  have  been  too  indulgent)  prove  altogether  fruitless ;  a 
circumstance,  perhaps,  which  will  some  time  or  other  be 
considered  as  not  a  little  to  the  honour  of  the  English 
Muse."  This  is  stuff.  I  shall  not  eulogise  drinking,  but  I 
am  not  to  be  humbugged  with  the  idea  that  any  production 
of  the  English  Muse  ever  soared  within  five  hundred  yards 
of  him  who  sings  of 

"  How,  Oeaircaiov,  Oclov  ttotou  :  " 

or  that  any  songs  we  have  can  beat  those  of  Anacreon.  If 
future  generations  differ  with  this  dictum  of  mine,  they  may 
with  all  my  heart ;  but  I  shall  retain  to  myself  the  privilege 
of  thinking  such  generations  asinine  to  a  great  degree. 
Ritson's  selections,  however,  are  tolerable.  Drinking-songs 
may    be    divided    pretty    fairly    into    two    classes; — the 


324  ,  ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 

meditative,  which  in  the  Egyptian  manner  brings  the 
skeleton  into  the  banquet-room,  and  bids  you  think  of  the 
fleetingness  of  hfe  as  the  chief  stimulus  to  make  the  most 
of  its  enjoyments  while  it  lasts. 

"  Hen,  lioii,  nos  miseros,  qiiam  totus  homuncio  nil  est, 
Quain  fragilis  tenero  stamine  vita  cadit ! 
Sic  erimus  cuncti,  postquam  nos  auferet  Orcus, 
Ergo  vivamus,  dum  licet  esse  bene — " 

as  Trimalchio  sings.  The  second  class  is  the  joyous,  which 
bids  us  use  the  goods  the  gods  provide  us  because  we  like 
them — because  they  exhilarate  us ;  when  the  song  bursts 
forth  from  mere  animal  spirits,  or,  to  talk  Pindarically, 
when 


and  we  cry- 


"  OapaaXia  oi  irapa 
^p-qTTjpa  <j>wva.  yiypeTai : " 

"  ''EyKipva.TO)  Tis  fiiv,  yKvK^v 
KufjLov  TTpocpdrav." 


Of    the   former   kind,    "An    hundred   years   hence"    has 
always  appeared  to  me  particularly  good  : 

"  Let  us  drink,  and  be  merry, 

Dance,  joke,  and  rejoice, 
With  claret  and  sherry, 

Theorbo  and  voice. 
The  changeable  world 

To  our  joy  is  unjust, 
All  treasures  uncertain  ; 

Then  down  with  your  dust ! 
In  frolics  dispose 

Your  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence, 
For  we  shall  be  nothing 

An  hundred  years  hence.'' 

Of  the  more  roaring  jovial  songs,  I  do  not  see  any  worth 
extracting  in  Ritson.  I  think  the  pages  of  Blackivood 
contain  some  far  superior  to  any  which  he  sports. 

What  stories  a  commentator  thoroughly  versant  with  this 
subject  could  tell  in  every  part  of  this  department !  I  see 
here  some  of  the  ditties  of  Tom  D'Urfey,  whose  whole  life, 
properly  written,    would   be   a   history  of  the  joviality  of 


I 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  325 

England  for  half  a  century.  I  see  here  some  of  the  songs 
of  Tom  Brown,  a  fellow  of  deeper  thought  than  generally  is 
to  be  found  among  the  bards  of  the  bottle.  Then  we  have 
"  Ye  Goodfellows  all  "  by  Baron  Dawson,  the  friend  of 
Carolan,  last  of  the  Irish  bards,  and  the  companion  of  Dr. 
King,  poet  of  Cookery.  We  see  the  names  of  Gay,  Lord 
Rochester,  Harry  Carey,  old  Sheridan  the  purple-snouted, 
Ben  Jonson  the  rare,  jSIilton,  and  the  Duke  of  Wharton. 
Let  any  one  who  knows  the  literary  history  of  the  country 
just  pause  for  a  minute  at  the  last  names  I  have  quoted, 
and  run  over  at  a  mental  glance  the  events  of  their  lives  ; 
and  how  various  a  blending  of  thoughts  will  he  not  ex- 
perience !  I  confess  that  reading  convivial  songs  is  to  me 
a  melancholy  amusement.  Every  page  I  turn  presents  me 
with  verses  which  I  heard  in  merry  hours  from  voices  now 
mute  in  death,  or  removed  to  distant  lands,  or  estranged 
in  affection.     But — 

"  'Tis  in  vain 
To  complain, 
In  a  melancholy  strain, 
Of  the  days  that  are  gone,  and  will  never  come  again." 

Is  the  story  true  that  Wolfe  either  wrote  or  sung  "  How 
stands  the  glass  around,"  the  night  before  the  battle, 

"  When  that  hero  met  his  fate  on  the  heights  of  Abram  "  ? 

I  heard  he  did,  but  I  forget  my  authority. 

"  The  Ex-ale-tation  of  Ale  "  is  not  properly  a  song,  but 
it  is  a  pleasant  extravaganza.  There  is  one  phenomenon 
mentioned  in  it,  which  I  submit  to  Sir  Humphry  Davy  or 
some  other  great  chemist,  for  I  cannot  resolve  it : 

"  Nor  yet  the  delight  that  comes  to  the  sight 

To  see  how  it  flowers  and  mantles  in  graile,* 
As  green  as  a  leek  with  a  smile  on  the  cheek, 
The  true  orient  colour  of  a  pot  of  good  ale.'' 

How  was  it  green  ?  I  know  not,  neither  can  I  conjecture. 
The   third   part   of   Miscellaneous    Songs    has   our   usual 

*  i.e.,  small  particles.     Spenser  uses  the  word  for  gravel. 


326  ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 

favourites  joined  to  others  quite  unworthy.  Strange  to  say, 
it  contains  neither  "  God  save  the  King "  nor  "  Rule 
Britannia."  Could  this  have  arisen  from  the  cankered 
Jacobinism  of  citizen  Ritson  ?  If  so,  it  was  shabby  even 
for  a  Jacobin.  I  cannot  pass  over  this  list  without  thanking 
Tom  Campbell  for  "  Ye  mariners  of  England."  I  never 
read  it  without  forgiving  him  all  his  Whiggery,  and  lament- 
ins  the  Ritter  Bann  and  Reullura. 

As  for  the  fourth  part — the  old  ballads — I  say  nothing, 
except  that  it  is  poor  enough,  and  I  think  uncalled  for  here. 
The  last  ballad  is  by  Sir  W.  Scott ;  a  translation  from  the 
Norman  French,  the  original  of  which,  the  editor  says, 
cannot  now  be  retraced.  Had  it  ever  any  existence  ?  It  is 
a  splendid  thing,  and  I  do  not  recollect  seeing  it  in  his  works. 
Therefore  here  it  goes — 

BALLAD 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF 

SIMON  DE  MONTFORT, 

EARL  OF  LEICESTER, 

AT  THE  BATTLE  OF  EVESHAM,   I  266. 

{Literally  versified  from  the  Norman  French.) 

BY  WALTER  SCOTT,  ESQ. 

"In  woful  wise  my  song  shall  rise, 

My  heart  impels  the  strain  ; 
Tears  fit  the  song,  wliich  tells  the  wrong 

Of  gentle  Barons  slayn. 
Fayr  peace  to  gaine  they  fought  in  vayn  ; 

Their  house  to  ruin  gave, 
And  limb  and  life  to  butcheryng  knyfe, 

Our  native  land  to  save. 

CHORUS. 

"  Now  lowly  lies  the  flower  of  pries,* 
That  could  so  much  of  weir  :  f 
Erie  Montfort's  scathe,  and  heavy  death, 
Shall  cost  the  world  a  tear. 

*  Price.  t  War. 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  327 

"  As  I  here  say,  upon  Tuesdaye, 
The  battle  bold  was  done  ; 
Each  mounted  knight  there  fell  in  fight, 

For  ayd  of  foot  was  none  : 
There  wounds  were  felt,  and  blows  were  dealt, 

With  brands  that  burnished  be, 
Sir  Edward  stoute,  his  numerous  route 
Have  won  the  maisterie. 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 

"  But  though  he  died  on  Montfort's  side, 
The  victorie  remained  ; 
Like  Becket's  fayth,  the  Erie's  in  deathe 

The  martyr's  palm  obtained  ; 
That  holy  saint  would  never  graunt 
The  church  should  fall  or  slyde  ; 
Like  him,  the  Erie  met  deadly  peril. 
And  like  him  dauntless  dyed. 

Now  lowly  hes,  &c. 

"  The  bold  Sir  Hugh  Despencer  true, 
The  kingdom's  Justice  he, 
Was  doomed  to  die  unrighteouslye, 

By  passynge  crueltie  ; 
And  Sir  Henry,  the  son  was  he 

To  Leister's  nobile  lord, 
With  many  moe,  as  ye  shall  know. 
Fell  by  Erie  Gloster's  sword. 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 

"  He  that  dares  dye  in  standing  by 
The  country's  peace  and  lawe, 
To  him  the  Saint  the  meed  shall  graunt 

Of  conscience  free  from  flawe. 
Who  suffers  scathe,  and  faces  death. 

To  save  the  poor  from  wrong, 
God  speed  his  end,  the  poor  man's  friend, 
For  suche  we  pray,  and  long  ! 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 

"  His  bosom  nere,  a  treasure  dere, 
A  sackclothe  shirt,  they  founde  ; 
The  felons  there  full  ruthless  were 

Who  stretched  hym  on  the  grounde. 
More  wrongs  than  be  in  butcherye 

They  did  the  knight  who  fell. 
To  wield  his  sword,  and  keep  his  worde. 
Who  knew  the  way  so  well. 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 


32S  ON  ENGLISH  SONGS. 

"  Pray  as  is  meet,  my  brethren  sweet, 
The  maiden  Mary's  son, 
The  infant  fair,  our  noble  heir, 

In  grace  to  guide  him  on. 
I  will  not  name  the  habit's*  claym, 

Of  that  I  will  not  saye  ; 
But  for  Jesus'  love,  that  sits  above. 
For  churchmen  ever  pray. 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 

"Seek  not  to  see,  of  chivalrye, 
Or  count,  or  baron  bold  ; 
Each  gallant  knight,  and  squire  of  might, 

They  all  are  bought  and  sold  ; 
For  loyaltie  and  veritie. 

They  now  are  done  awaye — 
The  losel  vile  may  reign  by  guile, 
The  fool  by  his  foleye. 

Now  lowly  lies,  &c. 

"  Sir  Simon  wight,  that  gallant  knight. 

And  his  companye  eche  one. 
To  Heaven  above,  and  joye  and  love. 

And  endless  life,  are  gone. 
May  He  on  rood  who  bought  our  good, 

And  God,  their  paine  relieve. 
Who,  captive  ta'en,  are  kept  in  chaine. 

And  depe  in  dungeon  grieve  ! 

"  Now  lowly  lies  the  flower  of  pries, 
That  could  so  much  of  weir  ; 
Erie  Montfort's  scathe,  and  heavy  death. 
Shall  cost  the  world  a  tear. "  f 

On  the  whole,  the  really  good  songs  of  Ritson  might  be 
gathered  into  a  single  volume.  His  preliminary  dissertation 
is  pleasant  enough,  and  might  be  retained  with  improve- 
ments. Another  volume  of  additional  songs  might  be 
collected,  and  then  it  would  be  tolerably  complete.  I 
should  agree  with  Ritson  as  to  the  propriety  of  rejecting  all 

*  The  clerical  habit  is  obviously  alluded  to  ;  and  it  seems  to  be  cautiously 
and  obscurely  hinted  that  the  Church  was  endangered  by  the  defence  of 
De  Montfort, 

t  It  was  the  object  of  the  translator  to  imitate,  as  literally  as  possible, 
the  style  of  the  original,  even  in  its  rudeness,  abrupt  transitions,  and 
obscurity  ;  such  being  the  particular  request  of  Mr.  Ritson,  who  supplied 
the  old  French  of  this  ballad  minstrelsy. 


ON  ENGLISH  SONGS.  329 

political  songs,  for  I  think  they  should  make  a  separate 
work,  which  is  a  desideratum  in  our  literature.  Songs  of 
Freemasonry  also  I  should  exclude,  though  I  do  not  think 
Avith  him  that  they  would  disgrace  the  collection,  some 
of  them  being  pretty  good,  but  because  they  are  not  intelli- 
gible to  the  uninitiated.  The  only  one  in  favour  of  which 
I  should  break  my  rule  that  I  recollect  just  now  is  Burns's 
"  Adieu,  a  heart-warm,  fond  adieu,  dear  brethren  of  the 
mystic  tie." 

Some  time  or  other  what    I  propose  will  be  effected. 
Blackwood  should  publish  it. 


Uwcnt^-one  /IDajims  to  /iDarc^  bi?. 

ADDRESSED  TO  THE  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN. 

' '  To  be  thus  is  nothing  ; 
But  to  be  safely  thus —  ! " 

— Shakespeare. 

