reflect on the uncertainty of all pursuits of the kind. "I will not,"
said he to himself, "risk any more considerable sums in such plans.
Houses and lands," said he, "are certain, real, visible, tangible
property: I will buy an estate and build a house upon it." Accordingly,
day after day did he examine those oracles of truth, the morning
newspapers; and particularly that portion of them which is the truest
of the true, the advertisements of the auctioneers. Long did he ponder
over the most desirable of investments, the most eligible of sites, the
paradises of nature, the soils which scantily concealed inexhaustible
mines, the views of hanging woods whose trees never changed their
fruits: long did he balance which it were best to possess; and at last
he was fortunate enough to be allowed to purchase one of George Robins'
most extraordinary bargains, an estate which was positively "given
away". It was nevertheless dear enough to the buyer; and the seller
had not so much reason as might be imagined to be dissatisfied with the
prodigal liberality of his agent on the occasion. The land was found
to be susceptible of no inconsiderable improvement; and the charming,
picturesque, indescribably interesting, and gothically elegant, fine,
ancient mansion, was in truth little better than an inconvenient and
incongruous pile of ruins. But as Mr. Pooledoune had, from the first,
intended to cultivate the earth in his own way, and to erect a mansion
upon his own design, these slight discrepancies did not so much signify.
The titles were actually good, and old Hurlépoer Hall was regularly
transferred, made over, granted, and assigned to its new proprietor,
John Pooledoune, esquire. It is a proud thing to be an esquire, the
owner of broad acres, to walk over fields you can call your own, to
speak of your domain and your country house, of your Hurlépoer Hall,
and the parts and appurtenances thereunto pertaining. Never did John
Pooledoune feel so elevated as when he arrived in a post-chaise to take
possession of his beautiful estate. It was only an amusing drawback,
which served to occupy his time, that he had to pull down the old hall
and re-edify it in a modern style. There was ready money, and the work
went briskly on, till at last a handsome villa stood where Hurlépoer,
or at least some of its walls, had outbraved the winds and rains two
hundred winters. It was christened Hosiery Hall by some of the poor and
envious landlords round about; but it was nevertheless a very pretty
place, and constructed on the most novel and approved principles of
architecture. The foundations were laid in Roman cement, the timbers
were steeped to saturation in Kyan's anti-dry-rot composition, and
the roof was of patent cast-iron. Nor had Mr. P. during the season
been inattentive to the cultivation of his ground. The steward, a
positive, ignorant, and impracticable ass, was dismissed the service,
for insisting upon sowing wheat, and barley, and oats; laying certain
portions fallow, and turnip-cropping other parts. The squire taking
affairs into his own hands, the farm-horses were sold, and a wonderfully
perfect steam-plough put into operation. Instead of turnips, the
cow-cabbage was introduced, and room left about every plant to allow it
to extend to its full dimensions of from eighteen to twenty-two feet in
diameter. The corn-arable was converted into plantations of beetroot for
the manufacture of sugar, and a thousand hogsheads for its reception
were ordered of the coopers. Everything went on tolerably well for a
while, except the plough, which always refused to move up hill or to go
straight on the level, and very soon denied motion in any manner, or
in any direction. Mr. Pooledoune, incensed at this misconduct, which
he attributed to the stupidity of the ploughman and the malice of the
quondam driver, who had no longer any horses to drive, and consequently
went whistling alongside, occasionally eyeing his useless whip, as if
he would gladly apply it to his master's back, in a moment of anger
took the stilts himself, to show the boors how it ought to be done.
He poked the fire and filled the kettle, and off set the machine with
a run. Unluckily there was a great stone in the line of the furrow,
against which the plough was dashed with so much force that it tilted
up, and, throwing down its unfortunate holder, dashed the burning coals
and boiling steam all over his body. Dreadfully scalded, it was many
weeks before the squire was sufficiently convalescent to leave his
room; and when he did once again visit his _ci-devant_ green fields, it
was as a cripple from the severe accident. The melancholy of autumn,
too, was upon the scene,--a melancholy untempered to him by the sight of
sweeps of ripened grain, (the yellow gold of nature,) and the busy hum
of harvest. The season had been unusually dry, and the soil was chalky.
Owing to this the cow-cabbages had not flourished, and only one here and
there was visible, and about the ordinary size of a tailor's dinner,
though with plenty of room to grow larger if it liked. The cultivation
of the beetroot was hardly more successful; still there was wherewithal
to try the experiment of sugar-making, and to this our sanguine hero
turned with his indomitable spirit. The process went on, and the roots
were crushed;--so, speedily, were his hopes. Twenty-seven barrels of
bad molasses was the produce of above eight hundred acres of the best
land belonging to Hurlépoer Hall. It was a year of dead loss, and there
was nothing left for it but to get through the winter as comfortably as
possible, and prepare for taking the field in the spring with greater
experience, and a more _improved_ system throughout.
It is a well-known fact with regard to the weather in England, that if
there be a balance of good and bad, the latter never fails to occupy
its fair proportion of foulness. As the summer had been unusually warm
and dry, the winter turned out unusually cold and wet. The rain hardly
ceased during four months, the country was a swamp, and there was not
even enough for a dry joke in the parish. One night the storm descended,
hail was shaken and lightning glanced from the wings of the mighty
tempest: it was a _perfect_ hurricane, (for hurricanes are so called
when they are most fearfully outrageous,) and blew great guns. In the
midst of the rattling, and spouting, and howling, a dreadful crash was
heard by the inhabitants of Hurlépoer villa; the walls tottered, and
they rushed forth in nakedness and desperation. Nor had they a moment
to spare; for the Roman-cement foundations gave way, the anti-dry-rot
timbers split into a thousand splinters, and the ponderous patent
iron roof descended with one awful and crushing demolition upon the
wrecks below. Poor Pooledoune was again unfortunate. Having delayed a
minute to save an electrical apparatus for making diamonds of flints
and asparagus, in which he had all but succeeded, he was struck by a
projected mass of the broken wood, and had his right arm very badly
fractured.
With these calamities terminated John Pooledoune's rural experiments.
Hurlépoer was soon again in the market, but the value of land had fallen
tremendously within the last eighteen months; and, though the auctioneer
did his utmost, that which had cost twenty thousand pounds so short a
while ago was sold for eight thousand pounds, and John's whole fortune
reduced to little more than ten. Still there was a competency; and with
the mind of a projector there is always contentment. John bought a small
ready-furnished house, about two miles out of London, and sat down under
its lowly slate roof, and all his troubles, with most philosophic apathy.
He engaged in lesser speculations with the same ardour with which he
had embarked in extensive undertakings; but the doom of the Gipsies of
Norwood was still upon him, and
"By making rich, made poor;
By making happy, miserable;
By amending, hurt;" ***
continued to mark his progress--his progress!--his retrograde progress
in life.
He had not been settled in his humble abode beyond the first quarter,
making discoveries in science of the most astonishing description, when
a railroad between Billingsgate and Blackwell drove him from his home.
Private interests must always yield to public advantages. The road
went right through Mr. Pooledoune's parlour; but then, when completed,
how easy it would be to bring, by its ready means, white-bait from the
water-side to the city; and how much toil and expense would be saved
to the citizens in having their feed without the trouble of journeying
so far for it in the heat of sultry summer. The greatest affliction
to the individual was not the deterioration which his fortune again
experienced in removing, but a calamity which had almost overwhelmed
even his steadfast soul. We have said he was on the point of realising
the most amazing discoveries in natural science. By a battery of
unlimited galvanic power, continually directed to stones abstracted
from St. Paul's Cathedral, Waterloo-bridge, and the Monument, he had
ascertained that the church was built of the fur of the _pulex_, the
bridge of butterflies' facets, and the Monument of midges' wings.
Indeed he had obtained all these creatures entire and lively, in the
course of his experiments upon decomposing the St. Paul pebbles, the
Waterloo-bridge granite, and the Monumental free-stone; and the only
difficulty which remained for solution was, that above a hundred other
unknown and undescribed insects, probably of the antediluvian world, had
been produced at the same time, and by the same means. It was hard, but
the railroad caused the destruction of this theory; and several of the
retorts being broken, the revivification interrupted, the reanimated
killed, and the whole process served out, Mr. Pooledoune never enjoyed
another opportunity for demonstrating these incomparable results.
Thousands of years may elapse before any other experimentalist succeed
to such an extent; and millions of men and philosophers of intermediate
generations will die meanwhile, ignorant of the prodigious injury done
to science and to John Pooledoune by the railroad between Billingsgate
and Blackwell.
As we descend, we diminish in the eyes of those to whom we were
distinguished objects whilst dwelling on the same or a higher
elevation:--do we not really become less and less? Pooledoune's pursuits
continued to be similar in character, in opinions, in expectations; but,
ah! how different in worldly esteem! At the Mechanics' Institutes he
was no longer promoted to the front-seats,--at the Society of Arts he
was no more invited to deliver his sentiments,--his little contribution
of insulated facts was unsought by the Statisticals,--and the British
Association was too far off, with its Edinburgh and Dublin festivities,
to meet his conveniency. Yet he devoted himself to the confusion of
knowledge; and, in order to obtain larger interest on his fading
capital, he dabbled in Mexican and Payous, and Greek loans.
Perfecting a fulminating powder to supersede the use of gunpowder, which
could not explode except by the touch of a particular preparation, an
ounce of it accidentally ignited one day, and blew out his right eye.
John's hair grew prematurely grey with such crosses, and he invented a
dye to render it beautifully black. Most of those whom he persuaded
to give it a trial were turned most curiously grizzle, green, or
yellow;[105] but, perhaps from using an inordinate quantity, his own
scalp was utterly removed, and his scull rendered as bald and shining as
a polished pewter plate, whence the meat had been removed, but not the
gravy.
He patronised Mechi's razor-strops and Hubert's roseate powder, in
consequence of which all the lower features of his face became a mass of
purulent offence.
He took to an infallible dentifrice, which preserved the enamel, and
whitened without injuring the teeth. It was a noble specific, and did
not contradict its advertisement: but all John's teeth fell out; and
though the enamel was preserved, and they were white, his gums were
exposed, empty, and red. He supplied his loss with a set of china
ornaments, which made him grin and nod like a Mandarin, but with which
he could not eat like a Christian, nor sleep like a savage.
John got poorer and poorer, shabbier and shabbier, sicklier and
sicklier. He had been blown up by gas, burnt down by steam, ruined by
railroads, cursed by every improvement on the whole pack of cards. He
was crippled in his limbs, deficient of an eye, disfigured in face and
person, and, worse than worst of all, his friends knew that he had
but little left, and less to hope for. It was not four years since
John Pooledoune had begun his career with a sound constitution, and
two-and-thirty thousand pounds of ready money,--worth sixty thousand in
any other way! Surely he was the "_Victim of Improvement_."
Nearly at last, when seen in the streets, John would point to his
waterproof shoes, and hat the better for being soaked twenty-four hours
in a washing-tub; and one noticed that his ugly-looking outer garment
was a proof Macintosh, and his patent spectacles set in cases of
india-rubber. And even his sorry truckle-bed, to which the late squire
of Hurlépoer Hall now nightly sought his obscure and darkling way, was
surmounted by a patent tick (it was double tick, for he had it on credit
from an old philosophical crony,) filled with hot water,--as had been
the brief course of the unfortunate to whom it could afford no rest.
Whether from the Macintosh preservative cloak, the waterproof shoes,
the water-filled bed, the india-rubber, or the rubs of the weather, we
have not ascertained; but poor John caught a horrid cold, and his cough
was sadly aggravated by a contrivance in his chimney for consuming its
own smoke. This the chimney resolutely refused; and, like all other
quarrels, got so incensed that it would not even carry the smoke up.