I  NEVER  knew  a  good  fellow  in  all  my  life  that  was  not, 
some  way  or  other,  the  dupe  of  women.  One  man  is  an 
ass  unconsciously,  another  with  his  eyes  open  ;  but  all  that 
are  good  for  anything  are  saddled  and  bridled  in  some  way, 
and  at  some  time  or  other. 

If  a  good  fellow  drinks — your  best  perhaps  won't  drink 
very  much,  now — but  if  he  does  drink,  ten  to  one  it  is  be- 
cause he  is  out  of  humour  with  some  woman.  If  he  writes, 
what  can  he  write  about  but  woman  ?  If  he  games,  why 
is  it  but  to  get  money  to  lavish  upon  her  ?  For  all  his 
courage,  ardour,  wit,  vanity,  good-temper,  and  all  other 
good  qualities  that  he  possesses,  woman  keeps  an  open 
market,  and  can  engross  them  wholly  !  Why,  then,  after 
we  have  abused  women — which  we  all  of  us  do — and  found 
out  that  they  are  no  more  to  be  trusted  than  fresh-caught 
monkeys — which  the  best  of  us  are  very  likely  to  do; — • 
after  all,  what  does  it  come  to  but  this — that  they  are  the 
Devil's  plagues  of  our  lives,  and  we  must  have  them  ? 

For,  if  you  are  "  five-and-twenty,  or  thereabouts,"  and 
good  for  anything,  you'll  certainly  become  attached  to  some 
woman ;  and — you'll  find  I'm  right,  so  take  warning  in 
time — depend  upon  it,  it  had  better  be  to  an  honest  one. 
It's  Cockney  taste,  lads — nasty,  paltry,  Bond  Street  stuff — to 
be  seen  driving  about  in  a  cabriolet  with  the  mistress  of  half 
the  town.    And,  for  the  attachment,  never  flatter  yourselves 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MAKRY  BY.  331 

that  you  are  certain  to  get  "  tired "  of  any  woman  with 
whom  you  constantly  associate.  Depend  upon  it  you  are  a 
great  deal  more  Ulcely  to  become  very  inextricably  fond  of 
her.  Kick  it  all  out  of  doors,  the  stale  trash,  that  men 
are  naturally  "indifferent"  to  their  wives.  How  the  deuce 
should  a  fine  woman  be  the  worse  for  being  one's  wife? 
And  are  there  not  five  hundred  good  reasons — to  everybody 
but  a  puppy — why  she  must  be  the  better  ?  Then,  as  you 
must  all  of  you  be  martyred,  suffer  in  respectable  company. 
Marry,  boys  !  It's  a  danger  ;  but,  though  it  is  a  danger, 
it  is  the  best  !  It  is  a  danger !  I  always  feel  thankful  when 
a  man  is  hanged  for  killing  his  wife ;  because  I  should  not 
choose  to  kill  a  wife  of  my  own  :  and  yet  the  crying  of  the 
"dying  speech  " — "for  the  barbarous  and  inhuman  murder  ! " 
(Sec.  &c. — is  a  sort  of  warning  to  her — as  one  rat,  losing  his 
tail  in  the  rat-trap,  frightens  the  whole  granaryful  that  are  left. 
But,  though  marriage  is  a  danger,  nevertheless  hazard  it. 
Between  evils,  boys  ! — you  know  the  proverb? — choose  the 
least.  Marry,  I  say,  all  and  each  of  you  !  Take  wives ; 
and  take  them  in  good  time,  that  "  your  names  may  be  long 
in  the  land."  And  then — seeing  that  you  would,  one  and 
all  of  you,  have  wives — comes  the  question,  how  you  should 
go  about  to  get  them  ? 

Then,  in  the  first  place,  I  shall  assume  that  he  who  reads 
this  paper  and  marries,  marries  for  a  wife.  Because  if  he 
wants  a  "  fortune "  to  boot,  or  a  "place,"  or  to  be  allied 
(being  plebeian)  to  a  "titled  family,"  the  case  is  out  of  my 
metier ;  he  had  better  apply  to  an  attorney  at  once.  Don't 
make  these  things  indispensable  any  of  you,  if  you  can  help 
it.  For  the  fortune,  a  hundred  to  one — when  you  get  it — 
if  it  does  not  override  you  with  "  settlements,"  and  "  trusts," 
and  whole  oceans  of  that  sort  of  impertinence,  which  every 
proper  man  should  keep  clear  of.  No  woman  ought  to  be 
able  to  hold  property  independent  of  her  husband.  And 
if  that  is  not  the  law,  all  I  can  say  is  that  it  ought  to  be  so. 
Then  for  the  "  place ; "  it's  very  well  to  have  a  place  where 
you  can  get  one,  but  it  must  be  the  very  devil  to  have  the 


332  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

donor  eternally  all  your  life  afterwards  reminding  you  how 
you  came  by  it.  And  for  the  "  titled  family,"  why  shut  the 
book  this  minute,  and  don't  have  the  impudence  to  read 
another  line  that  I  write,  if  you  wouldn't  quoit  a  brother-in- 
law  that  was  "  right  honourable "  with  one  impetus  from 
Charing  Cross  to  Whitechapel,  just  as  soon  as  a  kinsman  that 
was  a  clerk  in  the  Victualling  Office — provided  he  deserved  it, 
or  you  took  it  into  your  head  that  it  was  convenient  to  do  it  ! 
Besides,  a  nice  woman  is  worth  all  the  money  in  the  Bank. 
What  would  you  do  with  it,  after  you  had  it,  but  give  it  all 
for  one  ?  Please  your  taste,  my  children  ;  and  so  that  you 
get  an  honest  woman,  and  a  pleasing  one,  to  the  Devil  send 
the  remainder.  And  then,  to  guide  your  choice,  take  the 
following  maxims.  Those  who  have  brains  will  perceive 
their  value  at  a  glance,  and  such  as  are  thick-headed  can 
read  them  three  or  four  times  over.  And  let  such  not  be 
too  hastily  disheartened,  for  it  is  the  part  of  wit  to 
bear  with  dulness;  and  one  comfort  is,  when  you  have  at 
last  beaten  anything  into  a  skull  of  density,  the  very 
Devil  himself  can  hardly  ever  get  it  out  again.  "  We  write 
on  brass,"  as  somebody  or  other  observes,  and  some- 
where, "  less  easily  than  in  water,  but  the  impression  once 
made  endures  for  ever." 


MAXIM  I. 

Now  in  making  marriage,  as  in  making  love  and  indeed 
in  making  most  other  things,  the  beginning  it  is  that  is  the 
difficulty.  But  the  French  proverb  about  beginnings — 
"  C'est  le  premier  pas  qui  coute  " — goes  more  literally  to  the 
arrangement  of  marriage,  as  our  English  well  illustrates  the 
condition  of  love :  "  The  first  step  over,  the  rest  is  easy." 
Because,  in  the  marrying  affair,  it  is  particularly  the  "  first 
step"  that  "costs,"  as  to  your  cost  you  will  find  if  that  step 
happens  to  go  the  wrong  way.  And  most  men,  when  they 
go  about  the  business  of  wedlock,  owing  to  some  strange 
delusion  begin  the  affair  at  the  wrong  end.     They  take  a 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY.  333 

fancy  to  the  white  arms  (sometimes  only  to  the  kid  gloves) 
or  to  the  neat  ankles  of  a  peculiar  school  girl,  and  conclude 
from  these  premises  that  she  is  just  the  very  woman  of  the 
world  to  scold  a  household  of  servants  and  to  bring  up  a 
dozen  children  !  This  is  a  convenient  deduction^  but  not 
always  a  safe  one.  Pleasant,  like  Dr.  McCuUoch's  deduc- 
tions in  his  Political  Economy,  but  generally  wrong.  "  Let 
not  the  creaking  of  shoes  nor  the  rustling  of  silk  betray  thy 
poor  heart,"  as  Shakespeare  says,  &c.  &c.,  "  to  woman  !  " — 
implying  thereby  that  red  sashes  and  lace  flounces  are  but 
as  things  transitory,  and  that  she  who  puts  ornaments  of 
gold  and  silver  upon  her  own  head  may  be  a  "  crown  to  her 
husband,"  and  yet  not  exactly  such  a  "  crown "  as  King 
Solomon  meant  a  virtuous  woman  should  be.  He  that  has 
ears  to  hear  (while  he  has  nothing  worse  than  ears),  let  him 
hear !  A  word  to  the  wise  should  be  enough.  There  are 
some  particular  qualities  now  and  then  very  likely  to  lead  a 
gentleman  on  the  sudden  to  make  a  lady  his  wife,  and 
after  she  has  become  so  very  likely  again  to  make  him  wish 
that  they  had  made  her  anybody  else's. 

MAXIM  II. 

White  arms  and  neat  ankles  bring  me  naturally  at  once 
to  the  very  important  consideration  of  beauty;  for  don't 
suppose,  because  I  caution  you  against  all  day-dishabilles, 
that  I  want  to  fix  you  with  a  worthy  creature  whom  it  will 
make  you  extremely  ill  every  time  you  look  at.  No  !  Leave 
these  to  apothecaries,  lawyers,  and  such,  generally,  as  mean 
to  leave  money  behind  them  when  they  die.  You  have 
health,  a  competence,  a  handy  pull  at  a  nose,  or  at  a  trigger  : 
let  them  grovek  For  the  style  of  attraction  please  your- 
selves, my  friends.  I  should  say  a  handsome  figure,  if  you 
don't  get  both  advantages,  is  better  than  a  merely  pretty 
face.  I  don't  mean  by  "  handsome  figure "  forty  cubits 
high,  and  as  big  round  as  the  chief  drayman  at  Meux's 
brew-house ;  but  finely  formed  and  set.     Good  eyes  are  a 


334  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

point  never  to  be  overlooked.  Fine  teeth — full,  well-pro- 
portioned limbs — don't  cast  these  away  for  the  sake  of  a 
single  touch  of  the  small-pox,  a  mouth  something  too 
wide,  or  dimples  rather  deeper  on  one  side  than  the  other. 

MAXIM  III. 

It  may  at  some  time  be  a  matter  of  consideration 
whether  you  shall  marry  a  maid  or  a  widow.  As  to  the  taste, 
I  myself  will  give  no  opinion.  I  like  both  ;  and  there  are 
advantages  and  disadvantages  peculiar  to  either.  If  you 
marry  a  widow,  I  think  it  should  be  one  whom  you  have 
known  in  the  lifetime  of  her  husband ;  because  then — ab 
adu  ad  posse— ixom  the  sufferings  of  the  defunct  you 
may  form  some  notion  of  what  your  own  will  be.  If  her 
husband  is  dead  before  you  see  her,  you  had  better  be  off 
at  once  \  because  she  knows  (the  jade  !)  what  you  will  like, 
though  she  never  means  to  do  it ;  and  depend  upon  it,  if 
you  have  only  an  inch  oi penchant,  and  trust  yourself  to  look 
at  her  three  times,  you  are  tickled  to  a  certainty. 

MAXIM  IV. 

Marrying  girls  is  a  nice  matter  always,  for  they  are  as 
cautious  as  crows  plundering  a  corn-field.  You  may  "  stalk  " 
for  a  week,  and  never  get  near  them  unperceived.  You 
hear  the  caterwauling,  as  you  go  upstairs  into  the  drawing- 
room,  louder  than  thunder;  but  it  stops  as  if  by  magic 
the  moment  a  (marriageable)  man  puts  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole. I  don't  myself,  I  profess,  upon  principle  see  any 
objection  to  marrying  a  widow.  If  she  upbraids  you  at  any 
time  with  the  virtues  of  her  former  husband,  you  only  reply 
that  you  wish  he  had  her  with  him  with  all  your  soul.  If 
a  woman,  however,  has  had  more  than  three  husbands,  she 
poisons  them ;  avoid  her. 


MAXIM  v. 


In  widow-wiving  it  may  be  a  question  whether  you  should 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY.  335 

marry  the  widow  of  an  honest  man  or  of  a  rascal.  Against 
the  danger  that  the  last  may  have  learned  ill  tricks  they  set  the 
advantage  that  she  will  be  more  sensible  (from  the  contrast) 
to  the  kindness  of  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  honour.  I 
think  you  should  marry  the  honest  man's  widow,  because 
with  women  habit  is  always  stronger  than  reason. 

MAXIM  vr. 

But  the  greatest  point,  perhaps,  to  be  aimed  at  in  marry- 
ing is  to  know  before  marriage  what  it  is  that  you  have  to 
deal  with.  You  are  quite  sure  to  know  this  fast  enough 
afterwards.  Be  sure,  therefore,  that  you  commence  the 
necessary  requisitions  before  you  have  made  up  your  mind, 
and  not,  as  people  generally  do,  after.  Remember  there  is 
no  use  in  watching  a  woman  that  you  love ;  because  she 
can't  do  anything,  do  what  she  will,  that  will  be  disagreeable 
to  you.  And  still  less,  in  examining  a  woman  that  loves 
you  ;  because  for  the  time  she  will  be  quite  sure  not  to  do  any- 
thing that  ought  to  be  disagreeable  to  you.  I  have  known  a 
hundred  perfect  tigresses  as  playful  as  kittens,  quite  more 
obliging  than  need  be  under  such  circumstances.  It  is  not  a 
bad  way,  maid  or  widow,  when  you  find  yourself  fancying  a 
woman,  to  make  her  believe  that  you  have  an  aversion  to 
her.  If  she  has  any  concealed  good  qualities,  they  are 
pretty  sure  to  come  out  upon  such  an  occasion. 

N.B. — Take  care,  nevertheless,  how  you.  make  use  of  this 
suggestion ;  because,  right  or  wrong,  it  is  the  very  way  to 
make  the  poor  soul  fall  furiously  and  fatally  in  love  with  you. 
Vulnus  alii  vents,  et  cceco  carpitur  igni! 

MAXIM  VII. 

In  judging  where  to  look  for  a  wife,  that  is,  for  the  lady 
who  is  to  form  the  "raw  material"  of  one,  very  great 
caution  is  necessary.  And  you  can't  take  anything  better 
with  you,  in  looking  about,  as  a  general  principle,  than  that 
good  mothers  commonly  make  tolerably  good  daughters. 


336  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

Of  course,  therefore,  you  won't  go,  of  consideration  pre- 
pense, into  any  house  where  parents  are  badly  connected, 
or  have  been  badly  conducted;  nor  upon  any  account  at 
all  into  any  house  where  you  don't  quite  feel  that  if  you 
don't  conduct  yourself  properly  you'll  immediately  be  kicked 
out  of  it.  This  assurance  may  be  troublesome  while  you 
are  only  a  visitor  ;  but,  when  you  come  to  be  one  of  the 
family,  you'll  find  it  mighty  convenient.  If  you  can  find 
any  place  where  vice  and  folly  have  been  used  to  be  called 
by  their  right  names,  stick  to  that  by  all  means  :  there  are 
seldom  more  than  two  such  in  one  parish  ;  and,  if  you  see 
any  common  rascal  let  into  a  house  where  you  visit  as 
readily  as  yourself,  go  out  of  it  immediately. 


MAXIM  VIII. 

Mind,  but  I  need  hardly  caution  you  of  this,  that  you  are 
not  taken  in  with  that  paltry,  bygone  nonsense  about  "  If  you 
marry,  marrying  a  fool."  Recollect  that  the  greatest  fool 
must  be  sometimes  out  of  your  sight,  and  that  she  will 
yet  carry  you  (for  all  purposes  of  mischief)  along  with  her. 
A  shrew  may  want  her  nails  kept  short ;  but,  if  you  keep  a 
strait  waistcoat  in  the  house,  you  may  always  do  this  your- 
self. And  she  is  not  of  necessity,  like  your  "  bleating  inno- 
cents," a  prey  to  the  first  wolf  who  chooses  to  devour  her. 

MAXIM    IX. 

At  the  same  time,  while  you  avoid  a  fool,  fly — as  you  fly 
from  sin  and  death — fly  from  a  philosopher !  It  is  very 
dangerous  to  weak  minds  examining  (farther  than  is  duly 
delivered  to  them)  what  is  right  or  wrong.  I  never  found 
anybody  yet  who  could  distinctly  explain  what  murder  is  if 
put  to  a  definition. 

All  who  find  their  minds  superior  to  common  rule  and 
received  opinion,  value  themselves  on  original  thinking, 
talk  politics,  read  Mary  Wolstonecraft,  or  meddle  with  the 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY.  337 

mathematics — these  are  the  unclean  birds  upon  whom  the 
protecting  genius  of  honest  men  has  set  his  mark  that  all 
may  know ;  and  pray  do  you  avoid  them. 


MAXIM    X. 

If  you  marry  an  actress,  don't  let  her  be  a  tragedy  one. 
Habits  of  ranting,  and  whisking  up  and  down  with  a  long 
train  before  a  row  of  "  footlamps,"  are  apt  to  cast  an  undue 
ludicrousness  (when  transplanted)  over  the  serious  business 
of  life.  Only  imagine  a  castigation  dehvered  to  the  cook, 
in  "  King  Cambyses'  vein,"  upon  the  event  of  an  under- 
done leg  of  mutton  at  dinner ;  or  an  incarnation  of  Helen 
M'Gregor,  ordering  the  cat  to  be  thrown  alive  into  the 
cistern  if  a  piece  of  muffin  was  abstracted  without  leave  at 
breakfast ! 

MAXIM    XI. 

If  you  do  marry  an  actress,  the  singing  girls  perhaps  are 
best;  Miss  Paton,  I  think,  seems  very  soft,  and  coaxing, 
and  desirable.  I  myself  should  prefer  Kitty  Stephens  to  any 
of  them  ;  though  she  is  a  sad  lazy  slut — won't  learn  a  line, 
and  sleeps  all  day  upon  the  sofa  !  But  I'm  a  teacher  ;  and 
therefore  the  less  I  parade  my  own  practice — at  least  so  the 
belief  goes — the  better. 

MAXIM    XII. 

Be  sure,  wherever  you  choose,  choose  a  proud  woman. 
All  honesty  is  a  kind  of  pride,  or  at  least  three-fourths  of 
it.  No  people  do  wrong,  but  in  spite  of  themselves  they 
feel  a  certain  quantity  of  descent  and  self-degradation.  The 
more  a  woman  has  to  forfeit  the  less  likely  she  is  to  forfeit 
anything  at  all.  Take  the  pride  although  you  have  the 
virtue ;  the  more  indorsements  you  get,  even  on  a  good 
bill,  the  better. 

VOL.   I.  Y 


338  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

MAXIM  XIII. 

I  don't  think  the  saints,  after  all  is  said  and  done,  are 
the  worst  people  in  the  world  to  match  among.  Nine- 
tenths  of  the  mischief  that  women  do  arise  less  from  ill 
design  than  from  idle,  careless,  vagabond  levity.  It  falls 
out  commonly  among  the  great  card-players  and  play- 
hunters  ;  very  little  among  the  Methodists  and  Presbyterians. 
Of  course  you  won't  contract  for  anything  beyond  going  to 
church  three  times  a-day,  and  such  like  public  professions 
of  faith  and  feeling.  But,  for  the  rest,  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  embarrass  yourself  about  any  system  of  belief,  so  long 
as  it  offends  only  against  reason,  and  tends  to  the  believer's 
temporal  advantage. 

MAXIM    XIV. 

At  the  same  time,  after  the  last  sentence  of  the  above 
exhortation,  I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  you  must  not  marry 
a  Roman  Catholic.  Indeed  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  little 
too  much  for  any  of  you,  who  read  me^  to  fancy  a  pleasant 
gentleman  claiming  the  right  to  catechise  your  wives  in 
private  ?  For  my  part,  God  help  any  rascal  who  presumed 
to  talk  of  law,  human  or  divine,  in  my  family  \  except  the 
law  which,  like  Jack  Cade's  law,  came  "  out  of  my  mouth  ! " 
I  know  something  of  these  matters,  having  once  con- 
templated being  a  monk  myself — in  fact,  I  had  stolen  a 
dress  for  the  purpose.  On  the  same  principle — -I  rather 
think  I  mentioned  this  before — suffer  no  "  guardianships  " 
or  "  trusteeships  "  in  your  family  to  disturb  your  reign  or 
fret  your  quiet.  I  knew  a  very  worthy  fellow  who,  having 
only  a  marriage  settlement  brought  to  him,  broke  the  solici- 
tor's clerk's  neck  down  stairs  that  brought  it ;  and  it  was 
brought  in  "justifiable  homicide."  If  a  dog  dares  but  to 
hint  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  "  parchment "  in  your 
presence,  plump  and  rib  him. 


& 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY.  339 

MAXIM   XV. 

I  don't  think,  by  the  way,  that  there  ought  to  be  any 
parchment,  except  the  petitions  to  the  House  of  Commons, 
which  are  cut  up  to  supply  the  tailors  with  measures.  This 
is  useful.  Messrs  Shiel  and  O'Connell's  work  takes  the 
dimensions  of  my  person  once  a  month  very  accurately.  I 
mention  this  because  it  has  been  said  that  no  measures,  in 
which  the  work  of  those  gentlemen  was  concerned,  ever 
could  be  taken  accurately. 

MAXIM    XVI. 

Talking  of  accuracy  leads  me  to  observe  :  Don't  marry 
any  woman  hastily  at  Brighton  or  Brussels  without  knowing 
who  she  is,  and  where  she  lived  before  she  came  there. 
And,  whenever  you  get  a  reference  upon  this  or  any  other 
subject,  always  be  sure  and  get  another  reference  about  the 
person  referred  to. 

MAXIM    XVII. 

Don't  marry  any  woman  under  twenty  :  she  is  not  come 
to  her  wickedness  before  that  time  :  nor  any  woman  who  has 
a  red  nose  at  any  age ;  because  people  make  observations  as 
you  go  along  the  street.  "  A  cast  of  the  eye  " — as  the  lady 
casts  it  upon  you — may  pass  muster  under  some  circum- 
stances ;  and  I  have  even  known  those  who  thought  it 
desirable  :  but  absolute  squinting  is  a  monopoly  of  vision 
which  ought  not  to  be  tolerated. 

MAXIM    XVIII. 

Talking  of  "vision"  reminds  me  of  an  absurd  saying — 
that  such  or  such  a  one  can  "  see  as  far  through  a  mill- 
stone as  those  that  picked  it."  I  don't  believe  that  any 
man  ever  saw  through  a  mill-stone  but  Jeremy  Bcntham, 
and  he  looked  through  the  hole. 


340  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

MAXIM    XIX. 

One  hears  a  great  deal  about  "  City  taste."  I  must  say 
I  don't  think  an  alderman's  daughter  by  any  means  {cjua 
Cornhill  merely)  objectionable.  A  fine  girl  may  be  charm- 
ing, even  though  her  father  should  be  a  Common  Council- 
man.    Recollect  this. 

MAXIM    XX. 

On  the  question  of  getting  an  insight  into  matters  before 
marriage,  if  possible,  I  have  dropped  a  word  already.  It 
is  a  point  of  very  great  importance,  and  there  are  two  or 
three  modes  in  which  you  may  take  your  chance  for  accom- 
plishing it.  If  you  are  up  to  hiring  yourself  into  any  house 
as  a  chambermaid — it  requires  tact,  and  close  shaving  ;  but 
it  would  put  you  into  the  way  of  finding  out  a  thing  or  two. 
I  "  took  up  my  livery  "  once  as  a  footman,  and  I  protest  I 
learned  so  much  in  three  weeks  that  I  would  not  have 
married  any  female  in  the  family.  An  old  maiden  aunt,  or 
sister,  if  you  have  one,  is  capable  of  great  service.  She  will 
see  more  of  a  tomboy  in  five  minutes  than  you  would  in  six 
months ;  because,  having  been  in  the  oven  herself,  she 
knows  the  way.  On  the  other  hand  there  is  the  danger 
that  she  may  sell  you  to  some  estate  that  she  thinks  lies 
convenient ;  or  even  job  you  off  to  some  personal  favourite, 
without  the  consideration  of  any  estate  at  all.  The  Punic 
faith  of  all  agents — and  especially  one's  own  relatives — is 
notorious. 

MAXIM    XXI. 

On  the  subject  of  accomplishments  it  is  hardly  my  busi- 
ness to  advise.  I  leave  a  great  part — the  chief  part— upon 
this  point  to  your  own  fancy.  Only  don't  have  any  waltzing, 
nor  too  much  determined  singing  of  Moore's  songs ;  there 
is  bad  taste,  to  say  the  best  of  it,  in  all  such  publicities. 
For  music,  I  don't  think  there  is  a  great  deal  gained  by  a 
woman's  being  able  to  make  an  alarming  jangle  on  the 


TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY.  341 

pianoforte,  particularly  under  that  unmerciful  scheme  of 
"  duets,"  in  which  two  tyrants  are  enabled  to  belabour  the 
machine  at  the  same  time.  Dancing  a  girl  ought  to  be 
able  to  execute  well ;  but  don't  go  anywhere  where  a 
Monsieur  has  been  employed  to  give  the  instruction.  As 
dancing  is  an  art  to  be  acquired  merely  from  imitation,  a 
graceful  female — being  the  precise  thing  to  be  imitated — 
must  be  a  far  more  efficient  teacher  than  even  Mr.  Kick- 
the-Moon  himself  can  be.  Besides,  I  don't  like  the  notion 
of  a  d — d  scraper  putting  a  girl  of  thirteen  into  attitudes. 
If  I  were  to  catch  a  ballet-master  capering  in  my  house,  I'd 
qualify  the  dog  to  lead  in  the  opera  before  he  departed. 