Cold, asthma, suffocation and starvation, were then the miserable
companions of the quondam wealthy John Pooledoune.
In the misery of his heart, the wretched man took to drinking. _That_
resource, under any circumstances, must very quickly have brought on the
crisis; but true to the last, John resorted to patent British brandy,
and his fate was astonishingly accelerated.
One dusky evening, in a state of inebriety, the ragged philosopher
walked, or rather staggered out. The cool air breathed upon his fevered
brow; he saw the streets illumed with gas, he witnessed the smoke
ascending from steam-engines, and, overcome by his emotions, when a
Gravesend steamer, having beautifully run down another a hundred yards
below, swept into the Adelaide Wharf he threw himself over London
Bridge, and sank in the disturbed bosom of the silver, insulted, and
persecuted Thames.
Wearily had his life dragged on for many a day, and yet it was doomed
to another drag. Before he had been two minutes in the water, this
last-mentioned combination of cards, creepers, and hooks, brought him
to the surface, having caught him by his bald pate, and he was carried
ashore in a sculler. The nearest surgeon being called in, happened to
differ from the Humane Society, and hung him up by the heels while he
administered stimulants; but John had imbibed so little of the element,
that even this treatment did not kill him. But his look was deadly, and
he was so debilitated by the medical treatment, that to be restored
was impossible; and the parish authorities of _Saint ---- _, inspecting
his sorry equipments, became alarmed lest he should die where he had
no business, and put them to the expense of a funeral. He was asked
where he lived, in order that he might also die there; and a cart being
procured, under the New Poor Law Act, he was carted towards the dismal
abode he had indicated. His road lay along the new street to the new
bridge; and, about a hundred yards down, in a dark avenue on his left,
_he_ could _not_, though others might, see the once rich and respected
tenement of his father, Roger Pooledoune, hosier and citizen of London.
The night was frosty and bleak: John's clothes were thin and wet. Had
he been taken to an old woman instead of a medical theorist, and dried
and cherished even by the commonest fire of the parish workhouse, he
would have survived his "accident:" but the law was imperative; he
must be moved to his own parish, and he was moved into the parish of
Eternity,--the parish which holds the rich and the poor, and Heaven only
knows how they are provided for. Before the cart reached the "Union,"
John Pooledoune was a corpse.
On the ensuing day but one, a coroner's inquest sat upon his body, and
one or two of the jurors were men who had known him in his prosperity.
They could hardly identify the meagre and mutilated remains; but, in
tenderness to the officials, who had killed him by doing all for the
best, they returned a verdict of "Found Drowned."
Not being conchologists, we shall not attempt to describe the shell in
which it was pretended that John Pooledoune was buried. In that shell no
muscle of his ever reposed; it held a few of the paving-stones of the
adjacent lane, which, if John had been alive to submit to his galvanic
battery, would have been demonstrated to be composed of bumble bees'
sacchyrometers. About the same hour that the stones were interred with
the solemn ritual of the church service by the chaplain, the body also
furnished the subject of a lecture by the surgeon of the workhouse
to the pupils in an adjoining hospital. The scull in particular was
singularly formed, at least it was so declared by the phrenologists,
who were allowed to claw it, and who clearly showed that the bumps
(caused by the watermen's drags) were organs of philoprogenitiveness,
amativeness, and destructiveness.
In due time a perfect skeleton of John Pooledoune was scraped and
prepared, and placed in a glass case in the museum of the hospital.
And thus was fulfilled the Gipsy's prophecy. He was "by curing, slain;"
he was "never lost on earth, alive or dead," for he was dragged from the
river and preserved in the surgeons' hall; he was "found by numbers" of
sensible coroner's inquest men! he is yet in his glass case a "bodiless
corpse, the victim of improvement, for ever to improve" the students of
anatomy. There was
"_No hand to close his eyes;
No eye to see his grave;
No grave to give him rest!_"
He is "dead, resembling Death," yet keeps "his place among the dead
and the living." "His end has not been an ending," and every one who
inspects the hospital collection may know that "he _is_ and _is not_!"
In a moral magazine such as Bentley's Miscellany it is naturally
expected that a useful and instructive inference should be drawn from
every tale; and assuredly ours needs little to point it: "_May we all be
preserved from the fascinations of Gipsies!_"
[104] All anachronisms are wilful. Witness the hand of the writer
hereof [graphic symbol: hand]. ]
[105] Three under the metamorphoses were called by their acquaintance,
the Grey Goose, the Merman, and the Yellow-haired Laddie.
--Note, passim.
THE LEGEND OF MOUNT PILATE.
Superstition is to this day a strong characteristic of the inhabitants
of the Alps. A reason for this, is easily found in the various and
imposing phenomena of Nature, to which these simple mountaineers
are daily and nightly witnesses. A storm, which on the plains would
scarcely attract attention, offers at each instant, in these lofty and
diversified regions, some new and appalling spectacle. Each clap of
thunder finds a thousand echoes, and is reverberated almost to infinity.
The lightning's flash plays not only above, but about and underneath the
beholder. Here a roaring torrent dashes past him down the precipitous
rocks, driving all before it in its impetuous course; there a sudden
whirlwind uproots the sturdy monarch of the forest, and bears it aloft,
as though it were a feather on the breeze. The heavy cloud, which one
moment envelopes the poor shepherd in its vapoury folds, in the next is
seen rolling its dense masses over the lower earth, hundreds of fathoms
beneath his feet. Nor are the calmer sublimities by which he is at other
times surrounded less calculated to speak to his imagination than the
loud voice of the bellowing tempest. The plaintive murmuring of the
vernal breeze amid the lofty pines; the deep silence of the summer's
burning noon; the fantastic changes of the fleecy cloud, whose form
is varied by every pinnacle of the mountain; the hollow and mournful
moaning of the autumnal gusts as they scatter far and wide the falling
leaves; the bright beam of the resplendent moon, across which each
jutting crag throws some grotesque shadow; and above all, the mist,
which, rising from the plains a mere mass of dull and dank vapour,
here first appears to receive life, and takes innumerable shapes and
forms, incredible to those who have never witnessed its airy evolutions!
These are the ever-varying phantasmata of nature that pass in scenic
succession before the eyes of the Alpine peasant, and add fresh fuel to
the fire of his superstitious inclinations.
It was in scenes of this inspiring character that Ossian saw his shadowy
armies, his warrior ghosts, his visionary maids, and heard the wild
music of their aërial harps. And although from the imperfectness of
our nature, we are all liable to have "our eyes made the fools of the
other senses," yet is it in these cloud-capped regions alone that the
illusions are always of a dignified order, and that poetry spreads her
veil of enchantment over the dull realities of life.
Such was the nature of my reflections after I had retired to rest upon
the night before my intended pilgrimage to Mount Pilate; and, having
made them, I slept soundly until the bright beams of a July sun darting
in at my latticed window gave me notice of the morning's growth. I arose
from my bed of leaves and rushes, and, strolling forth into the open
air, tasted the delicious sweetness of the hour. Never do I remember a
more enchanting prospect than here met my view. It seemed as if Nature
had proclaimed a universal holiday. She was abroad in her gala dress;
while Spring and Summer, her vernal and blooming handmaids,--the former
lingering as though loth to quit her mistress, the latter rushing to
anticipate her call,--appeared on either side of her, and strewed her
rosy path with freshness and fragrance. The dews of night, glistening
in the first rays of the slanting sun, spangled the green carpet of the
earth; and the tall pines, ever the first to greet the morning breeze,
gracefully bowed their dark heads to welcome day's return. Far across
the intervening lake, the flocks and herds were seen winding slowly up
the mountain's side in search of their wholesome pasture; while the
simple harmony of their bells, mingling with the wild song or whistle
of their urchin conductors, came upon my ear over the still waters in
distant snatches, and formed, with the loud melody of the feathered
minstrels close around me, a rural concert in happiest unison with the
scene. A tap on the shoulder from my venerable conductor aroused me from
my reverie. Our preparations were soon made; and with a small wallet
destined to contain the necessary provision for such a journey, and
each a long staff, pointed at one end and hooked at the other, such as
is required for the ascent and descent of the precipitous paths we were
to tread, we commenced our march. We proceeded first to Brunnen, where
we took water upon the fairest of Switzer's lakes, and before sunset
arrived at Lucerne, the town from which it takes its name. The next
morning we were again afoot betimes, and, as we jogged along, I obtained
the result of my companion's long gleanings in this fruitful land of
romance and superstition.
"First," said he, "with regard to the name[106] of this celebrated
mountain. Some have thought that it obtained the designation of Mount
Pilate from a tradition of its having been formerly peopled by a band
of Roman deserters, who sought refuge among its almost inaccessible
rocks,--the Latin word _pila_ having been often used to signify a
mountain-pass; others, that it is a corruption from _pileus_, a
hat, because its bald summit is often covered by a complete cap of
clouds,--and hence the old proverb so often quoted in this country,
"'Quand Pilate a mis son chapeau,
Le temps sera serein et beau.'
But the explanation drawing most largely upon the liberal credulity of
the simple inhabitants of the Underwald, and therefore sure to be the
best received, is the following amusing fable:
"Pontius Pilate having been condemned to death for his crimes, to avert
the shame of a public execution, committed suicide. His body being
found, was by the enraged multitude fastened to an immense weight of
stones, and thrown into the Tyber. But the spirit of that noble river,
outraged by her waters being made the deposit of so foul a carcase,
from that hour rose in foam and torrent to resent the injury; and,
interesting great Nature in her behalf, the most frightful storms and
whirlwinds, with hail, thunder, and lightning, ravaged the whole country
from the Mediterranean shores to the opposite Adriatic; nor did the
elemental uproar cease until the terrified inhabitants, by dint of
the greatest exertions, dragged the body up again, and in all haste
caused it to be conveyed as far as Vienne in Dauphiny, and there anew
committed to the deep.[107] But what was the consequence? The Rhone
would no more suffer such an insult than had the Tyber; and its blue
waters, swelling with the indignity offered them, overflowed their
natural banks, and rushed with headlong rapidity, as if to fly the spot
of pollution. No bark could live an instant on the tremendous waves,
which now so frightfully disguised this hitherto calmly majestic stream;
and the Dauphinois, like the Romans, had no remedy for the crying
evil, but, as they had done, to rid themselves and their river of such
an ill-omened guest. This was at length accomplished: but the noble
Rhone, although cleansed of his 'filthy bargain,' could not so easily
forget the deep affront; and yearly, at that very season, he has ever
since marked his undying resentment by a repetition of the same angry
demonstrations. Meantime the offending cause of all this tribulation
was secretly transported to Lausanne, and there condemned to a third
watery grave. Why a preference so little flattering was given to this
beautiful spot, is not known; but certain it is that its inhabitants,
being made acquainted with the new arrival, presaged but little good
to their '_placid Leman_' from so confirmed a disturber of the silent
waters, and before his presence could have time to create its usual
uproar, and thus prevent or impede such a measure, the body was once
more brought to land; and, a council being held, it was then determined
that a small and isolated lake,[108] situated near the summit of the
Frakmont, should be the chosen place of interment. Being situated at a
good forty leagues from their city, they would at least have little to
dread from his future operations; and the bleak and barren nature of the
soil surrounding his new residence would, as they hoped, neutralize, if
not entirely destroy, his baneful influence.