N.B. — Now  we  are  on  the  subject  of  dancing,  don't  on 
any  account  marry  a  "  lively "  young  lady ;  that  is,  in 
other  words,  a  "romp;"  that  is,  in  other  words,  a  woman 
who  has  been  hauled  about  by  half  your  acquaintance. 

And  now,  my  friends,  my  first  twenty-one  rules — just 
beginning  your  instruction,  each  of  you,  how  to  get  a  wife — 
are  spoken  out.  And  any  directions  how  to  manage  one, 
if  they  come  at  all,  must  come  at  some  future  opportunity. 
Just  two  words,  however,  even  upon  this  head ;  for  I  would 
not  leave  you  upon  any  subject  too  much  unprovided. 

In  the  first  place,  on  the  very  day  after  your  marriage, 
whenever  you  do  marry,  take  one  precaution.  Be  cursed 
with  no  more  troubles  for  life  than  you  have  bargained  for. 
Call  the  roll  of  all  your  wife's  even  speaking  acquaintance  ; 
and  strike  out  every  soul  that  you  have — or  fancy  you 
ought  to  have — or  fancy  you  ever  shall  have — a  glimpse  of 
dislike  to. 

Upon  this  point  be  merciless.  Your  wife  won't  hesitate — 
a  hundred  to  one — between  a  husband  and  a  gossip ;  and, 
if  she  does,  don't  you.  Be  particularly  sharp  upon  the  list 
of  women  \  of  course,  men — you  would  frankly  kick  any 
one  from  Pall  Mall  to  Pimlico  who  presumed  only  to 
recollect  ever  having  seen  her. 

And  don't  be  manoeuvred  out  of  what  you    mean    by 


342  TWENTY-ONE  MAXIMS  TO  MARRY  BY. 

cards  or  morning  calls,  or  any  notion  of  what  people  call 
"good  breeding."     Do  you  be  content  to  show  your  ill-         i 
breeding  by  shutting  the  door,  and  the  visitors  can  show 
their  good-breeding  by  not  coming  again.  , 

One  syllable  more  to  part.  If  you  wish  to  be  happy  * 
yourself,  be  sure  that  you  must  make  your  wife  so.  Never 
dispute  with  her  where  the  question  is  of  no  importance  ; 
nor,  where  it  is  of  the  least  consequence,  let  any  earthly 
consideration  ever  once  induce  you  to  give  way.  Be  at 
home  as  much  as  you  can  ;  be  as  strict  as  you  will,  but 
never  speak  unkindly ;  and  never  have  a  friend  upon  such 
terms  in  your  house  as  to  be  able  to  enter  it  without  cere- 
mony. Above  all,  remember  that  these  maxims  are  intrusted 
to  all  of  you,  as  to  persons  of  reason  and  discretion.  A 
naked  sword  only  cuts  the  fingers  of  a  madman  ;  and  the 
rudder  with  which  the  pilot  saves  the  ship  would  in  the 
hands  of  the  powder-monkey  probably  only  force  her  upon 
the  rocks.  Recollect  that  your  inquest  as  to  matrimony  is 
a  matter  of  the  greatest  nicety,  because  either  an  excess  of 
vigilance  or  a  deficiency  will  alike  compromise  its  success. 
If  you  don't  question  far  enough,  the  odds  are  ten  to  one 
that  you  get  a  wife  who  will  disappoint  you.  If  you  ques- 
tion a  jot  too  far,  5'ou  will  never  get  a  wife  at  all. 


a  S)03en  3J)ear5  Ibeuce. 

"  Let's  drink  and  be  merry, 

Dance,  sing,  and  rejoice  " — 
So  runs  the  old  carol, 

"  With  music  and  voice." 
Had  the  bard  but  survived 

Till  the  year  thirty-three, 
Methinks  he'd  have  met  with 

Less  matter  for  glee ; 
To  think  what  we  were 

In  our  days  of  good  sense, 
And  think  what  we  shall  be 

A  dozen  years  hence. 

Oh  !  Once  the  wide  Continent 

Rang  with  our  fame, 
And  nations  grew  still 

At  the  sound  of  our  name  ; 
The  pride  of  Old  Ocean, 

The  home  of  the  free, 
The  scourge  of  the  despot 

By  shore  and  by  sea, 
Of  the  fallen  and  the  feeble 

The  stay  and  defence — 
But  where  shall  our  fame  be 

A  dozen  years  hence  ? 

The  peace  and  the  plenty 
That  spread  over  all, 

Blithe  hearts  and  briglit  faces 
In  hamlet  or  hall ; 


344  A  DOZEN  YEARS  HENCE. 

Our  yeomen  so  loyal 

In  greenwood  or  plain, 
Our  true-hearted  burghers, 

We  seek  them  in  vain  ; 
For  loyalty's  now 

In  the  pluperfect  tense, 
And  freedom' s  the  word 

For  a  dozen  years  hence. 

The  nobles  of  Britain, 

Once  foremost  to  wield 
Her  wisdom  in  council, 

Her  thunder  in  field  ; 
Her  judges,  where  learning 

With  purity  vied  ; 
Her  sound-headed  Churchmen, 

Time-honoured  and  tried  : 
To  the  gift  of  the  prophet 

I  make  no  pretence, 
But  where  shall  they  all  be 

A  dozen  years  hence  ? 

Alas  !  for  old  Reverence, 

Faded  and  flown ; 
Alas  !  for  the  Nobles, 

The  Church,  and  the  Throne  ; 
When  to  Radical  creeds 

Peer  and  Prince  must  conform, 
And  Catholics  dictate 

Our  new  Church  Reform  ; 
While  the  schoolmaster  swears 

'Tis  a  usless  expense, 
Which  his  class  won't  put  up  with 

A  dozen  years  hence. 

Perhaps  'twere  too  much 
To  rejoice  at  the  thought, 


A  DOZEN  YEARS  HENCE.  345 

That  its  authors  will  share 

In  the  ruin  they  wrought ; 
That  the  tempest  which  sweeps 

All  their  betters  away 
AVill  hardly  spare  Durham, 

Or  Russell,  or  Grey  : 
For  my  part  I  bear  them 

No  malice  prepense, 
But  I'll  scarce  break  my  heart  for't 

A  dozen  years  hence. 

When  Cobbett  shall  rule 

Our  finances  alone, 
And  settle  all  debts 

As  he  settled  his  own  ; 
When  Hume  shall  take  charge 

Of  the  National  Church, 
And  leave  his  own  tools. 

Like  the  Greeks,  in  the  lurch  ! 
They  may  yet  live  to  see 

The  new  era  commence. 
With  their  own  "  Final  Measure," 

A  dozen  years  hence. 

Already  those  excellent 

Friends  of  the  mob 
May  taste  the  first  fruits 

Of  their  Jacobin  job  ; 
Since  each  braying  jackass 

That  handles  a  quill 
Now  flings  up  his  heels 

At  the  poor  dying  Bill ; 
And  comparing  already 

The  kicks  with  the  pence. 
Let  them  think  of  the  balance 

A  dozen  years  hence. 


346  A  DOZEN  YEARS  HENCE. 

When  prisons  give  place 

To  the  swift  guillotine, 
And  scaffolds  are  streaming 

Where  churches  have  been  ; 
We  too,  or  our  children, 

Believe  me,  will  shake 
Our  heads — ^if  we  have  them — 

To  find  our  mistake  ; 
To  find  the  great  measure 

Was  all  a  pretence, 
And  be  sadder  and  wiser 

A  dozen  years  hence. 


JBeranoer's  ''  /IDonsieur  3uC)as  "  versitieC). 


Monsieur  Judas  est  un  drole 
Qui  soutient  avec  chaleur, 
Qu'il  n'  a  jou6  qu'un  seul  role, 
Et  n'a  pris  qu'une  couleur. 
Nous  qui  d^testons  les  gens, 
Tantot  rouges,  tantot  blancs, 

Parlons  bas, 

Parlons  bas  : 

Ici  pres  j'ai  vu  Judas, 

J'ai  vu  Judas,  j'ai  vu  Judas. 

Curieux  et  nouvelliste. 
Get  observateur  moral 
Parfois  se  dit  journaliste, 
Et  tranche  du  liberal ; 
Mais  voulons-nous  reclamer 
Le  droit  de  tout  imprimer, 
Parlons  bas, 
Parlons  bas : 
Ici  pres  j'ai  vu  Judas, 
J'ai  vu  Judas,  j'ai  vu  Judas. 

Sans  respect  du  caractere, 
Souvent  ce  lache  effront6 
Porte  I'habit  militaire 
Avec  la  croix  au  c6t6. 
Nous  qui  faisons  volontiers 
L'^loge  de  nos  guerriers, 

Parlons  bas, 

Parlons  bas  : 
Ici  pris  j'ai  vu  Judas, 
J'ai  vu  Judas,  j'ai  vu  Judas. 

Enfin,  sa  bouche  fl^trie 
Ose  prendre  un  noble  accent, 
Et  des  maux  de  la  patrie 
Ne  parle  qu'en  gcjmissant. 


Here  Judas,  with  a  face  where  shame 

Or  honour  ne'er  was  known  to  be, 
Maintaining  he  is  still  the  same, 

That  he  ne'er  ratted — no — not  he. 
But  we  must  spurn  the  grovelling  hack, 
To-day  all  white — to-morrow  black. 
But  hush  !  He'll  hear. 
He'll  hear,  he'll  hear  ; 
Iscariot's  near — Iscariot's  near ! 


The  moral  Surface  swears  to-day 

Defiance  to  the  priest  and  Pope  ; 
To-morrow,  ready  to  betray 

His  brother  Churchmen  to  the  rope. 
But  let  us  trust  the  hangman's  string 
Is  spun  for  him — the  recreant  thing  ! 
But  hush  !  He'll  hear, 
He'll  hear,  he'll  hear ; 
Iscariot's  near — Iscariot's  near  ! 


All  character  that  knave  has  lost : 
Soon  will  the  neophyte  appear. 
By  priestly  hands  be-dipped,  be-crossed, 

Begreased,  bechrismed,  with  holy  smear. 
Soon  may  he  reach  his  final  home, 
"A  member  of  the  Church  of  Rome."  * 
But  hush  !  He'll  hear, 
He'll  hear,  he'll  hear  ; 
Iscariot's  near — Iscariot's  near  ! 


Now  from  his  mouth  polluted  flows — 
Snuffled  in  Joseph  Surface  tone — 

Lament  o'er  hapless  Ireland's  woes. 
O'er  England's  dangerous  state  a  groan. 


*  The  ordinary  conclusion  of  a  gallows  speech  in  Ireland — "I  die  an 
unworthy  member  of  tlie  Church  of  Rome." 


348    B:^RANGER'S  "MONSIEUR  JUDAS"  VERSIFIED. 


Nous  qui  faisons  le  proces 
A  tous  les  mauvais  Fran9ais, 

Parlons  bas, 

Parlous  bas  : 
Ici  pres  j'ai  vu  Judas, 
J'ai  vu  Judas,  j'ai  vu  Judas. 

Monsieur  Judas,  sans  malice, 
Tout  haut  vous  dit :    "  Mes 

amis, 
Les  limiers  de  la  police 
Sont  h  craindre  en  ce  pays." 
Mais  nous  qui  de  mains  bro- 

cards 
Poursuivons  jusqu'au.\  mou- 
chards, 

Parlons  bas, 
Parlons  bas : 
Ici  pres  j'ai  vu  Judas, 
J'ai  vu  Judas,  j'ai  vu  Judas. 


Ere  long  beneath  the  hands  of  Ketch, 
Sigh  for  thyself,  degraded  wretch  ! 

But  hush  !  He'll  hear, 

He'll  hear,  he'll  hear  ; 
Iscariot's  near — Iscariot's  near  ! 


Judas  !  Till  then  the  public  fleece, 

For  kin  and  cousins  scheme  and  job. 
Rail  against  watchmen  and  police, 

Inferior  swindlers  scourge  or  rob. 
At  last,  another  crowd  before, 
Thou   shalt   speak   once — and   speak 
more ! 

But  hush  !  He'll  hear, 
He'll  hear,  he'll  hear  ; 
Iscariot's  near — Iscariot's  near ! 


Bn  1bunC>rc5  l^ears  llDencc, 
I. 

"  Let  us  drink  and  be  merry, 

Dance,  joke,  and  rejoice, 
With  claret  and  sherry, 

Theorbo  and  voice." 
So  sings  the  old  song. 

And  a  good  one  it  is ; 
Few  better  were  written 

From  that  day  to  this  : 
And  1  hope  I  may  say  it. 

And  give  no  offence. 
Few  more  will  be  better 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

II. 

In  this  year  eighteen  hundred 

And  twenty  and  two, 
There  are  plenty  of  false  ones 

And  plenty  of  true  : 
There  are  brave  men  and  cowards, 

And  bright  men  and  asses ; 
There  are  lemon-faced  prudes. 

There  are  kind-hearted  lasses. 
He  who  quarrels  with  this 

Is  a  man  of  no  sense. 
For  so  'twill  continue 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


350       ,  AN  HUNDRED  YEARS  HENCE. 

III. 

There  are  people  who  rave 

Of  the  National  Debt : 
Let  them  pay  off  their  own 

And  the  nation's  forget. 
Others  bawl  for  reform, 

Which  were  easily  done, 
If  each  would  resolve 

To  reform  Number  One. 
For  7ny  part  to  wisdom 

I  make  no  pretence  : 
I'll  be  as  wise  as  my  neighbours 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

IV. 

I  only  rejoice  that 

My  life  has  been  cast 
On  the  gallant  and  glorious 

Bright  days  which  we've  past ; 
When  the  flag  of  Old  England 

Waved  lordly  in  pride, 
Wherever  green  Ocean 

Spreads  his  murmuring  tide  : 
And  I  pray  that  unbroken 

Her  watery  fence 
May  still  keep  off  invaders 

An  hundred  years  hence, 

V. 

I  rejoice  that  I  saw  her 

Triumphant  in  war, 
At  sublime  Waterloo, 

At  dear-bought  Trafalgar ; 
On  sea  and  on  land, 

Wheresoever  she  fought, 
Trampling  Jacobin  tyrants 

And  slaves  as  she  ou2[ht : 


AN  HUNDRED  YEARS  HENCE.  35 1 

Of  Church  and  of  King 

Still  the  firmest  defence  : 
So  may  she  continue 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

VI. 

Why  then  need  I  grieve  if 

Some  people  there  be, 
Who,  foes  to  their  country, 

Rejoice  not  with  me  ? 
Sure  I  know  in  my  heart 

That  Whigs  ever  have  been 
Tyrannic,  or  turnspit. 

Malignant,  or  mean  : 
They  were  and  are  scoundrels 

In  every  sense, 
And  scoundrels  they  will  be 

An  hundred  years  hence. 

VII. 

So  let  us  be  jolly. 

Why  need  we  repine  ? 
If  grief  is  a  folly. 

Let's  drown  it  in  wine  ! 
As  they  scared  away  fiends 

By  the  ring  of  a  bell, 
So  the  ring  of  the  glass 

Shall  blue  devils  expel : 
With  a  bumper  before  us 

The  night  we'll  commence 
By  toasting  true  Tories 

An  hundred  years  hence. 


lDiDocQ'5  Slam  Som  Dersifie^. 

As  from  ken  ^  to  ken  I  was  going, 
Doing  a  bit  on  the  prigging  lay,^ 

Who  should  I  meet  but  a  jolly  blowen,^ 
Tol  lol,  lol  lol,  tol  derol,  ay ; 

Who  should  I  meet  but  a  jolly  bio  wen, 
Who  was  fly  *  to  the  time  o'  day  ?  ^ 

Who  should  I  meet  but  a  jolly  blowen, 
Who  was  fly  to  the  time  o'  day  ? 

I  pattered  in  flash,*^  like  a  covey  ^  knowing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

"  Ay,  bub  or  grubby,^  I  say." 

I  pattered  in  flash,  like  a  covey  knowing, 

"  Ay,  bub  or  grubby,  I  say." 
"  Lots  of  gatter,"  ^  quo  she,  "  are  flowing, 

Tol  lol,  &c. 
Lend  me  a  Uft  in  the  family  way.^<^ 


1  A'en,  shop,  house. 

2  Prigging  lay,  thieving  business. 

3  Blowe?i,  girl,  strumpet,  sweetheart. 

4  Fly  (contraction  oijlash),  awake,  up  to,  practised  in, 

5  Time  o  day,  knowledge  of  business,  thieving,  &c. 

6  Pattered  in  flash,  spoke  in  slang. 

7  Covey,  man. 

8  Bub  and  grub,  drink  and  food. 

9  Gatter,  porter. 

10  Family,  the  thieves  in  general.     The  family  way— the  thieving  line. 


VIDOCQ'S  SLANG  SONG  VERSIFIED. 

"  Lots  of  gatter,"  quo'  she,  "  are  flowing  ; 

Lend  me  a  lift  in  the  family  way. 
You  may  have  a  crib  ^^  to  stow  in, 

Tol  lol,  &c 
Welcome,  my  pal,^-  as  the  flowers  in  May. 


"  You  may  have  a  bed  to  stow  in ; 

Welcome,  my  pal,  as  the  flowers  in  May." 
To  her  ken  at  once  I  go  in, 

Tol  lol,  &c. 
Where  in  a  corner  out  of  the  way  ; 

To  her  ken  at  once  I  go  in, 

Where  in  a  corner,  out  of  the  way. 

With  his  smeller, ^^  a  trumpet  blowing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

A  regular  swell-cove  "  lushy  ^^  lay. 

With  his  smeller,  a  trumpet  blowing, 
A  regular  swell-cove  lushy  lay ; 

To  his  dies  ^"  my  hooks  "  I  throw  in, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

And  collar  his  dragons  ^^  clear  away. 


11  Crii,  bed. 

1-  Pa/,  friend,  companion,  paramour. 

i»  Smeller,  nose.      Trumpet  blowing  here  is  not  slang,  but   poetry   for 
snoring. 

1*  Swell-cave,  gentleman,  dandy. 
15  Lushy,  drunk. 
1^  Clies,  pockets. 

17  Hooks,  fingers  ;  in  full,  thievi7ig  hooks. 

18  Collar  his  dragons,  take  his  sovereigns.  On  the  obverse  of  a  sovereign 
is,  or  was,  a  figure  of  St.  George  and  the  dragon.  The  etymon  of  collar  is 
obvious  to  all  persons  who  know  the  taking  ways  of  Bow  Street  and 
elsewhere.  It  is  a  whimsical  coincidence  that  the  motto  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Londonderry  is  "  Metuenda  corolla  draconis."  Ask  the  City  of 
London,  if  "  I  fear  I  may  not  collar  the  dragons"  would  not  be  a  fair 
translation. 

VOL.  1.  2 


354  VIDOCQ'S  SLANG  SONG  VERSIFIED. 

To  his  dies  my  hooks  I  throw  in, 
And  collar  his  dragons  clear  away  ; 

Then  his  ticker  "  I  set  a-going, 
Tol  lol,  &c, 

And  his  onions,™  chain,  and  key. 

Then  his  ticker  I  set  a  going, 
With  his  onions,  chain,  and  key. 

Next  slipt  off  his  bottom  clo'ing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

And  his  gingerhead  topper  gay. 

Next  slipt  off  his  bottom  clo'ing, 
And  his  gingerhead  topper  gay. 

Then  his  other  toggery^'  stowing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

All  with  the  swag  -^  I  sneak  away. 

Then  his  other  toggery  stowing. 
All  with  the  swag  I  sneak  away ; 

Tramp  it,  tramp  it,  my  jolly  blowen, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

Or  be  grabbed  ^  by  the  beaks  -^  we  may. 

Tramp  it,  tramp  it,  my  jolly  blowen. 
Or  be  grabbed  by  the  beaks  we  may ; 

And  we  shall  caper  a-heel-and-toeing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

A  Newgate  hornpipe  some  fine  day. 

And  we  shall  caper  a-heel-and-toeing, 
A  Newgate  hornpipe  some  fine  day  ; 


^3  Ticker,  watch.     The  French  slang  is  tocquania. 

*>  Onions,  seals. 

^1  Toggery,  clothes  (from  toga).  22  Swag,  plunder. 

23  Grabbed,  taken.  -*  Beaks,  police-officers. 


VIDOCQ'S  SLANG  SONG  VERSIFIED. 


355 


With  the  mots  -^  their  ogles  -^  throwing, 

Tol  lol,  &c. 
And  old  Cotton  -^  humming  his  pray.  * 

With  the  mots  their  ogles  throwing, 
And  old  Cotton  humming  his  pray; 

And  the  fogle-hunters  -'^  doing, 
Tol  lol,  &c. 

Their  morning  fake  ^"  in  the  prigging  lay. 

-5  Afofs,  girls.  *s  Clf'^w,  eyes. 

"^  0/d  Cotton,  the  Ordinary  of  Newgate. 

-*  Humming  his  pray,  saying  the  prayers. 

^  Fogle-hunters,  pickpockets. 

30  Morning  fake,  morning  thievery. 


En  roulant  de  vergne  en  vergne  i 
Pour  apprendre  a  goupiner,^ 
J'ai  rencontre  la  mercandiere,' 

Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 
Qui  du  pivoissolisait,* 

Lonfa  malura  donde. 

J'ai  recontre  la  mercandiere, 

Qui  du  pivois  solisait ; 
.  Je  lui  jaspine  en  bigorne,* 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Qu'as-tu  done  k  morfiller?^ 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

Je  lui  jaspine  en  bigorne  : 

Qu'as-tu  done  a  morfiller? 

J'ai  du  chenu  pivois  sans  lance  ; ' 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Et  du  larton  savonne,^ 
Lonfa  malura  dond^. 


J'ai  du  chenu  pivois  sans  lance 

Et  du  larton  savonne, 

Une  lourde,  une  tournante,^ 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Et  un  pieu  pour  roupiller,io 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

Une  lourde,  une  tournante  ^i 

Et  un  pieu  pour  roupiller. 

J'enquille  dans  sa  cambriole, 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Esperant  de  I'entifler.i^ 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

J'enquille  dans  sa  cambriole, 

Esperant  de  I'entifler, 

Je  rembroque  au  coin  du  rifle, ^^ 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Un  messiere  qui  pion9ait,i* 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 


I  City  to  city.  -  To  work.  ^  xhe  shopkeeper. 

4  Sold  wine.  '■>  I  ask  him  in  slang.  ^  To  eat. 

7  Good  wine  without  water.  8  White  bread. 

9  A  door  and  a  key.  ^^  A  bed  to  sleep  upon. 

II  I  enter  lier  chamber,  i-  To  make  myself  agreeable  to  her. 
13  I  observe  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  i*  A  man  lying  asleep. 


356 


VIDOCQ'S  SLANG  SONG  VERSIFIED. 


Je  rembroque  au  coin  du  rifle 

Un  messiere  qui  piongait  ; 

J'ai  sond6  dans  ses  vallades,^^ 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Son  carle  j'ai  pessigu6,i8 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

J'ai  sonde  dans  ses  vallades, 

Son  carle  j'ai  pessigue, 

Son  carle,  aussi  sa  tocquante.i^ 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Et  ses  attaches  de  ce  i* 
I..onfa  malura  donde. 

Son  carle,  aussi  sa  tocquante 

Et  ses  attaches  de  ce. 

Son  coulant  et  sa  montante,'' 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Et  son  combre  galuche,-*' 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

Son  coulant  et  sa  montante, 

Et  son  combre  galuche, 

Son  frusque,  aussi  sa  lisette,-' 

Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 
Et  ses  tirants  brodanches,— 

Lonfa  malura  donde. 


Son  frusque,  aussi  sa  lisette 
Et  ses  tirants  brodanches, 
Crompe,  crompe,  mercandiere,-^ 

Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Car  nous  serions  bequilles,^* 

Lonfa  malura  donde. 

Crompe,  crompe,  mercandiere, 

Car  nous  serions  bequilles  ; 

Sur  la  placarde  de  vergne,-^ 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

II  nous  faudrait  gambiller,2'> 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 

Sur  la  placarde  de  vergne 
II  nous  faudrait  gainbiller, 
Allumes  de  toutes  ces  largues,-^ 

Lonfra  malura  dondaine, 
Et  du  trepe  rassemble,-^ 

Lonfa  malura  dond(5. 

Allumes  de  toutes  ces  largues 

Et  du  trepe  rassemble, 

Et  de  ces  chariots  bons  drilles,-'' 
Lonfa  malura  dondaine, 

Tous  aboulant  goupiner.so 
Lonfa  malura  donde. 


^5  Search  his  pockets. 
1^  His  money  and  watch. 

His  chain  and  breeches. 

His  cat  and  waistcoat. 

Take  care  of  yourself,  shopkeeper. 

On  the  Place  de  Ville. 
27  Looked  at  by  all  these  women. 
29  Thieves  ;  good  fellows. 


1^  I  took  his  money. 

18  His  silver  buckles. 

20  Gold-edged  hat. 

22  Embroidered  stockings. 

24  Hanged. 

2®  To  dance. 

28  People. 

^  All  coming  to  rob. 


H  StoiT  witbout  a  UaiL 

CHAPTER  I. 

HOW    WE    WENT    TO    DINE    AT   JACK    GINGER's. 