"There, then, he was finally deposited; but soon this desolate region,
as though doubly cursed by his coming, felt the dire effects of his
sojourn. The lake itself turned black; and its surrounding shores,
infected by the noxious vapours which it now emitted, could no longer
yield a wholesome herbage, but became one huge and marshy swamp,
where the rankest weeds alone could thrive. The surface of the water
was covered with the blanched bodies of its finny inhabitants; the
water-fowl that used to haunt its banks no sooner came within its
unhealthful precincts than they shared the universal doom, and fell dead
upon the earth; the venomous snake lay stiffening in the sun, conquered
by a superior poison; and the slimy toad expired in a vain attempt to
crawl from an atmosphere too fetid even for his loathsome nature.[109]
"The peasants, from their hamlets in the neighbouring plains, had marked
the striking change in the appearance of the mountain's top, which,
instead of standing out clear against the blue sky, was almost always
enveloped in a shroudy mist, or, if for a short period it could rid
itself of that encumbrance, still appeared like a heavy blot upon the
surface of the earth, reflecting no single ray of that bright sun which
beamed on all around it. Convinced that such a sudden change could
proceed but from some supernatural cause, a thousand speculations were
hazarded as to what was actually going on at the summit itself; and at
length one among them, more hardy than the rest, set out, determined to
explore the mystery. His presumption, however, was awfully punished;
for although, by dint of an extraordinary courage, he returned to his
anxious friends, yet the sights he had seen, the fright he had endured,
and the bodily exertions he had used to quicken his descent, were too
much for him. It was permitted only that he should relate to the throng
crowding around him the pestilent appearances of the once beautiful
little lake, and then ague-fits, convulsions, and a raging fever ended
the poor wretch's mortal struggles.
"Whether the circumstances of this intrusive visit added fresh fuel
to the demon's rage, or whether the moment was now come when, having
no longer within his reach any living object on which to vent his
diabolical vengeance, he became impatient of his watery incarceration,
certain it is that, from the very day of the luckless villager's return,
new sounds and sights of horror and desolation startled the whole
country around. A hollow rumbling noise, as of distant thunder or a
smothered volcano, issued, with scarcely a minute's intermission, during
the hours of light, from the mountain's summit; while the deep silence
of midnight was suddenly broken by shrieks and yells so hideous and
piercing, that, compared with them, the war-whoop of a whole nation of
Whyndots or Cherokees would have seemed soft music. Thus were announced
to the affrighted listeners the terrific struggles then making by the
foul spirit to burst his liquid bonds. At length, one luckless morn, he
succeeded in his attempt to breathe again the free air; and his first
feat was to celebrate the unholy triumph by a storm that hid the sun's
face from the world during eight and forty hours, being the exact number
of days of his forced sojourn in the lake.
"It seemed, from his remaining afterwards on this bleak and desolate
station, either that his infernal art could not compass his entire
removal from the mountain, or that he preferred it to the low grounds
on account of the advantage which its elevated situation gave him to
direct the tempests, and with greater certainty to launch the fires of
destruction upon those particular parts of the country from which he was
at the moment pleased to select his victims. Whichever of these was the
cause of his stay, he, at any rate, by force, or by choice, did remain
there for some hundreds of years; during the whole of which period
he continued more or less, and by every means within his fell power,
to vent his undying rage upon the hapless peasantry and their little
possessions. In the midst of the most terrific of the storms with which
it was his custom to visit the valleys below, the phantom himself would
sometimes be for a moment visible to one or other of the terror-struck
shepherds, and then some dreadful mortality among his flocks and herds
was sure to be the lot of the luckless wight by whom the apparition had
been seen.
"Once, during a dreadful hurricane that tore up the largest trees by
the roots, and scattered ruin and dismay abroad, the grisly fiend
was plainly seen perched upon the very highest pinnacle of his rocky
dominion, in desperate conflict with a second unearthly being, who,
by the violent gesticulations displayed on both sides, could be no
other than his once mortal enemy, the renowned King Herod. In short,
nothing could exceed either in variety or extent, the mischief caused
to the pastoral inhabitants of the two cantons of Lucerne and Underwald
by this '_Lord of the Black Mountain_,' the name by which their
demoniac tormentor was universally known. It gave them, therefore,
joy beyond expression when their good genius at last sent them some
hope of deliverance from the evil power, in the person of a pious and
learned doctor, who, being informed of the devastation, agreed to try
conclusions with the imp of Satan. This champion in the good cause
was a celebrated brother of the Rosy Cross, who had already taken the
highest degrees in the university of Salamanca, and who, having dived
deeper than his fellow students into the mysteries of the far-famed
Bactrian sage, possessed a reputation that placed him almost on a level
with Zoroaster himself. Like a good alchymist, gold was the ultimate
object of his philosophical researches; and for a sufficient sum, (to
obtain which many a poor peasant was deprived of his last kreutzer,) he
undertook to rid the country of what had been so long a scourge to it.
"He set out accordingly for the conflict; but alone and unarmed,
having refused all aid or guidance but such as his sacred mission and
his hidden knowledge gave him. The combat was long and obstinate, but
never for a moment doubtful. Arrived at the mountain's summit, the
Rosicrucian took up his station on a commanding point of the rock,
and called upon the phantom to appear before him. This simple summons
remaining unnoticed, he proceeded to a display of his cabalistic powers,
and finally brought the stubborn offender into his presence; but not
until the force of his mystic conjurations had torn the huge fragment
on which he stood from its solid base, and left it balancing on a mere
point, where, indeed, it may to this day be seen, a trembling memento of
that awful hour.
"Unable to make head against the superior prowess of his opponent,
the malignant spirit sought safety in flight but was pursued by the
victorious astrologer, who, coming up with him again on the part of the
mountain now called the Hill of Widerfield, renewed the contest with
fresh vigour; and so furious were the attack and defence on this spot,
and so violent the arts of exorcism to which the reverend champion had
recourse, that the grass beneath their feet was burnt up as by the fire
of heaven, and has never since recovered from the unnatural blight.
Success at length crowned the efforts of the holy father, who, however,
was forced to consent to a sort of honourable capitulation on the part
of the vanquished. It was therefore finally agreed between them, that
the spectre should return to his watery sepulchre, there to remain
inactive during three hundred and sixty-four days in every year. On Good
Friday alone he was to be permitted to walk abroad, clothed in those
magisterial robes which he was wont to wear when living; even then,
however, pledging himself not to overstep the limits of the mountain's
summit, and never, unless provoked by previous violence or insult, to do
harm to aught that had existence.
"This settled, he mounted a coal-black charger, which, as a ratification
of their solemn treaty, was presented to him by his conqueror, and which
on starting struck his hoof into the neighbouring rock, and left to
all eternity its huge print there. Then, with a noise that resembled
the hissing of an army of serpents, he plunged into the lake and
disappeared; nor has he ever since been known to violate the engagements
then incurred by showing himself to the world, save on the anniversary
of the day above mentioned, or when irritated beyond his bearing by the
language of abuse or some overt act of aggression, such as the throwing
of stones or other substances into his prison-lake. The treaty thus
broken, he has never failed to exercise the power still left him, and
to evince his anger by some terrific storm or inundation, which would
shortly after, and generally in the very midst of the brightest and
clearest weather, suddenly proclaim his sense of the insult offered him.
"In consequence of these infractions, by the ignorant or the
disobedient, of a treaty solemnly entered into, a general order
was issued by the competent authorities, interdicting all persons
whatsoever, under severe pains and punishments, from making the ascent
of this mountain without a special permission to that effect, from the
chief magistrate of the district, who at the same time was to appoint
proper and trustworthy guides, they being answerable with their lives
for the attention of the whole party to certain prescribed rules.[110]
The shepherds, too, by whom the lower part of the Pilate was peopled,
were obliged every year to appear before a certain tribunal, and to
take an oath that they would make no attempt to visit these prohibited
regions.[111]
"Things remained nearly in this state until the event of the
Reformation; after which both Catholic and Protestant united to remove
from the minds of the vulgar, prejudices which ages of ignorant habits
had tended to fix on them. Among the rest, in the year 1585, one
Muller, the curé of Lucerne, having appointed a day for that purpose,
and invited all who were willing so to do to accompany him, set out on
an expedition to the summit of Mount Pilate, and was followed thither
by some hundreds of his parishioners. Arrived at the so much dreaded
lake itself, he proceeded to throw into it, stones, blocks of wood, and
missiles of various descriptions, accompanying the action with words
the most likely to provoke the wrath of the redoubted fiend; but, to
the surprise of the assembled multitude, who had beheld with affright
the audacious ceremony, all remained silent,--neither sound nor sight
replied to the daring invocation, and the sky was not in consequence
overcast by a single cloud. In order to follow up the partial light
which he had thus let in upon the darkness of ages, the worthy curé soon
afterwards obtained an order from the government of Lucerne, authorizing
the draining of the lake itself,--a work which was actually begun in the
year 1594, but to which a want of the necessary funds, and other minor
causes, put a stop before it could be entirely accomplished."
I have thus repeated at some length the fabulous histories which I
that day learned during our long and laborious ascent to the summit of
the mountain in question; and I will now only add, that the various
scenes therein alluded to, as having been the theatre of the phantom's
exploits, were pointed out to me by my companion; nor could I avoid
perceiving, by the fondness with which he dwelt rather upon the
superstition itself, than such refutation as followed it, that he was
himself in no slight degree tinged with the popular belief.
[106] Its German name is Frakmont, from the Latin words "Mons fractus,"
an appellation naturally bestowed upon its broken and
irregular summit.
[107] Eusebius, in his "_Histoire Ecclesiastique_," (liv. ii. chap. 7,)
relates that, about forty years after the birth of Christ, and under the
reign of Caligula, Pontius Pilate was recalled from the government of
Judea to Rome, and, fearing the consequences with which his conduct was
threatened, he committed suicide; but he does not say where this fact
occurred. Naucler tells us that Pilate, having been banished to Lyons
by the emperor, there died by his own sword; and other authors, among
whom is Otho of Frisinguen, assert that, being exiled by Caligula, he
threw himself into the Rhone at Vienne in Dauphiny, and was drowned.
He adds, that, according to the statement of the inhabitants of that
neighbourhood, the river has ever since that period, at certain
intervals, been extremely difficult and dangerous to navigate.--(Vide
_Pa Chronique_, liv. iii. chap. 13. )
[108] This mountain lake is situated in the centre of a small forest of
dark and time-worn pines, and is surrounded by bogs and marshes. In form
it is nearly elliptical, being one hundred and fifty-four feet long, and
seventy-eight broad, and it is in no part more than four feet deep. In
the year 1560 it was measured by Cisat, and, according to his account
of its dimensions, was at that time just one-third less than it is know
known to be now; but whether his admeasurement was defective, or whether
the body of water has actually increased since that period, may be
matter of doubt.
[109] Treatise on Exorcisms, entitled "Malleus Maleficarum," (a Hammer
for Sorcerers,) by Felix Hemmerlein, Provost of Soleure; printed at
Frankfort, in 1582.
[110] Vadian's Commentaries, published at Vienna in 1518.
[111] Conservateur Suisse, vol. iv.
GLORVINA, THE MAID OF MEATH.
BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.
Ireland has had her heroines. Glorvina, the daughter of Malachi, king
of Meath, was the joy and pride of her father, yet at the same time his
anxious, never-resting care; for the Dane was in the land. The rovers
were led by Turgesius, a voluptuous prince, though advanced in years.
Turgesius approached the gate of Malachi with the smile of peace upon
his countenance, but with the thoughts of rapine in his heart. He was
hospitably received; the banquet was spread for him; and when he was
weary with feasting and hilarity, he was conducted to the richest,
softest couch.