So  it  was  finally  agreed  upon  that  we  should  dine  at  Jack 
Ginger's  chambers  in  the  Temple,  seated  in  a  lofty  story  in 
Essex  Court.  There  were,  besides  our  host,  Tom  Meggot, 
Joe  Macgillicuddy,  Humpy  Harlow,  Bob  Burke,  Antony 
Harrison,  and  myself.  As  Jack  Ginger  had  little  coin  and 
no  credit  we  contributed  each  our  share  to  the  dinner.  He 
himself  provided  room,  fire,  candle,  tables,  chairs,  table- 
cloth, napkins — no,  not  napkins ;  on  second  thoughts  we 
did  not  bother  ourselves  with  napkins — plates,  dishes, 
knives,  forks,  spoons  (which  he  borrowed  from  the  wig- 
maker),  tumblers,  lemons,  sugar,  water,  glasses,  decanters — 
by  the  by,  I  am  not  sure  that  there  were  decanters, — salt, 
pepper,  vinegar,  mustard,  bread,  butter  (plain  and  melted), 
cheese,  radishes,  potatoes,  and  cookery.  Tom  Meggot  was 
a  cod's  head  and  shoulders,  and  oysters  to  match;  Joe 
Macgillicuddy,  a  boiled  leg  of  pork  with  peas-pudding ; 
Humpy  Harlow,  a  sirloin  of  beef  roast,  with  horse-radish; 
Bob  Burke,  a  gallon  of  half-and-half,  and  four  bottles  of 
whisky,  of  prime  quality  ("Potteen"  wrote  the  Whisky- 
man,  "  I  say,  by  Jupiter,  but  of  which  pianj-iacture  He 
alone  knows  " )  ;  Antony  Harrison,  half  a  dozen  of  port, 
he  having  tick  to  that  extent  at  some  unfortunate  wine 
merchant's ;  and  I  supplied  cigars  i  discretion^  and  a  bottle 
of  rum,  which  I  borrowed  from  a  West-Indian  friend  of 
mine  as  I  passed  by.     So  that,  on  the  whole,  we  were  in  no 


3S8  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

danger  of  suffering  from  any  of  the  extremes  of  hunger  and 
thirst  for  the  course  of  that  eveninc:. 

We  met  at  five  o'clock  sharp,  and  very  sharp.  Not  a 
man  was  missing  when  the  clock  of  the  Inner  Temple 
struck  the  last  stroke.  Jack  Ginger  had  done  everything 
to  admiration.  Nothing  could  be  more  splendid  than  his 
turn-out.  He  had  himself  superintended  the  cooking  of 
every  individual  dish  with  his  own  eyes,  or  rather  eye,  he 
having  but  one,  the  other  having  been  lost  in  a  skirmish 
when  he  was  midshipman  on  board  a  pirate  in  the  Brazilian 
service.  "  Ah  !  "  said  Jack  often  and  often,  "  these  were 
my  honest  days.  Gad  !  did  I  ever  think  when  I  was  a  pirate 
that  I  was  at  the  end  to  turn  rogue,  and  study  the  law  ?  " 
All  was  accurate  to  the  utmost  degree.  The  table-cloth, 
to  be  sure,  was  not  exactly  white,  but  it  had  been  washed 
last  week,  and  the  collection  of  plates  was  miscellaneous, 
exhibiting  several  of  the  choicest  patterns  of  delf.  We 
were  not  of  the  silver-fork  school  of  poetry,  but  steel  is 
not  to  be  despised.  If  the  table  was  somewhat  rickety, 
the  inequality  in  the  legs  was  supplied  by  clapping  a  volume 
of  Vesey  under  the  short  one.  As  for  the  chairs, — but  why 
weary  about  details,  chairs  being  made  to  be  sat  upon  ? — it  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  they  answered  their  purposes,  and 
whether  they  had  backs  or  not,  whether  they  were  cane- 
bottomed  or  hair-bottomed  or  rush-bottomed,  is  nothing 
to  the  present  inquiry. 

Jack's  habit  of  discipline  made  him  punctual,  and  dinner 
was  on  the  table  in  less  than  three  minutes  after  five.  Down 
we  sate,  hungry  as  hunters,  and  eager  for  the  prey. 

"  Is  there  a  parson  in  company  ?  "  said  Jack  Ginger  from 
the  head  of  the  table. 

"  No,"  responded  I  from  the  foot. 

"Then,  thank  God,"  said  Jack,  and  proceeded,  after  this 
pious  grace,  to  distribute  the  cod's  head  and  shoulders  to 
the  hungry  multitude. 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  359 

CHAPTER  II. 

HOW    WE    DINED    AT   JACK    GINGEr's. 

The  history  of  that  cod's  head  and  shoulders  would  occupy 
but  little  space  to  write.  Its  flakes,  like  the  snow-flakes  on  a 
river,  were  for  one  moment  bright,  then  gone  for  ever;  it 
perished  unpitiably.  "  Bring  hither,"  said  Jack  with  a 
firm  voice,  "  the  leg  of  pork."  It  appeared,  but  soon  to 
disappear  again.  Not  a  man  of  the  company  but  showed 
his  abhorrence  to  the  Judaical  practice  of  abstaining  from 
the  flesh  of  swine.  Equally  clear  in  a  few  moments  was  it 
that  we  were  truly  British  in  our  devotion  to  beef  The 
sirloin  was  impartially  destroyed  on  both  sides,  upper  and 
under.  Dire  was  the  clatter  of  the  knives,  but  deep  the 
silence  of  the  guests.  Jerry  Gallagher,  Jack's  valet-de- 
chambre,  footman,  cook,  clerk,  shoeblack,  aide-de-camp, 
scout,  confidant,  dun-chaser,  bum-defyer,  and  many  other 
offices  in  commendam,  toiled  like  a  hero.  He  covered  him- 
self with  glory  and  gravy  every  moment.  In  a  short  time  a 
vociferation  arose  for  fluid,  and  the  half-and-half  (Whitbread 
quartered  upon  Chamyton,  beautiful  heraldry  !)  was  inhaled 
with  the  most  savage  satisfaction. 

"  The  pleasure  of  a  glass  of  wine  with  you.  Bob  Burke," 
said  Joe  Macgillicuddy,  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand. 

"  With  pleasure,  Joe,"  replied  Bob.  "  What  wine  do 
you  choose  ?  You  may  as  well  say  port,  for  there  is  no 
other;  but  attention  to  manners  always  becomes  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Port,  then,  if  you  please,"  cried  Joe,  "  as  the  ladies  of 
Eimerick  say  when  a  man  looks  at  them  across  the  table." 

"  Hobnobbing  wastes  time,"  said  Jack  Ginger,  laying 
down  the  pot  out  of  which  he  had  been  drinking  for  the 
last  few  minutes  ;  "  and  besides,  it  is  not  customary  now  in 
genteel  society  to  pass  the  bottle  about." 


36o  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

[I  here  pause  in  my  narnitive  to  state,  on  more  accurate 
recollection,  that  we  had  not  decanters.  We  drank  from  the 
black  bottle,  which  Jack  declared  was  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  Continent.] 

So  the  port  was  passed  round,  and  declared  to  be  superb. 
Antony  Harrison  received  the  unanimous  applause  of  the 
company ;  and,  if  he  did  not  blush  at  all  the  fine  things 
that  were  said  in  his  favour,  it  was  because  his  countenance 
was  of  that  peculiar  hue  that  no  addition  of  red  could  be 
visible  upon  it.  A  blush  on  Antony's  face  would  be  like 
gilding  refined  gold. 

Whether  cheese  is  prohibited  or  not  in  the  higher  circles 
of  the  West  End,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  know  it  was  not 
prohibited  in  the  very  highest  chambers  of  the  Temple. 

"  It's  double  Gloucester/'  said  Jack  Ginger  ;  '•  prime, 
bought  at  the  corner.  Heaven  pay  the  cheesemonger,  for 
I  sha'n't ;  but,  as  he  is  a  gentleman,  I  give  you  his  health." 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Joe  Macgillicuddy,  "  that  I  ought 
to  demean  myself  to  drink  the  health  of  a  cheesemonger ; 
but  I'll  not  stop  the  bottle." 

And,  to  do  Joe  justice,  he  did  not.  Then  we  attacked 
the  cheese,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  period  we  battered 
in  a  breach  of  an  angle  of  45  degrees  in  a  manner  that 
would  have  done  honour  to  any  engineer  that  directed  the 
guns  at  San  Sebastian.  The  cheese,  which  on  its  first 
entry  on  the  table  presented  the  appearance  of  a  plain 
circle,  was  soon  made  to  exhibit  a  very  different  shape,  as 
may  be  understood  by  the  subjoined  diagram  : — 


O 


[A,   original   cheese ;   EBD,    cheese   after   five   minutes 
standing  on  the  table ;  EBC,  angle  of  45°]. 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  361 

With  cheese  came  and  with  cheese  went  celer}'.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  repeat  what  a  number  of  puns  were  made 
on  that  most  pun-provoking  of  plants. 

"  Clear  the  decks,"  said  Jack  Ginger  to  Jerry  Gallagher. 
"Gentlemen,  I  did  not  think  of  getting  pastry,  or  puddings, 
or  dessert,  or  ices,  or  jellies,  or  blancmange,  or  anything 
of  the  sort  for  men  of  sense  like  you." 

We  all  unanimously  expressed  our  indignation  at  being 
supposed  even  for  a  moment  guilty  of  any  such  weakness  ; 
but  a  general  suspicion  seemed  to  arise  among  us  that  a 
dram  might  not  be  rejected  with  the  same  marked  scorn. 
Jack  Ginger  accordingly  uncorked  one  of  Bob  Burke's 
bottles.  Whop !  went  the  cork,  and  the  potteen  soon  was 
seen  meandering  round  the  table. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Antony  Harrison,  "  I  take  this 
dram  because  I  ate  pork,  and  fear  it  might  disagree  with 


me." 


"  I  take  it,"  said  Bob  Burke,  "  chiefly  by  reason  of  the 
fish." 

"I  take  it,"  said  Joe  Macgillicuddy,  "because  the  day 
was  warm,  and  it  is  very  close  in  these  chambers."' 

"  I  take  it,"  said  Tom  Meggot,  "  because  I  have  been 
very  chilly  all  the  day." 

"  I  take  it,"  said  Humpy  Harlow,  "  because  it  is  such 
strange  weather  that  one  does  not  know  what  to  do." 

"  I  take  it,"  said  Jack  Ginger,  "  because  the  rest  of  the 
company  takes  it." 

"And  I  take  it,"  said  I,  winding  up  the  conversation, 
"  because  I  like  a  dram." 

So  we  all  took  it  for  one  reason  or  another,  and  there 
was  an  end  of  that. 

"  Be  off,  Jerry  Gallagher,"  said  Jack.  "  I  give  to  you, 
your  heirs  and  assigns,  all  that  and  those  which  remain  in 
the  pots  of  half-and-half — item  for  your  own  dinners  what 
is  left  of  the  solids ;  and,  when  you  have  pared  the  bones 
clean,  you  may  give  them  to  the  poor.     Charity  covers  a 


362  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL." 

multitude  of  sins.  Brush  away  like  a  shoeblack,  and 
levant." 

"  Why,  thin,  God  bless  your  honour,"  said  Jerry  Gal- 
lagher, "it's  a  small  liggacy  he  would  have  that  would 
dippind  for  his  daily  bread  for  what  is  left  behind  any  of 
ye  in  the  \vay  of  the  drink,  and  this  blessed  hour  there's 
not  as  much  as  would  blind  the  left  eye  of  a  midge  in  one 
of  them  pots,  and  may  it  do  you  all  good,  if  it  a'n't  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  to  see  you  eating.  By  my  sowl,  he  tliat 
has  to  pick  a  bone  after  you  won't  be  much  troubled  with 
the  mate.     Howsomever  " 

"  No  more  prate,"  said  Jack  Ginger.  "  Here's  twopence 
for  you  to  buy  some  beer  ;  but  no,"  he  continued,  drawing 
his  empty  hand  from  that  breeches-pocket  into  which  he 
had  most  needlessly  put  it;  "no,"  said  he,  "Jerry,  get  it 
on  credit  wherever  you  can,  and  bid  them  score  it  to  me." 

"  If  they  will,"  said  Jerry. 

"  Shut  the  door,"  said  Jack  Ginger  in  a  peremptory 
tone,  and  Jerry  retreated. 

"That  Jerry,"  said  Jack,  "is  an  uncommonly  honest 
fellow,  only  he  is  the  damnedest  rogue  in  London.  But 
all  this  is  wasting  time,  and  time  is  Ufe.  Dinner  is  over, 
and  the  business  of  the  evening  is  about  to  begin.  So 
bumpers,  gentlemen,  and  get  rid  of  this  wine  as  fast  as  we 
can.     Mr.  Vice,  look  to  your  bottles." 

And  on  this  Jack  Ginger  gave  a  bumper  toast. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

HOW   WE   CONVERSED    AT   JACK   GINGER's. 