He had not yet seen Glorvina, but he had heard of her surpassing beauty;
and one day he requested of the king that his daughter should sit at the
feast. A shade came over the brow of Malachi; but he bowed his head, and
it was gone. With a timid, yet stately step, the virgin entered the
hall. Thick and clustering, and reaching far below her tapering waist,
hung her auburn hair; her eyes were cast down; her fair skin mantled and
faded, as her colour came and went; and she spake not as she sank in
modest, graceful obeisance, to the salutation of Turgesius.
The Dane had no appetite for the banquet that day. He seemed to be
conscious of nothing but the presence of Glorvina. Alarm and ire were
painted in the countenance of the king, but Turgesius noted it not. He
never removed his eyes from the royal maid; they wandered incessantly
over her features and her form, and followed the movements of her
white, roundly-moulded arms, as she accepted or returned the cup or the
viands which were proffered for her use. Haughty for the first time
was the fair brow of Glorvina: the bold stare of man was a stranger to
her. Again and again she offered to retire, but was withheld by the
dissuasions of Turgesius, seconded by the admonishing glances of her
father. At last, however, in spite of all opposition, she withdrew.
The Dane sat abstracted with a clouded brow; deep sighs came thick and
strugglingly from his breast. Malachi tried to rouse his guest, and
succeeded at last, with the aid of the cup. Turgesius waxed wildly
joyous; he spoke of love, and of the idol before which the passion bows;
and he asked for the strain that was in unison with the tone of his
soul; the song of desire was awakened at his call; and as it flowed,
swelling and sinking with the mood of the fitful theme, the rover's
cheek flushed more and more, and his eyes more wildly flamed.
Turgesius did not sleep at the castle that night. He was summoned on a
sudden to a distance: oppression had produced reaction. In the place of
the slave, the man had started up; and the air all at once was thick
with weapons, where for months the glare of brass or of steel had not
been seen, except in the hand of the foreigner. Outposts had been driven
in; large bands were retracing steps which they had no right to take;
the sway of the freebooter was tottering. His presence saved it, and the
native again bowed sullenly to resume the yoke.
After the lapse of a few weeks, Turgesius once more drew near the
gate of Malachi. Loudly the blast of his herald demanded the customed
admission, and with impatience the Dane awaited the reply to his
summons. It came; but there was wailing in the voice of welcome, and
the visitor felt that he grew cold. The mourner received him in the
hall:--Glorvina was no more! Turgesius turned his face away from
the house of death, and departed for his own stronghold, where with
alternate sports and revels he endeavoured to assuage disappointment and
obliterate recollection.
Dusk fell. Silent and gloomy was the aisle of the royal chapel. Before
a monument, newly erected, stood a lonely figure gazing upon the name
of Glorvina, which was carved upon the stone. The figure was that of a
youth, tall, and of matchless symmetry. His arms were folded, his head
drooped, he uttered no sound; his soul was with the inmate of the narrow
house. He heard not the step of the bard who was approaching, and who
presently stood by his side unnoted by him.
Long did the reverend man gaze upon the youth without attempting to
accost him. More and more he wondered who it could be whom sorrow so
enchained in abstraction. At length the lips of the figure moved, and a
sigh, deep-drawn, ushered forth the name of Glorvina. No stranger to the
bard was the voice that fell upon his ear. "Niall!" he exclaimed. The
youth started and turned; it _was_ Niall. He threw himself upon the neck
of the bard. The flood of the eyes began to flow: he sobbed forth aloud
and incontinently the name of Glorvina!
"Niall," said the bard, as soon as the paroxysm of grief had a little
subsided,--"Niall, you are changed in form, your stature has shot up,
your shoulders have spread, and your chest has rounded. Your features,
too, I can see by this spare light, have received from manhood a stamp
which they did not bear before; but your heart, my son, is the same.
Niall in his affections has come back what he went. The Saxon has not
changed him, nor the Saxon's daughter; her golden hair has waved before
his eyes, her skin of pearl has shone upon them, the silver harp of her
voice has streamed upon his ear; but his heart hath been still with
Glorvina!"
"To what end?" passionately burst forth the youth. "Glorvina is in the
tomb!" The tears gushed again; the bard was silent.
"Where is your prophetic Psalter?" resumed Niall; "where is it? Who will
give credence to it now? Did you not say that Glorvina was the fair
maid of Meath by whom it foretold that the land was to be rescued from
the Dane; and that I was that son of my house who should be joined with
her in perilous, yet happy wedlock? This did you not say and repeat a
thousand times?--Then why do I look upon that tomb?"
"Niall," said the bard, "have faith, though you look upon the tomb of
Glorvina!" The youth shook his head.--"Have you yet seen the king?"
inquired the bard. Niall replied in the negative. "Come, then, young
man, and look upon a father's grief!"
The bard led the way towards the closet of the king. The light of the
taper streamed from the half-open door: and as Niall, by the side of
the bard, stood in the comparative darkness of the ante-chamber, he
stared upon the face of Malachi, bright with a smile at a false move at
chess which a person with whom the king was playing had just that moment
made. Niall could scarce believe his vision.--"Where is the grief of the
father?" whispered he to the bard.
"Note on!" was the old man's reply.
"He laughs!" exclaimed Niall, almost loud enough to be heard by those
within.--"Yes," said the bard; "he who wins may laugh. He has got the
game."
"And where is his child?" ejaculated Niall with a groan so audible that
Malachi heard it and started; but the bard hurried the youth from the
room.
Niall and the bard sat alone in the apartment of the latter. Sparingly
the youth partook of the repast, which was presently removed. He sat
silent, leaning his head upon his hand. At length he lifted his eyes to
the face of the bard; it was smiling like the king's, as he played the
game of chess. The young man stared; the bard smiled on.
"A strain!" cried the reverend man, and took his harp and tuned it,
and tried the chords till every string had its proper tone. "Now!" he
exclaimed, ready to begin. The young man watched the waking of the lay,
which he expected would be in unison with the mood of his soul: but,
lo! note rapidly followed note in mirthful chase, still quickening to
the close; and the countenance of Niall, overcast before with grief, now
lowered with anger.
"I list not strain like that!" he exclaimed, starting from his seat.
"You list no other, boy, from me," rejoined the old man; "it is your
welcome home."--"My home," ejaculated Niall, "is the tomb where Glorvina
sleeps the sleep of death!"
"The Psalter," said the old man solemnly, "is the promise of Destiny,
and is sure to be fulfilled."
"Why, then," asked the youth sternly,--"why, then, is Glorvina no longer
among the living?--Why in the place of her glowing cheek do I meet the
tomb?--the silence of death, instead of her voice?"
The bard made no reply, but leaned over his harp again, and spanned its
golden strings. He sang of the chase. The game was a beauteous hind;
eager was the hunter, but too swift was her light foot for his wish.
She distanced him like the wind, which at one moment brushes the cheek,
and the next will be leagues away; and now she was safe, pressing the
mossy sward in the region of the mountain and the lake, where the waters
mingle and spread one silvery sheet for the fair tall heavens to look
into.
Niall sat amazed!--conjecture and doubt seemed to divide his soul. He
sprang towards the old man, and, throwing himself at his feet, snatched
the hand that still lay upon the strings and caught it to his bosom.
Yet he spake not, save by his eyes; in the intense expression of which,
inquiry, and entreaty, and deprecation were mingled.
The old man rose and stood silent for a time, looking down benevolently
upon Niall, who seemed scarcely to breathe, watching the lips that he
felt were about to move.
"Niall," at length said the bard,--"Niall, the strength of the day
is the rest of night. Fair upon the eye of the sleeper, awakening
him, breaks the light of morning. Then he springs from his couch, and
stretches his limbs, and braces them, eager for action; and he asks
who will go with him to the field of the feat; or haply betakes him to
the road to try his strength alone; and following it through hill and
valley, moor and mead, suddenly shows his triumph-shining face to the
far friend that looked not for him!"
The bard ceased. Both he and the youth remained motionless for several
seconds, intently regarding one another. At last Niall sprang upon
his feet, and threw himself upon the neck of the old man, whose arms
simultaneously closed around the boy.
"You will sleep to-night, my son," said the bard, withdrawing himself
at length from the embrace of Niall. "The dawn shall not come to thy
casement before thou shalt hear my summons at thy door. Good-night!"
They parted.
* * * * *
By the side of a bright river strayed hand in hand two young females,
seemingly rustics. Rain had fallen. The thousand torrents of the
mountains were in play; and the general waters, swoln beyond the
capacity of their customed channel, ran hurried and ruffled.
"Who would think," remarked the younger of the two,--"who would think
that this was the river we saw yesterday?"
"'Tis changed indeed," said her companion; "but the sky that was
lowering yesterday, you see, is bright and serene to-day. Did you hear
the storm in the night?"
"No: I would I had. It would have saved me from a dream darker than any
storm."
"A dream!--Tell it me. I am a reader of dreams."
"You know," began the younger,--"you know I was brought up with the only
son of a distant branch of my father's house. I know not how it was,
but, from my earliest recollection, my foster-mother, and others as
well as she, set me down for his wife; and, strangely enough, I fancied
myself so. Yet could it be nothing more than a sister's love that I bore
him. Much he used to make of me. His pastime--even his studies--were
regulated by my will. Being older than I, he let me play the fool to
the very height of my caprice, which cost me many a chiding,--but not
from him, though he had to bear the greater portion of the consequences.
You know by his father's will he was enjoined to travel the last four
years preceding his majority. He set out the very day that I completed
my fourteenth year. I wish it had been before. I should have felt the
separation less, for indeed it cost me real agony. For months after,
they would catch me weeping: they did not know the cause; but 'twas for
him! Still I only loved him as a brother--but a dear one,--Oh, Myra! I
cannot tell you how dear!--and absence has not abated my feelings, as
you may more than guess by my dream last night."
"Look!" interrupted the other; "see you not some one through the
interval of the trees descending yonder road that winds round the foot
of the nearest mountain?"
"No," replied the former, after she had looked in the direction a moment
or two. "But attend to my dream. I thought I was married indeed, and
that he was my husband; and that we were sitting at the bridal feast,
placed on each side of my father; and there were the viands, and the
wine, and the company, and everything as plain as you are that are
standing there before me; when, all at once----"
"I see him again!" a second time interrupted the friend. "Look! don't
you catch the figure?"--"No."
"Then you'll not catch it at all now, for he has dived into the wood
through which the road runs."
"Was it a single person?"--"Yes."
"Then we have nothing to care for; so don't interrupt me in my dream
again."
"Go on with it," said the other.
"Well; we were sitting, as I said, at the bridal feast, when, turning
to speak to my father, the fiery eyes of one I hope never to see again
were glaring on me, and my father was gone; and fierce men, with
gleaming weapons waving above their heads, surrounded him to whom I had
just pledged my troth, and bore him, in spite of his struggles and my
screams, away: leaving me to the mercy of the spoiler, who straight,
methought, started up with the intent of dragging me to the couch which
had been prepared for another!"
"Do you mark," interrupted the friend, "as you increase in loudness,
the echoes waken? I heard the last word repeated as distinctly as you
yourself uttered it. But go on. Yet beware these echoes; they may be
tell-tales. What followed?"
"Oh, what harrows my soul even now! Thither, where I told you, did he
try to force me, struggling with all my might to resist him. I called on
my father,--I called on my bridegroom,--I called on every one I could
think of; but no one came to me, and fast we approached the door, on
the threshold of which to have died, I thought in my dream, would be
bliss to the horror of crossing it, and there at last we stood: but it
was shut. Yet soon it moved; and who think you it was that opened it?
Niall!--Niall himself! and no resistance did he offer to him that forced
me onward,--none, though I called to him by his name, shrieking it
louder than I am speaking now, 'Niall!--Niall!' He spoke not,--he moved
not; and I was within a foot of the very couch, when I awoke, my face
bathed in the dew of terror. 'Niall!--Niall!' did I cry, did I shriek;
and Niall was there, and I shrieked in vain--'Niall!--Niall!'----"
"Here!" cried Niall himself, springing from a copse, out of which led
a path that made a short cut across an angle of the road, and throwing
himself breathless at the feet of Glorvina.
The astonished maid stood motionless, gazing on the young man, who
remained kneeling, until her companion, taking her hand, and calling her
by her name, aroused her from the trance of astonishment.
"Come," said Myra, "let us return;" and, motioning to the young man to
follow them, she led her passive companion back to the lonely retreat
whither Malachi had transported his fair child.
Glorvina did not perfectly recover her self-possession till she arrived
at the door. Then she stopped, and turning, bent her bright gaze full
upon the wondering Niall, who moved not another step.
"Niall--if you are Niall--" said the maid. She paused, and a sigh
passed, in spite of them, the lips that would have kept it in: "If you
are the Niall," she resumed, "to whom I said farewell four years ago,
the day and the hour are not unwelcome that bring back, in health, and
strength, and happiness, the playmate of our childhood to the land of
his fathers; and we bless God that he has suffered them to shine. But
why comes Niall hither? Who taught him to doubt the testimony of the
tomb? Who directed his steps to the solitudes of the mountains, the
woods, and the lakes? Who cried, "God speed!" when his heel left the
home of my father behind it? Was it the master of that home?--was it
Malachi, my father?"
A thought that had not occurred to him before, seemed suddenly to cross
the mind of Niall. His lips that would have spoken remained motionless,
his cheek coloured, his eye fell to the feet of Glorvina; he stood
confounded and abashed.
"'Tis well!" cried the stately maid. "The tongue of Niall is yet
unacquainted with falsehood, though his feet may be no strangers to
the steps of rashness. The repast is spread; enter and partake!" and
she paused for a second or two. Niall slowly lifted his eyes till they
met those of Glorvina; apprehension and supplication mingled in the
gaze of the youth. At length, with a tone that spoke at once compassion
and resolve, the word "Depart!" found utterance; and the maid and her
companion, stepping aside, left the entrance of their lonely habitation
free, as Niall mechanically passed in.
(_To be concluded in our next._)
THE ROYAL ROSE OF ENGLAND.
AN IRISH BALLAD,
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE PRINCESS VICTORIA,
MAY 24, 1837.
BY J. A. WADE.
Tune--"_Young Love lived once._"
I.
Within a fine ould ancient pile
(Where long may splendour
And luck attend her!)
The Royal Hope of Britain's isle
Has shed her eighteenth summer's smile!
No winter mornin'
Was at her bornin',
But with the spring she did come forth,
A flow'r of Beauty, without guile,
Perfumin' sweet the neighb'rin' earth!
II.
We've seen the blossom 'pon the stem
From early childhood--
Both in the wild-wood
And in the halls where many a gem
Did sparkle from the diadem,
But always bloomin',
Without presumin'
On the rich cradle of her birth;
Her eyes beam'd softly--while from them
All _others_ gather'd love and mirth!
III.
Dear offspring of a royal race,
In this dominion
(It's my opinion)
There's not a soul that sees your face,
But prays for it sweet Heaven's grace.
May every birth-day
Be found a mirth-day,--
No clouds or tears e'er frown or weep,
But Pleasure's smile where'er you pace
Bless you for ever 'wake or 'sleep!
[Illustration: Jack outwitting Davy Jones]
NIGHTS AT SEA:
_Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War._
BY THE OLD SAILOR.
No. III.
WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
THE CHASE.--THE FORECASTLE YARN.
"Not a cloud is before her
To dim her pure light;
Not a shadow comes o'er her,
Her beauty to blight:
But she glows in soft lustre--
One star by her side--
From her throne in the azure,
Earth's beautiful bride."
A cheerless and disheartening spectacle is a dismasted ship, with all
her mass of wreck still clinging to the hull, that it once bore proudly
over the billows! 'Tis like the unfortunate abandoned by his friends,
who, however, continue to hang around him, though more to impede his way
than to retrieve his fortunes! And there lay the Spankaway, with her
long line of taper spars reversed, their heads in the water, and their
heels uppermost; and, as if in mockery of the mishap, the beautiful
bright moon showed their diminished shadows on the again smooth surface
of the ocean. The squall had passed far away to leeward, and was
dwindling to a mere speck of silvery vapour, whilst all besides was
still, and calm, and passionless.
Now it was no pleasant sight to Lord Eustace Dash and his officers to
witness the dismantling of the craft they loved; and, as the chief, it
may be naturally supposed that the chagrin of his lordship far exceeded
that of his subs: but there was one amongst them almost affected to
tears, and that was old Will Parallel, the master.
"Smack smooth to the lower caps, by ----!" said his lordship, as he
surveyed the havoc made in his dashing frigate; "not a rope-yarn above
the lower mast-heads, and--"
"Not a bit of canvass abroad big enough to make a clout for a babby,"
chimed in the old master; "spanker, jib, topsels all gone to the devil,
as 'll have no more manner o' use for 'em than a serjeant of jollies has
for a hand-bible."
"Where's Mr. ----?" shouted his lordship, and the master's mate who had
had charge of the deck stood before him. "How came all this, sir?"
"It was a white squall, my lord," returned the young man addressed; "not
a soul saw it till it caught the ship, and the topmasts went over the
side immediately."
"I shall inquire into the fact presently, sir," rejoined his lordship,
excessively vexed and mortified. "Turn the hands up--clear the wreck!"
"Hands up--clear the wreck!" shouted the first lieutenant.
"Hands up--clear the wreck!" repeated the master's mate.
"Boatswain's mate, pipe 'Clear the wreck!'" reiterated the midshipmen.
"Twhit! twhit!" went the call; and, "Clear wreck, a-hoy!" vociferated
Jack Sheavehole, in a voice resembling the roar of the bellows of an
anchor-forge. The summons, however, was hardly necessary, as every soul
had _tumbled_ up at the moment the frigate righted; and all turned to
with a hearty goodwill to repair damages, every officer and man using
his best exertions.
"The squall spoilt our fun, master," said the first lieutenant to
old Parallel, as the latter was superintending the preparations for
unrigging the old, and rigging the new spare topmasts.
"Ay! ay! 'twas an onfortunate _blow_ to the harmony of the evening; but
it will do for an incident for Nugent," responded the veteran. "Where's
his fine lady curtcheying to herself in a mirror now? If he had stuck
to plain matter-of-fact, mayhap the spars would have behaved better;
though, arter all, it's a marcy they were so carroty, or mayhap her
ladyship might have curtcheyed so low as to have gone to the bottom."
That night was a night of arduous but light-hearted toil; no man shrunk
from his task; and, when they piped to breakfast next morning, the
frigate was once more all ataunt'o, with royals and studding-sails set,
in chase of a large ship of warlike appearance that was seen in the
north-west, running away large, apparently bound in for Toulon.
"Foretopsel-yard, there!" shouted Lord Eustace, from the quarter-deck.
"What do you make of her, Mr. Nugent?"
"She's nearly end on, my lord," responded the young lieutenant, as,
steadying himself by the topsail-tie, he directed his glass towards the
stranger; and then, in a few minutes, added, "She spreads a broad cloth,
my lord; and, from the cut of her canvass, I should most certainly
say----" and he paused to take another look.
"I'd take my daffy on it, Mr. Nugent," said the look-out man, "her
topsels are more hollowed out than ourn; her royals never came out of a
British dock-yard; and I'd bet my six months' whack again a scupper-nail
that she's a Frenchman, and a large frigate too."
"Well, what is she, Nugent?" shouted the noble captain. "Can you see
down to her courses!"
"Yes, my lord," responded the lieutenant; "we shall, I hope, have her
hull in sight before long, as I have no hesitation in saying--that is,
my lord, I think she's an enemy frigate."
This annunciation was heard fore and aft; for, during the time of his
lordship hailing, every whisper was hushed, and scarcely even a limb
moved, lest the listener should lose the replies. Expectations had been
raised that the vessel in sight might be a French transport, from the
Egyptian coast, or perhaps a merchantman; but the chance of an enemy's
frigate was indeed joyous news. Breakfast was hastily despatched; the
mess-kits were speedily stowed away, and the boatswain's shrill call
echoed amongst the canvass as he piped "Make sail, ahoy!" In an instant
every man was at his station; every yard of cloth that could catch
a breath of wind was packed upon the Spankaway, who seemed to glide
along through the water just as easy as when she first started from the
buttered slips. Indeed, Jack Sheavehole declared that "she wur all the
better for the spree she'd had the night afore."
An exciting period is the time of chase, and it is extremely interesting
to observe the anxious looks of the officers as they eye the trim of
the sails, and the ready attention of the tars as they execute the
most minute command, as if everything depended on their own individual
exertions. The usual routine of duty frequently gives place to the
all-absorbing stimulus which actuates every mind alike; and, as the
seamen group themselves together, they spin their yarns of battles and
captures, and calculate their share of the amount of prize-money before
they engage the enemy, totally regardless of the advice in the "Cook's
Oracle," viz. "First catch an eel, and then skin him." But what have
they to do with the "Cook's Oracle," when every man is by rotation cook
of the mess in his own natural right, and "gets the plush (overplus) of
grog?"
All day the chase continued; and the Spankaway overhauled the stranger
so as materially to lessen the distance between them: in fact, her hull
could be plainly discerned from the deck, and there was no longer any
doubt of her national character. In the afternoon permission was given
to take the hammocks below, but not a man availed himself of it; they
were therefore re-stowed in readiness for that engagement which all
hearts were eager for, all hands itching to begin. Evening closed in,
and keen eyes were employed to keep sight of the enemy. The men lay down
at their quarters; some to take a nigger's sleep,--one eye shut and the
other open; some to converse in good audible whispers; some leaning out
at the ports, and watching the moonbeams reflected on the waters, whilst
the hissing and chattering noise made by the progress of the ship was
sweet music to their ears.
It was a lovely night for contemplation,--but what did Jack want with
contemplation whilst an enemy's frigate was in sight? The breeze was
light enough to please a lady,--it would have scarcely vibrated the
cords of an Æolian lyre: but this was not the breeze for our honest
tars; they wanted to hear the gale thrilling through the harpstrings of
the standing rigging, with a running accompaniment of deep bass from the
ocean, as their counter, set in sea, trebled the piping noise of the
wind. Yet there was one satisfaction; the Frenchman had no more than
themselves, and they carried every fresh capful along with them before
it reached the chase. The full round moon tried her best endeavour to
make her borrowed radiance equally as luminous as that of the glorious
orb which so generously granted the loan, with only one provision,
that a certain rate of interest should be paid to the earth; but the
old girl on this night tried to sport the principal. The waters were
lucidly clear, and the mimic waves on its surface would scarcely have
been a rough sea to that model of a Dutch dogger--a walnut-shell. Yet
the Spankaway was stealing along some seven knots an hour, and the sails
just slept a dreamer's sleep.
On the forecastle--that post of honour to a seaman, where the tallest
and the best of Britain's pride are always to be found--men who can
take the weather-wheel, heave the lead, splice a cable, or furl a
foresail,--the A. B.'s of the royal navy,--on the forecastle, just
in amidships, before the mast, sat our old friend, Jack Sheavehole,
Sam Slick, the ship's tailor, Joe Nighthead, Mungo Pearl, a negro
captain of the sweepers, Jemmy Ducks, the poulterer, Bob Martingal, a
forecastleman, and several others, who were stationed at the foremost
guns.