This  being  done,  every  man  pulled  in  his  chair  close  to  the 
table,  and  prepared  for  serious  action.  It  was  plain  that 
we  all,  like  Nelson's  sailors  at  Trafalgar,  felt  called  upon 
to  do  our  duty.  The  wine  circulated  with  considerable 
rapidity ;  and  there  was  no  flinching  on  the  part  of  any 
individual  of  the  company.     It  was  quite  needless  for  our 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  363 

president  to  remind  us  of  the  necessity  of  bumpers,  or  the 
impropriety  of  leaving  heel-taps.  We  were  all  too  well 
trained  to  require  the  admonition  or  to  fall  into  the  error. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  chance  of  any  man  obtaining  more 
than  his  share  in  the  round  was  infinitesimally  small.  The 
Sergeant  himself,  celebrated  as  he  is,  could  not  have  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  a  glass  more  than  his  neighbours. 
Just  to  our  friends,  we  were  also  just  to  ourselves ;  and  a 
more  rigid  circle  of  philosophers  never  surrounded  a  board. 
The  wine  was  really  good,  and  its  merits  did  not  appear 
the  less  striking  from  the  fact  that  we  were  not  habitually 
wine-bibbers,  our  devotion  generally  being  paid  to  fluids 
more  potent  or  more  heavy  than  the  juice  of  the  grape,  and 
it  soon  excited  our  powers  of  conversation.  Heavens ! 
What  a  flow  of  soul !  More  good  things  were  said  in  Jack 
Ginger's  chambers  that  evening  than  in  the  House  of 
Lords  and  Commons  in  a  month.  We  talked  of  every- 
thing— politics,  literature,  the  fine  arts,  drama,  high  life, 
low  life,  the  opera,  the  cockpit — everything  from  the  heavens 
above  to  the  hells  in  St.  James's  Street.  There  was  not  an 
article  in  a  morning,  evening,  or  weekly  paper  for  the  week 
before  which  we  did  not  repeat.  It  was  clear  that  our 
knowledge  of  things  in  general  was  drawn  in  a  vast  degree 
from  those  recondite  sources.  In  politics  we  were  har- 
monious— we  were  Tories  to  a  man,  and  defied  the  Radicals 
of  all  classes,  ranks,  and  conditions.  We  deplored  the 
ruin  of  our  country,  and  breathed  a  sigh  over  the  depres- 
sion of  the  agricultural  interest.  We  gave  it  as  our  opinion 
that  Don  Miguel  should  be  king  of  Portugal,  and  that  Don 
Carlos,  if  he  had  the  pluck  of  the  most  nameless  of  insects, 
could  ascend  the  throne  of  Spain.  We  pitched  Louis 
Philippe  to  that  place  which  is  never  mentioned  to  ears 
polite,  and  drank  the  health  of  the  Duchess  of  Berri. 
Opinions  differed  somewhat  about  the  Emperor  of  Russia, 
some  thinking  that  he  was  too  hard  on  the  Poles,  others 
gently  blaming  him  for  not  squeezing  them  much  tighter. 
Antony   Harrison,  who  had  seen  the  Grand   Duke  Con- 


364  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

stantine  when  he  was  campaigning,  spoke  with  tears  in 
his  eyes  of  that  illustrious  prince,  declaring  him,  with  an 
oath,  to  have  been  a  d— d  good  fellow.  As  for  Leopold, 
we  unanimously  voted  him  to  be  a  scurvy  hound ;  and 
Joe  Macgillicuddy  was  pleased  to  say  something  compli- 
mentary of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  which  would  have  no 
doubt  much  gratified  his  Royal  Highness  if  it  had  been 
communicated  to  him,  but  I  fear  it  never  reached  his  ears. 

Turning  to  domestic  policy,  we  gave  it  to  the  Whigs  in 
high  style.  If  Lord  Grey  had  been  within  hearing,  he 
must  have  instantly  resigned  ;  he  never  could  have  resisted 
the  thunders  of  our  eloquence.  All  the  hundred  and  one 
Greys  would  have  been  forgotten;  he  must  have  sunk  before 
us.  Had  Brougham  been  there,  he  would  have  been  con- 
verted to  Toryism  long  before  he  could  have  got  to  the 
state  of  tipsyfication  in  which  he  sometimes  addresses  the 
House  of  Lords.  There  was  not  a  topic  left  undiscussed. 
With  one  hand  we  arranged  Ireland,  with  another  put  the 
Colonies  in   order.      Catholic   Emancipation  was  severely  j 

condemned,  and  Bob  Burke  gave  the  glorious,  pious,  and  M 
immortal  memory.  The  vote  of  ;^2o,ooo,ooo  to  the  greasy  fl 
blacks  was  much  reprobated,  and  the  opening  of  the  China 
trade  declared  a  humbug.  We  spoke,  in  fact,  articles  that 
would  have  made  the  fortunes  of  half  a  hundred  magazines, 
if  the  editors  of  these  works  would  have  had  the  perspi- 
cacity to  insert  them ;  and  this  we  did  with  such  ease  to 
ourselves  that  we  never  for  a  moment  stopped  the  circula- 
tion of  the  bottle,  which  kept  running  on  its  round  rejoicing, 
while  we  settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation. 

Then  Antony  Harrison  told  us  all  his  campaigns  in  the 
Peninsula,  and  that  capital  story  how  he  bilked  the  tavern- 
keeper  in  Portsmouth.  Jack  Ginger  entertained  us  with 
an  account  of  his  transactions  in  the  Brazils ;  and,  as  Jack's 
imagination  far  outruns  his  attention  to  matters  of  fact,  we 
had  them  considerably  improved.  Bob  Burke  gave  us  all 
the  particulars  of  his  duel  with  Ensign  Brady  of  the  48th,' 
and  how  he  hit  him  on  the  waistcoat  pocket,  which,  fortu- 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  365 

nately  for  the  ensign,  contained  a  five-shilling  piece  (how 
he  got  it  was  never  accounted  for),  which  saved  him  from 
grim  death.  From  Joe  Macgillicuddy  we  heard  multifarious 
narrations  of  steeple-chases  in  Tipperary,  and  of  his  hunting 
with  the  Blazers  in  Galway.  Tom  Meggot  expatiated  on  his 
college  adventures  in  Edinburgh,  which  he  maintained  to 
be  a  far  superior  city  to  London,  and  repeated  sundry  witty 
sayings  of  the  advocates  in  the  Parliament  House,  who 
seem  to  be  gentlemen  of  great  facetiousness.  As  for  me,  I 
emptied  out  all  Joe  Miller  on  the  company  ;  and,  if  old  Joe 
could  have  burst  his  cerements  in  the  neighbouring  church- 
yard of  St.  Clement  Danes,  he  would  have  been  infinitely 
delighted  with  the  reception  which  the  contents  of  his 
agreeable  miscellany  met  with.  To  tell  the  truth,  my  jokes 
were  not  more  known  to  my  companions  than  their  stories 
were  to  me.  Harrison's  campaigns.  Ginger's  cruises, 
Burke's  duel,  Macgillicuddy's  steeple-chases,  and  Tom 
Meggot's  rows  in  the  High  Street,  had  been  told  over  and 
over ;  so  often,  indeed,  that  the  several  relaters  begin  to 
believe  that  there  is  some  foundation  in  fact  for  the  wonders 
which  they  are  continually  repeating. 

"  I  perceive  this  is  the  last  bottle  of  port,"  said  Jack 
Ginger;  "so  I  suppose  that  there  cannot  be  any  harm  in 
drinking  bad  luck  to  Antony  Harrison's  wine-merchant, 
who  did  not  make  it  the  dozen." 

"  Yes,"  said  Harrison,  "  the  skinflint  thief  would  not 
stand  more  than  the  half,  for  which  he  merits  the  most 
infinite  certainty  of  non-payment." 

(You  may  depend  upon  it  that  Harrison  was  as  good  as 
his  word,  and  treated  the  man  of  bottles  according  to  his 
deserts.) 

The  port  was  gathered  to  its  fathers,  and  potteen  reigned 
in  its  stead.  A  most  interesting  discussion  took  place  as  . 
to  what  was  to  be  done  with  it.  No  doubt,  indeed,  existed 
as  to  its  final  destination  ;  but  various  opinions  were 
broached  as  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was  to  make  its  way 
to  its  appointed  end.     Some  wished  that  every  man  should 


366  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

make  for  himself;  but  that  Jack  Ginger  strenuously  opposed, 
because  he  said  it  would  render  the  drinking  unsteady. 
The  company  divided  into  two  parties  on  the  great  ques- 
tions of  bowl  or  jug.  The  Irishmen  maintained  the  cause 
of  the  latter.  Tom  Meggot,  who  had  been  reared  in  Glas- 
gow, and  Jack  Ginger,  who  did  not  forget  his  sailor  propen- 
sities, were  in  favour  of  the  former.  Much  erudition  was 
displayed  on  both  sides,  and  I  believe  I  may  safely  say 
that  every  topic  that  either  learning  or  experience  could 
suggest  was  exhausted.  At  length  we  called  for  a  division, 
when  there  appeared — 

For  the  jug.  For  the  bowl. 

Bob  Burke.  Jack  Ginger. 

Joe  Macgillicuddy,  Humpy  Harlow. 

Antony  Harrison.  Tom  Meggot. 
Myself. 

Majority  i  in  favour  of  the  jug.  I  was  principally  moved 
to  vote  as  I  did  because  I  deferred  to  the  Irishmen  as 
persons  who  were  best  acquainted  with  the  nature  of 
potteen,  and  Antony  Harrison  was  on  the  same  side  from 
former  recollections  of  his  quarterings  in  Ireland.  Humpy 
Harlow  said  that  he  made  it  a  point  always  to  side  with  the 
man  of  the  house. 

"It  is  settled,"  said  Jack  Ginger;  "and,  as  we  said  of 
Parliamentary  Reform,  though  we  opposed  it,  it  is  now 
law,  and  must  be  obeyed.  I'll  clear  away  these  marines, 
and  do  you.  Bob  Burke,  make  the  punch.  I  think  you 
will  find  the  lemons  good,  the  sugar  superb,  and  the  water 
of  the  Temple  has  been  famous  for  centuries." 

"And  I'll  back  the  potteen  against  any  that  ever  came 
from  the  Island  of  Saints,"  said  Bob,  proceeding  to  his 
duty,  which  all  who  have  the  honour  of  his  acquaintance 
will  admit  him  to  be  well  qualified  to  perform.  He  made 
it  in  a  couple  of  big  blue  water-jugs,  observing  that  making 
punch  in  small  jugs  was  nearly  as  great  a  bother  as  ladling 
from  a  bowl;  and,  as  he  tossed  the  steamy  fluid  from  jug  to 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  367 

jug  to  mix  it  kindly,  he  sang  the  pathetic  ballad  of  Hugger- 
mo-fane  : 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  red  herring's  tail,"  &c. 

It  was  an  agreeable  picture  of  continued  use  and  ornament, 
and  reminded  us  strongly  of  the  Abyssinian  maid  of  the 
Platonic  poetry  of  Coleridge. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HOW    HUMPY    HARLOW    BROKE    SILENCE    AT    JACK    GINGER's. 

The  punch  being  made,  and  the  jug  revolving,  the  conver- 
sation continued  as  before.  But  it  may  have  been  observed 
that  I  have  not  taken  any  notice  of  the  share  which  one  of 
the  party,  Humpy  Harlow,  took  in  it.  The  fact  is  that  he 
had  been  silent  for  almost  all  the  evening,  being  out- 
blazed  and  overborne  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  conversation 
of  his  companions.  We  were  all  acknowledged  wits  in  our 
respective  lines,  whereas  he  had  not  been  endowed  with 
the  same  talents.  How  he  came  among  us  I  forget,  nor 
did  any  of  us  know  well  who  or  what  he  was.  Some  main- 
tained he  was  a  drysalter  in  the  City ;  others  surmised  that 
he  might  be  a  pawnbroker  at  the  West  End.  Certain  it 
is  that  he  had  some  money,  which  perhaps  might  have 
recommended  him  to  us,  for  there  was  not  a  man  in  the 
company  who  had  not  occasionally  borrowed  from  him  a 
sum  too  trifling,  in  general,  to  permit  any  of  us  to  think  of 
repaying  it.  He  was  a  broken-backed  little  fellow,  as  vain 
of  his  person  as  a  peacock,  and  accordingly  we  always 
called  him  Humpy  Harlow,  with  the  spirit  of  gentlemanlike 
candour  which  characterised  all  our  conversation.  With 
a  kind  feeling  towards  him,  we  in  general  permitted  him  to 
pay  our  bills  for  us  whenever  we  dined  together  at  tavern 
or  chop-house,  merely  to  gratify  the  little  fellow's  vanity, 
which  I  have  already  hinted  to  be  excessive. 

He  had  this  evening  made  many  ineffectual  attempts  to 


368  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

shine,  but  was  at  last  obliged  to  content  himself  with  open- 
ing his  mouth  for  the  admission,  not  for  the  utterance,  of 
good  things.  He  was  evidently  unhappy,  and  a  rightly 
constituted  mind  could  not  avoid  pitying  his  condition. 
As  jug,  however,  succeeded  jug,  he  began  to  recover  his 
self-possession ;  and  it  was  clear,  about  eleven  o'clock, 
when  the  fourth  bottle  of  potteen  was  converting  into 
punch,  that  he  had  a  desire  to  speak.  We  had  been  for 
some  time  busily  employed  in  smoking  cigars,  when,  all  on 
a  sudden,  a  shrill  and  sharp  voice  was  heard  from  the 
midst  of  a  cloud,  exclaiming,  in  a  high  treble  key: — 

"  Humphries  told  fue" — 

We  all  puffed  our  Havannahs  with  the  utmost  silence,  as 
if  we  were  so  many  Sachems  at  a  palaver,  listening  to  the 
narration  which  issued  from  the  misty  tabernacle  in  which 
Humpy  Harlow  was  enveloped.  He  unfolded  a  tale  of 
wondrous  length,  which  we  never  interrupted.  No  sound 
was  heard  save  that  of  the  voice  of  Harlow,  narrating  the 
story  which  had  to  him  been  confided  by  the  unknown 
Humphries,  or  the  gentle  gliding  of  the  jug,  an  occasional 
tingle  of  a  glass,  or  the  soft  suspiration  of  the  cigar.  On 
moved  the  story  in  its  length,  breadth,  and  thickness,  for 
Harlow  gave  it  to  us  in  its  full  dimensions.  He  abated  it 
not  a  jot.  The  firmness  which  we  displayed  was  unequalled 
since  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  We  sat  with  determined 
countenances,  exhaling  smoke  and  inhaling  punch,  while 
the  voice  still  rolled  onward.  At  last  Harlow  came  to  an 
end ;  and  a  Babel  of  conversation  burst  from  lips  in  which 
it  had  been  so  long  imprisoned.  Harlow  looked  proud  of 
his  feat,  and  obtained  the  thanks  of  the  company,  grateful 
that  he  had  come  to  a  conclusion.  How  we  finished  the 
potteen,  converted  my  bottle  of  rum  into  a  bowl  (for  here 
Jack  Ginger  prevailed),  how  Jerry  Gallagher,  by  super- 
human exertions,  succeeded  in  raising  a  couple  of  hundred 
of  oysters  for  supper ;  how  the  company  separated,  each  to 
get  to  his  domicile  as  he  could ;  how  I  found  in  the  morn- 
ing  my  personal   liberty  outraged    by  the   hands   of  that 


I 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  369 

unconstitutional  band  of  gens-d'-armes  created  for  the  direct 
purposes  of  tyranny,  and  held  up  to  the  indignation  of  all 
England  by  the  weekly  eloquence  of  the  Dispatch  ;  how  I 
was  introduced  to  the  attentiori  of  a  magistrate,  and  recorded 
in  the  diurnal  page  of  the  newspaper — all  this  must  be  left 
to  other  historians  to  narrate. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHAT   STORY    IT   WAS   THAT    HUMPY   HARLOW   TOLD    AT 
JACK    ginger's. 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  day  after  the  dinner,  Antony 
Harrison  and  I  found  ourselves  eating  bread  and  cheese, 
part  of  the  cheese,  at  Jack  Ginger's.  We  recapitulated  the 
events  of  the  preceding  evening,  and  expressed  ourselves 
highly  gratified  with  the  entertainment.  Most  of  the  good 
things  we  had  said  were  revived,  served  up  again,  and 
laughed  at  once  more.  We  were  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  parts  which  we  had  respectively  played,  and  talked  our- 
selves into  excessive  good-humour.  All  on  a  sudden,  Jack 
Ginger's  countenance  clouded.  He  was  evidently  puzzled  ; 
and  sat  for  a  moment  in  thoughtful  silence.  We  asked  him 
with  Oriental  simplicity  of  sense,  "Why  art  thou  troubled?" 
and  till  a  moment  he  answered  : — 

"What  was  the  story  which  Humpy  Harlow  told  us 
about  eleven  o'clock  last  night,  just  as  Bob  Burke  was 
teeming  the  last  jug?" 

"  It  began,"  said  I,  "  with  '  Humphries  told  me!  " 

"  It  did,"  said  Antony  Harrison,  cutting  a  deep  incision 
into  the  cheese. 

"  I  know  it  did,"  said  Jack  Ginger ;  "  but  what  was  it 
that  Humphries  had  told  him?  I  cannot  recollect  it  if  I 
waste  be  made  Lord  Chancellor." 

Antony  Harrison  and  I  mused  in  silence,  and  racked  our 
brains,  but  to  no  purpose.     (Jn  the  tablet  of  our  memories 

VOL.  I.  2  A 


370  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL. 

no  trace  had  been  engraved,  and  the  tale  of  Humphries, 
as  reported  by  Harlow,  was  as  if  it  were  not  so  far  as  we 
were  concerned. 

While  we  were  in  this  perplexity  Joe  Macgillicuddy  and 
Bob  Burke  entered  the  room. 

"  We  have  been  just  taking  a  hair  of  the  same  dog,"  said 
Joe.  "It  was  a  pleasant  party  we  had  last  night.  Do  you 
know  what  Bob  and  I  have  been  talking  of  for  the  last  half 
hour  ? " 

We  professed  our  inability  to  conjecture. 

"  Why,  then,"  continued  Joe,  '•'  it  was  about  the  story 
that  Harlow  told  last  night." 

"  The  story  begins  with  '  Humphries  told  me,'  "  said  Bob. 

"And,"  proceeded  Joe,  "  for  our  lives  we  cannot  recollect 
what  it  was." 

"Wonderful !  "  we  all  exclaimed.  "  How  inscrutable  are 
the  movements  of  the  human  mind  !  " 

And  we  proceeded  to  reflect  on  the  frailty  of  our 
memories,  moralising  in  a  strain  that  would  have  done 
honour  to  Dr.  Johnson. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I,  "  Tom  Meggot  may  recollect  it." 

Idle  hope  !  dispersed  to  the  winds  almost  as  soon  as  it  ' 
was  formed.  For  the  words  had  scarcely  passed  "  the 
bulwark  of  my  teeth  "  when  Tom  appeared,  looking  ex- 
cessively bloodshot  in  the  eye.  On  inquiry  it  turned  out 
that  he,  like  the  rest  of  us,  remembered  only  the  cabalistic 
words  which  introduced  the  tale,  but  of  the  tale  itself 
nothing. 

Tom  had  been  educated  in  Edinburgh,  and  was  strongly 
attached  to  what  he  calls  metaphcesicks ;  and,  accordingly, 
after  rubbing  his  forehead,  he  exclaimed — 

"  This  is  a  psychological  curiosity  which  deserves  to  be 
developed.  I  happen  to  have  half  a  sovereign  about  me  ' 
(an  assertion  which,  I  may  remark  in  passing,  excited 
considerable  surprise  in  his  audience) ;  "and  I'll  ask  Harlow 
to  dine  with  me  at  the  Rainbow.  I'll  get  the  story  out  of 
the  humpy  rascal,  and  no  mistake." 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  371 

We  acquiesced  in  the  propriety  of  this  proceeding ;  and 
Antony  Harrison,  observing  that  he  happened  by  chance  to 
be  disengaged,  hooked  himself  on  Tom,  who  seemed  to 
have  a  sort  of  national  antipathy  to  such  a  ceremony,  with 
a  talent  and  alacrity  that  proved  him  to  be  a  veteran, 
warrior,  or  what,  in  common  parlance,  is  called  an  old 
soldier. 

Tom  succeeded  in  getting  Harlow  to  dinner,  and 
Harrison  succeeded  in  making  him  pay  the  bill,  to  the  great 
relief  of  Meggot's  half-sovereign  ;  and  they  parted  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning.  The  two  Irishmen  and  myself 
were  at  Ginger's  shortly  after  breakfast ;  we  had  been  part 
occupied  in  tossing  halfpence  to  decide  which  of  us  was  to 
send  out  for  ale,  when  Harrison  and  Meggot  appeared. 
There  was  conscious  confusion  written  in  their  countenances. 
"  Did  Humpy  Harlow  tell  you  that  story  ?  "  we  all  exclaimed 
at  once. 

"  It  cannot  be  denied  that  he  did,"  said  Meggot.  "  Pre- 
ciselv  as  the  clock  struck  eleven,  he  commenced  with 
'  Humphries  told  me.'  " 

"  Well ;  and  what  then  ?  " 

"Why,  there  it  is,"  said  Antony  Harrison.  "May  I  be 
drummed  out  if  I  can  recollect  another  word." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Meggot. 

The  strangeness  of  this  singular  adventure  made  a  deep 
impression  on  us  all.  We  were  sunk  in  silence  for  some 
minutes,  during  which  Jerry  Gallacher  made  his  appearance 
with  the  ale,  which  I  omitted  to  mention  had  been  lost  by 
Joe  Macgillicuddy.  We  sipped  that  British  beverage,  much 
abstracted  in  deep  thought.  The  thing  appeared  to  us 
perfectly  inscrutable.  At  last  I  said  :  "  This  will  never  do  ; 
we  cannot  exist  much  longer  in  this  atmosphere  of  doubt 
and  uncertainty.  We  must  have  it  out  of  Harlow  to-night, 
or  there  is  an  end  of  all  the  grounds  and  degrees  of  belief, 
opinion,  and  assent.  I  have  credit,"  said  I,  "at  the 
widow's  in  St.  Martin's  Lane.  Suppose  we  all  meet  t'nere 
to-night,  and  get  Harlow  there  if  we  can  ?" 


372  A  STORY  WITHOUT' A  TAIL. 

"  That  I  can  do,"  said  Antony  Harrison,  "  for  I  quartered 
myself  to  dine  with  him  to-day,  as  I  saw  him  home,  poor 
little  fellow,  last  night.  I  promise  that  he  figures  at  the 
widow's  to-night  at  nine  o'clock." 

So  we  separated.  At  nine  every  man  of  the  party  was 
in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  seated  in  the  little  back  parlour ;  and 
Harrison  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  he  brought  Harlow 
with  him,  He  ordered  a  sumptuous  supper  of  mutton 
kidneys  interspersed  with  sausages,  and  we  set  to.  At  eleven 
o'clock  precisely  the  eye  of  Harlow  brightened  ;  and,  putting 
his  pipe  down,  he  commenced  with  a  shrill  voice  : — 

"  Humphries  told  me  " — 

"  Aye,"  said  we  all  with  one  accord,  "  here  it  is — now  we 
shall  have  it — take  care  of  it  this  time." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Humpy  Harlow,  performing 
that  feat  which  by  the  illustrious  Mr.  John  Reeve  is  called 
"flaring  up." 

"  Nothing,"  we  replied,  "  nothing  :  but  we  are  anxious  to 
hear  that  story." 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  our  broken-backed  friend.  "  I 
now  recollect  that  I  did  tell  it  once  or  so  before  in  your 
company,  but  I  shall  not  be  a  butt  any  longer  for  you  or 
anybody  else." 

"  Don't  be  in  a  passion.  Humpy,"  said  Jack  Ginger. 

"Sir,"  replied  Harlow,  "I  hate  nicknames.  It  is  a  mark 
of  a  low  mind  to  use  them  ;  and,  as  I  see  I  am  brought  here 
only  to  be  insulted,  I  shall  not  trouble  you  any  longer  with 
my  company." 

Saying  this  the  little  man  seized  his  hat  and  umbrella 
and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

"  His  back  is  up,"  said  Joe  Macgillicuddy,  "and  there's 
no  use  of  trying  to  get  it  down.  I  am  sorry  he  is  gone, 
because  I  should  have  made  him  pay  for  another  round." 

But  he  was  gone,  not  to  return  again,  and  the  story 
remains  unknown ;  yea,  as  undiscoverable  as  the  hiero- 
glyphical  writings  of  the  ancient  Egyptians.  It  exists,  to 
be  sure,  in  the  breast  of  Harlow ;  but  there  it  is  buried, 


A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  TAIL.  373 

never  to  emerge  into  the  light  of  day.  It  is  lost  to  the 
world,  and  means  of  recovering  it  there,  in  my  opinion, 
exist  none.  The  world  must  go  on  without  it;  and  states 
and  empires  must  continue  to  flourish  and  to  fade  without 
the  knowledge  of  what  it  was  that  Humphries  told  Harlow. 
Such  is  the  inevitable  course  of  events. 

For  my  part,  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  what  I  have  done 
in  drawing  up  this  accurate  and  authentic  narrative,  if  I  can 
seriously  impress  on  the  minds  of  my  readers  the  perishable 
nature  of  mundane  affairs ;  if  I  can  make  them  reflect 
that  memory  itself,  the  noblest,  perhaps  the  characteristic, 
quality  of  the  human  mind  will  decay  even  while  other 
faculties  exist,  and  that,  in  the  words  of  a  celebrated  Lord 
of  Trade  and  Plantations  of  the  name  of  John  Locke,  "  we 
may  be  like  the  tombs  to  which  we  are  hastening,  where, 
though  the  brass  and  marble  remain,  yet  the  imagery  is 
defaced,  and  the  inscription  is  blotted  out  for  ever  !  " 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


PRINTED  BY  BAI.LANTVNE,  HANSON  AND  CO. 
EllINBURCH  ANU  LONDON. 


> 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


o\scv 


315 


AA    000  370  513 


3   1158  00685  6107 


c~ 


l'^' 


M 


'%: 


^^ 


'  >«s 


0 


'H^ 


^4