"I just tell you what it is, Jack," said Bob Martingal, continuing a
dispute that had arisen, "I tell you what it is; some on you is as
onbelieving as that 'ere Jew as they've legged down so much again, and
who, they say, is working a traverse all over the world to this very
hour, with a billy-goat's beard afore him as long as a chafing mat. But,
take care, my boyo, you arn't conwincetecated some o' these here odd
times, when you least expects it."
"Onbelieving about what, Bob?" responded the boatswain's mate.
"Onbelieving 'cause we don't hoist in all your precious tough yarns as
'ud raise a fellow's hair on eend, and make his head look a mainshroud
dead-eye stuck round with marlin'-spikes?"
"Or a cushionful of pins," chimed in Sam Slick.
"Or a duck with his tail up," added the poulterer.
"Hould your precious tongues, you lubbers!--what should you know about
the build and rig of a devil's own craft? retorted Bob, addressing the
two officials. "My messmate here, and that's ould Jack, has got a good
and nat'ral right to calculate the jometry of the thing, seeing as he
has sarved his life to the ocean, man and boy, and knows an eyelet-hole
from a goose's gun-room, which, I take it, is more nor both on you
together can diskiver either in the twist of a button-catcher or the
drawing of a pullet. But I'm saying, Jack, you are onbelieving,--else
why do you misdoubt the woracity of my reckoning."
"'Cause you pitches it too strong, Bob," answered the boatswain's mate;
"your reck'ning is summut like ould Blowhard's, as keeps the Duncan's
Head at Castle-rag,--chalks two for one. Spin your yarns to the marines,
Bob; they'll always believe you. Cause why?--they expects you'll just
hould on by their monkey-tails in return."
"Monkey-tails or no monkey-tails arn't the question," returned Bob with
some warmth; "it's the devil's tail as I'm veering away upon, and----"
"I'm blessed if it won't bring you up all standing with a roundturn
round your neck some o' these here days," uttered Jack, interrupting him.
"Never mind that," returned Bob with a knowing shake of the head; "I
shall uncoil it again, if he arn't got the king's broad arrow on the end
on it. But mayhap, then, you won't believe as there is such a justice o'
peace as ould Davy?"
"Do I believe my catechiz as I forgot long ago?" responded old Jack.
"Why, yes, messmate, I wooll believe that there is a consarn o' the
kind; but not such a justice o' peace as you'd make of him, rigged out
in one o' your 'long-shore clargy's sky-scraper shovel-nosed trucks,
leather breeches, and top-boots! I tell you it won't do, Bob, in the
regard o' the jography o' the matter. Why, where the h--is he to coil
away his outrigger in a pair of tight leather rudder casings over his
starn? Ax the tailor there whether it arn't onpossible. And how could
he keep top-boots on to his d--d onprincipled shanks, as are no better
in the fashion of their cut than a couple of cow's trotters? And what
single truck would fit two mast-heads at once, seeing as he al'ays
carries a pair of horns as big as a bull's. No, no, Bob; you wants
to make a gentleman of the picarooning wagabone, when everybody as
knows anything about him knows he's a thundering blagguard, as my ould
captain, Sir Joseph Y--ke, used to say in one of his beautiful sarmons,
'he goes cruising about seeking to devour a roaring lion,' and that's
no child's play anyhow! But, howsomever, a yarn's a yarn, ould chap; so
lather-away with your oak stick: I'll hoist in all I can, just to confar
a favour on you; and, as for the rest, why I'll let it go by the run."
"I must crave permission to put in a word, since I have been
professionally appealed to," said Sam Slick with becoming gravity, and
smoothing down the nap of his sleeping-jacket. "With respect to the
breeches,--wash-leather, after they have been worn for some time, will
give and stretch, and----"
"Come, none o' your stretching, Sam," chimed in Jemmy Ducks. "What
you've got to show is, whether you can stow a cable in a hen-coop."
"Not exactly," returned Sam; "for I'm sure Mister Sheavehole must allow
that the capacity and capability of a pair of leather breeches----"
"I shan't never allow no such consarns as them 'ere!" exclaimed Jack.
"Do, Bob, get on with your yarn, and clap a stopper on the lubber's
jawing-gear."
"Well, since you've put me upon it by misdoubting my woracity," said
Bob, "why, I'll up and tell you a thing or two. Which on you has ever
been down to Baltimore?"
"I have," returned a forecastleman, impatient to wedge in a word or two.
"I was there onest in a ship transport, and our jolly-boat broke adrift
in the night, and went ashore without leave; and so, next morning, we
sees her lying on the beach all alone, as if she'd been a liberty-boy
hard up in the regard o' the whiskey. And so the second mate and a party
goes to launch her: but some wild Ingines, only they warn't quite black,
came down, and wouldn't let us lay a finger on her till we'd paid summut
for hauling her up, which was all nat'ral in course; but the second mate
hadn't never got not a single copper whatsomever about him, and so he
orders us to launch her whether or no, Tom Collins; and, my eyes! but
they did kick up a shindy, jabbering in a lingo like double Dutch coiled
again the sun; and says one on 'em, seeing as we were man-handling the
boat, says he, 'Arrah, Tim, call to de boys to bring down de shticks----
'"
"You means Baltimore in Ireland," uttered Bob, with some degree of
contempt, "and I means Baltimore in the United States o' Maryland, where
the river runs along about three leagues out of Chesapeake Bay,--and a
pretty place it is too of a Saturday night for a bit of a John Canooing,
and a bite of pigtail, letting alone the grog and the gals----"
"Which you never did, Bob, I'll be sworn," said Jack laughing.
"Never did what, Jack?" asked the other, apparently surprised at the
positive assertion.
"Why, let the grog and the gals alone, God A'mighty bless both on 'em!"
replied the boatswain's mate; "but heave a-head, my hearty."
Bob gave a self-satisfied grin, and proceeded. "Why, d'ye mind, I'd been
fool enough to grease my heels from a hooker,--no matter whatsomever
her name might be or where she sailed from, seeing as she carried a
coach-whip at her main-truck and a rogue's yarn in her standing and
running gear. But I was young and foolish, and my brains hadn't come to
their proper growth; and one o' your land-sharks had got a grip o' me;
and there I was a-capering ashore, and jumping about like a ring-tail
monkey over a hot plantain; and so I brings up at the sign of the
General Washingtub, and there used to be a lot of outrageous tarnation
swankers meet there for a night's spree,--fellows as carried bright
marlin'-spikes in their pockets for toothpicks, and what not, and
sported Spanish dollars on their jackets for buttons. They belonged to
a craft as laid in the harbour,--a reg'lar clipper, all legs and wings:
she had a white cherry-bum for a figure-head; ounly there was a couple
o' grease-horns sprouting out on the forehead, and she was as pretty a
piece of timber upon the water as ever was modelled by the hand of the
devil."
"Why, how do you know who moulded her frame, Bob?" inquired Jack
provokingly. "It might have been some honest man's son, instead of the
ould chap as you mentions. But if any one sees a beautiful hooker that's
more beautifuller nor another, then she's logged down as the devil's own
build, and rigged by the captain of the sweepers."
"Wharra you mean by dat, Massa Jack?" exclaimed Mungo Pearl, who held
that honourable station, and felt his dignity offended by the allusion;
"wharra you mean by dat, eh?"
"Just shut your black-hole," answered Jack with a knowing look; "don't
the ould witches ride upon birch-brooms, and sweep through the air,--and
arn't the devil their commander-in-chief? Well, then, in course he is
captain o' the sweepers. But go along, Bob. I'll lay my allowance o'
grog to-morrow she was painted black."
"Well, so she was, Jack," responded Martingal, "all but a narrow fiery
red ribbon round her sides, as looked for all the world like a flash o'
lightning darting out of a thunder-cloud; and her name was the In-fun-oh
(Infernaux), but I'm d--d if there was any fun in the consarn arter
all. Well, d'ye see, the hands were a jolly jovial set, with dollars
as plentiful as boys' dumps, and they pitched 'em away at the lucky,
and made all sneer again. The skipper was a civil-spoken gentleman,
with a goodish-sized ugly figure-head of his own, one eye kivered over
with a black patch, and the other summut like a stale mackerel's; but
it never laid still, and was al'ays sluing round and round, 'cause it
had to do double duty. Still he was a pleasantish sort of a chap, and
had such a 'ticing way with him, that when he axed me to ship in the
craft, I'm blow'd if I could say 'No,' though I felt summut dubersome
about the consarn; and the more in regard of an ould tar telling me
the black patch was all a sham, but he was obliged to kiver the eye
up, 'cause it was a ball o' fire as looked like a glowing cinder in
a fresh breeze. He'd sailed with him a voyage or two, and he swore
that he had often seen the skipper clap his cigar under the false port
and light it by his eye; and one night in a gale o' wind, when the
binnacle-lamp couldn't be kept burning, he steered the ship a straight
course by the compass from the brightness of his eye upon the card.
Howsomever, I didn't much heed to all that 'ere, seeing as I knowed
how to spin a tough yarn myself: and then there was the grog and the
shiners, a sweet ship and civil dealing; and I'll just ax what's the
use o' being nice about owners, as long as you do what's right and
ship-shape? 'Still, messmate,' thinks I to myself, 'it's best not to be
too much in a hurry;' so I backs and fills, just dropping with the tide
of inclination, and now and then letting go the kedge o' contradiction
to swing off from the shore; and at last I tould him 'I'd let him know
next day.' Well, I goes to the ould tar as I mentioned afore, and I
tells him all about it. 'Don't go for to sign articles in no such a
craft as that 'ere,' says he in a moloncholy way.--'Why not?' says I,
quite gleesome and careless, though there was a summut that comothered
me all over when he spoke.--'I mustn't tell you,' says he; 'but take my
advice, and never set foot on board a craft that arn't got no 'sponsible
owners,' says he.--'You must tell me more nor that,' says I, 'or you
may as well tell me nothing. You've been to sea in her, and are safe
enough; why shouldn't I?'--'I advise you for your good,' says he again,
all fatherlike and gently; 'you can do as you please. You talk of my
safety,' and he looked cautiously round him; 'but it's the parsen as has
done it for me.'--'Oh! I see how the land lies,' says I; 'you're a bit
of a methodish, and so strained the yarns o' your conscience, 'cause you
made a trip to the coast o' Guinea for black wool.'--He shook his head:
'Black wool, indeed,' says he; 'but no man as knows what I knows would
ever lay hand to sheet home a topsel for a commander who----' and he
brought up his speech all standing.--'Who what?' axes I; but he wouldn't
answer: and so, being a little hopstropulous in my mind, and willing to
try the hooker, 'It's no matter,' says I, 'I'll have a shy at her if I
loses my beaver. No man can expect to have the devil's luck and his own
too.'--'That's it!' says he, starting out like a dogvane in a sudden
puff.--'That's what?' axes I.--'The devil's luck!' says he: 'don't
go for to ship in that craft. She's handsome to look at; but, like a
painted scullerpar, or sea-poll-ker, or some such name, she's full o'
dead men's bones.'--'Gammon!' says I boldly with my tongue, though I
must own, shipmates, there was summut of a flusteration in my heart as
made me rather timbersome; 'Gammon!' says I, 'what 'ud they do with such
a cargo even in a slaver?'--'I sees you're wilful,' says he angrily;
'but log this down in your memory: if you do ship in that 'ere craft,
you'll be d--d!'--'Then I'll be d--d if I don't:' says I, 'and so, ould
crusty-gripes, here goes;' and away I started down to one of the keys
just to take a look at her afore I entered woluntary; and there she lay
snoozing as quiet as a cat on a hearth-rug, or a mouse in the caulker's
oakum. Below, she was as black as the ace o' spades, and almost as sharp
in the nose; but, aloft, her white tapering spars showed like a delicate
lady's fingers in silk-net gloves----"
"Or holding a skein of silk," chimed in Sam Slick.
"Well, shipmates," continued Bob; "whilst I was taking a pretty long
eye-drift over her hull and rigging, and casting my thoughts about the
skipper, somebody taps me on the arm, and when I slued round, there
he was himself, _in properer personnee_; and, 'Think o' the devil,'
says I, 'and he's over your shoulder, saving your honour's presence,
and I hopes no offence.' Well, I'm blessed but his eye--that's his
onkivered one, messmates--twinkled and scaled over dark again, just for
all the world like a revolving light, and 'Not no offence at all, my
man,' says he; 'it's al'ays best to be plain-spoken in such consarns;
we shall know one another better by-and-by. But how do you like the
ship?'--'She's a sweet craft, your honour,' says I; 'and I should have
no objection to a good berth on board her, provided we can come to
reg'lar agreement.'--'We shall not quarrel, I dare say, my man,' says
he, quite cool and insinivating; 'my people never grumble with their
wages, and you see yourself they wants for nothing.'--'All well and
good, your honour,' says I; 'and, to make short of the long of it, Bob
Martingal's your own.' Well, his eye twinkled again, and there seemed to
be such a heaving and setting just under the tails of his long togs, and
a sort o' rustling down one leg of his trousers, that blow me if I could
tell what to make on it; and 'I knew you'd be mine,' says he: 'we shall
go to sea in the morning, so you'd better get your traps aboard as soon
as possible.' Well, messmates, I bids him good morning; but, thinks I to
myself, I'll just take a bit of a overhaul of the craft afore I brings
my duds aboard; and so, jumping into a punt, a black fellow pulls me
alongside, and away I goes on to the deck, and there the first person I
seed was the skipper. How he came there was a puzzler, for d--the boat
had left the key but our own since we parted a few minutes afore. 'And
now, Bob,' says he, 'I suppose you are ready to sign.'--'All in good
time, your honour,' says I. 'You're aboard afore me, but I'm blessed if
I seed you come.'--'It warn't necessary you should,' says he; 'my boat
travels quick, my man, and makes short miles.'--'All's the same for
that, your honour,' says I, 'whether you man your barge or float off
on the anchor-stock--it's all as one to Bob.'--'You're a 'cute lad,'
says he, twinkling his eye, 'and must rise in the sarvice. Go below
and visit your future shipmates.'--'Thanky, your honour,' says I, and
down the hatchway I goes; and there were the messes, with fids o' roast
beef and boiled yams in shining silver platters, with silver spoons,
and bottles o' wine, all in grand style, as quite comflogisticated me;
and 'What cheer--what cheer, shipmate?' says they; and then they axed
me to take some grub with 'em, which in course I did. She'd a noble
'tween decks,--broad in the beam, with plenty o' room to swing hammocks;
but, instead of finding ounly twenty hands, I'm blowed if there warn't
more nor a hundred. So arter I'd had a good tuck-out, I goes on deck
again and looks about me. She was a corvette, flush fore and aft, with
a tier of port-holes, but ounly six guns mounted; and never even in a
man-o'-war did I see everything so snug and neat. 'Well, your honour,
I'm ready to sign articles,' says I.--'Very good,' says he; and down
we goes into the cabin; and, my eyes! but there was a set-out,--gold
candlesticks and lamps, and large silver figures, like young himps,
and clear looking-glasses, and silk curtains, and handsome sofas; and
there upon one on 'em sat a beautiful young creatur, with such a pair
of large full eyes as blue as the sky, and white flaxen hair that hung
like fleecy clouds about her forehead,--it made a fellow think of
heaven and the angels: but she never smiled, shipmates,--there was a
moloncholy about the lower part of her face as showed she warn't by no
manner o' means happy; and whilst the skipper was getting the articles
out of the locker, she motioned to me, but I couldn't make out what
she meant. The skipper did, though; for he turned round in a fury, and
stamped on the cabin deck as he lifted up the black patch, and a stream
of light for all the world like the glow of a furnace through a chink
in a dark night fell upon her. He had his back to me, so I couldn't
make out where the light came from; but the poor young lady gave a
skreek and fell backard on the sofa. Now, messmates, I'd obsarved that
when he stamped with his foot that it warn't at all like a nat'ral
human stamp, for it came down more like the hoof of a horse or a box;
and thinks I to myself, 'I'm d--, Bob, but you're in for it now; the
skipper must be a devil of a fellow to use such a lovely creatur arter
that fashion.'--'You're right, my man,' says he, grinning like one o'
them faces on the cat-head, 'he _is_ a _devil_ of a fellow.'--'I never
spoke not never a word, your honour,' says I, thrown all aback by the
concussion. 'No, but you thought it,' says he; 'don't trouble yourself
to deny it: tell lies to everybody else, if you pleases, but it's
no use selling 'em to me.'--'God forbid, your--' I was going to say
'honour,' but he stopped me with another stamp, and 'Never speak that
name in my presence again,' says he; 'if you do, it ull be the worse
for you. Come and sign the articles.' My eyes! shipmates, but I was
in a pretty conflobergasticationment; there stood the skipper, with a
bright steel pen in his hand as looked like a doctor's lanchet, and
there close by his side, upon her beam-ends, laid that lovely young
creatur, the sparkling jewels in her dress mocking the wretchedness of
her countenance. 'Are you ready?' says he; and his onkivered eye rolled
round and round, and seemed to send out sparks through the friction.
'Not exactly, your honour,' says I, 'for I carn't write, in regard o'
my having sprained both ankles, and got a twist in my knee-joint when
I warn't much higher than a quart pot.'--'That's a lie, Bob,' says he;
and so it was, messmates, for I thought I must make some excuse to save
time. 'Howsomever,' says he, 'you can make your mark.'--Thinks I so
myself, 'I would pretty soon, my tight un, if I had you ashore.'--'I
know it,' says he; 'but you're aboard now, and so you may either
sign or not, just as it suits your fancy, my man; ounly understand
this--if you don't sign, you shall be clapped in irons, and fed upon
iron hoops and scupper-nails for the next six months, and I wish you
a good disgestion.'--'Thanky, your honour,' says I; 'and what if I do
sign?'--'Why then,' says he, 'you shall live like a fighting-cock,
and have as much suction as the Prince of Whales.' Well, shipmates,
I was just like the Yankee's schooner when she got jammed atwixt two
winds, and so I thought there could be no very great damage in making a
scratch or two upon a bit o' parchment; and 'All right, your honour,'
says I; 'hand us over the pen: but your honour hasn't got not never
an inkstand.'--'That's none o' your business,' says he; 'if you are
resolved to sign, I'll find materials.'--'Very good,' says I; 'I'll just
make my mark.'--'Hould up!' says he to the young lady; and she scringed
all together in a heap, and shut her large blue eyes as she held up a
beautiful white round arm, bare up to the shoulder: it looked as solid
and as firm as a piece of marble stationery."
"Statuary, you mean," said Sam Slick, interrupting the narrative. "But I
say, Bob, do you expect us to believe all this?"
"I believes every word on it," asserted Jemmy Ducks, who had been
attentively listening, with his mouth wide open to catch all that was
uttered: "what can you find onnat'ral or dubersome about it? The skipper
was no doubt a black-hearted nigger."
"Nigger yousef, Massa Jemmy Ducks," exclaimed Mungo Pearl; "d--you black
heart for twist 'em poultry neck."
"Silence there in amidships," said Mr. Parallel: "you make so much noise
that I can't keep my glass steady. Spin your yarns, Mr. Pearl, with your
mouth shut, like an oyster;" and then, addressing the captain, "We rise
her fast, my lord, and the breeze freshens: the ould beauty knows she's
got some work cut out for her; she begins to smell garlic, and walks
along like an ostrich on the stretch--legs and wings, and all in full
play."
"What distance are we from Toulon?" inquired Lord Eustace, as he
carefully and anxiously scanned the stranger through his glass.
"About nine leagues," promptly answered Mr. Parallel; "and if the
breeze houlds on, or comes stronger, another three hours will carry us
alongside of the enemy."
"We shall soon have her within reach of the bow-guns," said the first
lieutenant, "and a shot well thrown may take in some of her canvass."
"That's a good deal of it chance-work," responded the master; "it mought
and it moughtn't; but firing is sure to frighten the----"
"Spirits of the wind," added Nugent, who stood close beside him; "they
become alarmed and take to flight, and so we lose the flapping of their
airy wings."
"Hairy grandmother," grumbled old Parallel, "hairy wings indeed; why,
who ever seed such a thing? Spirits of wind, too,--rum spirits, mayhap,
to cure flatulency. Stick to natur, Mr. Nugent, or she'll be giving us
another squall, just out o' revenge for being ridiculed."
"Get on with your yarn, Bobbo," said Joe Nighthead in an under tone;
"and just you take a reef in your bellows, Mister Mungo, and don't speak
so loud again."
"Where was I?" inquired Bob thoughtfully: "oh, now I recollect;--down
in the cabin, going to sign the articles. 'Are you quite ready?' says
the skipper to me as he raised the pen. 'All ready,' says I.--'Then
hould up,' says he to the young lady, and she raised her fair arm. 'Come
here, my man,' says he again to me, and I clapped him close alongside
at the table; 'be ready to grab hould o' the pen in a moment, and make
your mark _there_,' and he pointed to a spot on the parchment, with a
brimstone seal stamped again it--you might have smelt it, messmates,
for half a league--and, I'm blessed if I didn't have a fit o' the
doldrums; but, nevertheless, I put a bould face upon it, and, 'Happy
go lucky,' says I, 'all's one to Bob!' and then there was another
rustling noise down the leg of his trousers, and his eye--that's his
onkivered one--flashed again, and took to rolling out sparks like a
flint-mill; 'Listen, my man,' says he, 'to what I'm going to say,
and pay strict attention to it'--'I wool, your honour,' says I; 'but
hadn't the lady better put down her arm?' says I; 'it ull make it ache,
keeping it up so long.'--'Mind your own business, Bob Martingal,'
says he, quite cantankerously; 'she's houlding the inkstand.'--'Who's
cracking now, your honour?' says I laughing; 'the lady arn't got not
nothing whatsomever in her hand. I'm blowed if I don't think you all
carries out the name o' the craft In-fun-oh.'--'Right,' says he; 'and
now attend. If after I have dipt this here pen in the ink, you refuse
to sign the articles--you have heard o' this?' and he touched the
black patch. I gave a devil-may-care sort of a nod. 'Well, then, if
you refuses to sign, I'll nillyate you.'--'Never fear,' says I, making
out to be as bould as a lion, for there was ounly he and I men-folk
in the cabin; and, thinks I to myself, 'I'm a match for him singly at
any rate.'--'You're mistaken,' says he, 'and you'll find it out to
your cost, if you don't mind your behaviour, Bob Martingal.'--'I never
opened my lips, your honour,' says I.--'Take care you don't,' says he,
'and be sure to obey orders.' He turned to the lady. 'Are you prepared,
Marian?' axes he; but she never spoke. 'She's faint, your honour,' says
I, 'God bless her!' The spiteful wretch give me a red-hot look, and
his d---- oncivil cloven foot--for I'd swear to the mark it made--came
crushing on my toes, and made me sing out blue blazes. 'Is that obeying
orders?' says he: 'didn't I command you never to use that name afore
me?'--'You did, your honour,' says I; 'but you might have kept your
hoof off my toes, seeing as I haven't yet signed articles.'--'It was
an accident,' says he, 'and here's something to buy a plaster;' and he
throws down a couple of doubloons, which I claps into my pocket. 'You
enter woluntarily into my service, then?' says he.--'To be sure I do,'
says I, though I'm blessed if I wouldn't have given a treble pork-piece
to have been on shore again.--'And you'll make your mark to that?'
says he, 'and ax no further questions?'--'To be sure I will,' says I;
and I'll just tell you what it is, messmates, I'm blowed if ever I was
more harder up in my life than when I seed him raise the pen, as looked
like a sharp lanchet, in his infernal thieving-hooks, and job it right
into that beautiful arm, and the blood spun out, and the lady gave a
skreek; and 'Sign--sign!' says he; 'quick, my man--your mark!'--'No,
I'm d--if I do,' says I; 'let blood be on them as sheds it.'--'You
won't?' says he.--'Never, you spawn o' Bellzebub!' says I; for I'd
found him out, shipmates.--'Then take the consequences,' says he; and
up went the black patch, and, by the Lord Harry! he sported an eye that
nobody never seed the like on in their lives; it looked as big and as
glaring as one o' them red glass bottles of a night-time as stands in
the potecarry's windows with a lamp behind 'em; but it was ten thousand
times more brilliant than the fiercest furnace that ever blazed,--you
couldn't look upon it for a moment; and I felt a burning heat in my
heart and in my stomach, as if I'd swallowed a pint of vitriol; and my
strength was going away and I was withering to a hatomy, when all at
once I recollects a charm as my ould mother hung round my neck when I
was a babby, and I snatches it off and houlds it out at arm's length
right in his very face. My precious eyes and limbs! how he did but caper
about the cabin, till his hat fell off, and there was his two fore-tack
bumkins reg'larly shipped over his bows and standing up with a bit of a
twist outwards just like the head-gear of a billy-goat. 'Keep off, you
bitch's babby!' says I, for he tried onknown schemes and manoeuvres
to get at me; till suddenly I hears a loud ripping of stitches, and
away went the casings of his lower stancheons, and out came a tail as
long----"
"Almost as long as your'n, I suppose," said old Jack Sheavehole; "a
precious yarn you've been spinning us, Mister Bob!"
"But what became of the lady?" inquired Sam Slick; "and what a lubber of
a tailor he must have been to have performed his work so badly!"
"The lady?" repeated Bob; "why, I gets her in tow under my arm, and
shins away up the companion-ladder, the ould fellow chasing me along the
deck with a boarding-pike, his tail sticking straight out abaft, just
like a spanker-boom over his starn; but the charm kept him off, and away
I runs to the gangway, where the shore-boat and the nigger were waiting,
and you may guess, shipmates, I warn't long afore we were hard at work
at the paddles; for I laid the lady down in the bottom o' the punt, and
'Give way, you bit of ebony,' says I, 'or Jumbee 'ull have you stock
and fluke.' Well, if there warn't a bobbery aboard the In-fun-oh, there
never was a bobbery kicked up in the world; and 'Get ready that gun
there!' shouted the skipper."
At this moment the heavy booming of a piece of ordinance was heard
sounding across the water. Up jumped Jemmy Ducks, and roared out, "Oh
Lord! oh dear!--there's the devil again!--what shall I do!" and a
general laugh followed.
"The chase is trying his range, my lord," exclaimed Mr. Seymour; "but
the shot must have fallen very short, as we couldn't hear it."
"Keep less noise on the fokesel," said old Parallel. "What ails that
lubberly wet-nurse to all the geese in the ship? Ay, ay, he'll have
hould on you by-and-by! Get a pull of that topmast-stud'nsel tack."
The men immediately obeyed; and, as they were coming up fast with the
enemy, excitement and impatience put an end to long yarns. But Bob just
squeezed out time to tell them that he got safe ashore with the lady;
and the "In-fun-oh" tripped her anchor that same tide, dropped down the
river, and put to sea, nor was she ever heard of again afterwards. The
lady was the daughter of a rich merchant in Baltimore, who had been
decoyed away from her family, but by the worthy tar's instrumentality
was happily restored again. Bob got a glorious tuck-out aboard, the two
doubloons were safe in his pocket, and the father of Marian treated him
like a prince.
Half an hour elapsed from the first discharge of the enemy's
sternchaser, when he again tried his range; and, to prove how rapidly
they were nearing each other, the shot this time passed over the British
frigate. There was something exhilarating to the ears of the seamen in
the whiz of its flight. Two or three taps on the drum aroused every man
to his quarters; the guns were cast loose, and the bowchasers cleared
away for the officers to practise. Heavy bets were made relative
to hitting the target, the iron was well thrown, and every moment
increased the eagerness of the tars to get fairly alongside. The land
was rising higher and higher out of the water,--the French port was
in view,--the enemy began to exult in the prospect of escape, when an
eighteen-pounder, pointed by the hands of the old master, brought down
her maintop-gallant-mast; and the Frenchman, finding it was utterly
impossible to get away without fighting, shortened sail, and cleared for
action. Three cheers hailed this manoeuvre. The British tars now made
certain of their prize; and, when within half pistol-shot, in came the
Spankaway's flying-kites, and in five minutes he was not only under snug
commanding canvass, but the moment they returned to their quarters they
passed close under the French frigate's stern, and steadily poured in
a raking broadside, every shot doing its own proper duty, and crashing
and tearing the enemy's stern-frame to pieces, ploughing up the decks
as they ranged fore and aft, and diminishing the strength of their
opponents by no less than twenty-seven killed and wounded. Still the
Frenchman fought bravely, and handled his vessel in admirable style.
Six of the Spankaway's lay dead, and thirteen wounded. Amongst the
latter was our worthy old friend Will Parallel, the master; a splinter
had struck him on the breast, and he was carried below insensible.
Sea-fights have so often been described, that they have now but little
novelty; let it therefore suffice, that, in fifty-six minutes from
the first broadside, the tricoloured flag came down, and the national
frigate _Hippolito_, mounting forty-four guns, struck to his Britannic
Majesty's ship the Spankaway, whose first lieutenant, Mr. Seymour, was
sent aboard to take possession, as a prelude to that step which he was
now certain of obtaining. Thus two nights of labour passed away, and the
triumph of the second made ample amendment for the misfortunes of the
first; besides enabling the warrant-officers to expend their stores, and
not a word about the white squall.
INDEX.
A.
Addison, Mr. inedited letters of, 356, 357, 358, 360, 363;
anecdotes of him, 357 _n._;
remarks respecting him, 358, 359 _n._, 361, 362 _n._
Advertisement Extraordinary, theatrical, 152.
Ainsworth, W. H. piece by, 325.
Alps, inhabitants of the, observations on their superstition, 608.
Anatomy of Courage, 398.
An Evening of Visits, 80.
Anselm, Abbot, 347.
Anspach, Margravine of, mistake in her Memoirs
respecting the elder George Colman, 7.
Anti Dry-rot Company, song of the, 94.
April Fools, song of the month, 325.
Authors and Actors, a dramatic sketch, 132.
B.
Bannister, J. his intimacy with George Colman, 14.
Baon Ri Dhuv, or the Black Lady, legend of, 519.
Barter, Richie, see _Richie Barter_.
----, Mrs. see _Plum, Lady_.
Bath, Lord, 7.
Bayly, T. Haynes, pieces by, 79, 153, 260, 354, 578.
Beaumanoir, Col. de, 96.
Beaumarchais, M. de, passage in his life, 233.
Biographical Sketch of Richardson the Showman, 178.
Black Lady, legend of, see _Baon Ri Dhuv_.
Blue Wonder, story of the, 450.
Bob Burns and Beranger, 525.
Bobis Head, legend of, 519.
Bottle of St. Januarius, song of the month for January, 1.
"Boz," pieces by, 105, 218, 225, 291, 326, 430, 515.
Budgell, Mr. his remarks respecting Lord Halifax
and Mr. Addison, 358 n.
Bugle, Miss Sarah, account of, 451.
Bullfinch, Mr. Theophilus, 591.
Bumble, Mr. 109, 218, 225, 430.
Byron, his opinion of Sheridan, 427.
C.
Canada, remarks on travelling in, 559.
Carew, Molly, lament of her Irish lover, 527.
Castlereagh, Lord, 581.
Chapman, T. paper by, 410.
Chapter in the Life of a Statesman,
being inedited letters of Addison, 356.
Clavijo, Don Joseph, 236.
Claypole, Noah, his treatment of Oliver Twist, 327;
his quarrel with him, 336;
conversation with Mr. Bumble, 430.
Cleaver, Dr. sketch of his life and character, 442.
Clifton, the Hot Wells of, 63.
C----, M. de, 86.
Cobbler of Dort, story of the, 403.
Coleridge, remarks respecting, 417.
Collier, W. paper by, 485.
Colman, Francis, 7.
----, the elder George, remarks respecting, 7.
----, George, memoir of, 7;
lines written by, 12;
impromptu by, 16.
Conla, 522.
Contradiction, 338.
Cooper, J. F. piece by, 80.
Courage, Anatomy of, 398.
Cover, song of the, 402.
Craggs, Mr. junior, remarks respecting him, 361 n.
Crichton, James (the admirable,) eulogiums on, 416.
Critical Gossip with Lady M. W. Montagu, 138.
Curetoun, Dr. 123.
----, Mrs. C. 121.
D.
Darby the Swift, his personal appearance, 543;
story respecting him, 544.
Dash, Capt. Lord Eustace, character of, 269;
anecdote related by, 276.
Davids, C. J. pieces by, 231, 297, 339.
Dawkins, Jack, 439.
Devil and Johnny Dixon, 251.
Dibbs, Mrs. 565.
Didler, Dick, adventures of, 565.
Dixon, Johnny, description of, 252;
account of his adventure with the Devil, 255.
Doall, Dr. his professional schemes, 444.
Downwithit, Dr. character of, 121.
Doyle, Owen, 20.
Dulcet, Dr. account of, 288.
Dumb Waiter, lines on the, 341.
E.
Edward Saville, a transcript, 155.
Egan, Squire, 23, 27, 169;
his adventures with Gustavus Granby O'Grady,
owing to the mistakes of Handy Andy, 171;
with Murlough Murphy, 373.
English poets, Gossip with some Old, 98.
Epigrams, 190, 381, 409, 493, 508.
Eva, 522.
Evening Meditation, 250.
Evening of Visits, 80.
Execution, the, a sporting anecdote, 561.
F.
Falcon, Dr. his marriage, 450;
his expectations from Miss Sarah Bugle, 451.
Falstaff, Sir John, observations on his influence with Henry V.
while Prince of Wales, 494;
Johnson's character of 496;
his Gadshill adventure, 503;
remarks on his countenance, 506.
Family Stories, No. 1. 191;
No. 11. 266;
No. III. 341;
No. IV. 529;
No. V. 561.
Feaghan, Father Paul, 253.
Fiddler, Mrs. 137.
Fireside Stories, No. I, 191, see _Family Stories_.
Fitzalban, Capt. Hon. A. F. story respecting his cow, 65.
Fitzgerald, Lord E. observations on, 558.
Fitzgrowl, Mr. 132.
Fog, lines on a London, 492.
Fontenelle, lines in imitation of, 88.
Foote, Samuel, remarks respecting him, 10;
memoir of, 298;
his plays, 300;
accusations against him, 303;
his death, 304;
opinions of his comedies, _ib._;
of his dramas, _ib._;
anecdotes of him, 305.
Fothergill, Father, description of, 344.
Fragment of Romance, 165.
Friar Laurence and Juliet, a poem, 354.
G.
Gamfield, Mr. 219.
Garrick, David, Foote's ridicule of, 305.
Goldsmith, Oliver, anecdotes of, 9.
Goodere, Capt. 299.
----, Sir John, allusion to his murder, 299.
Glorvina, the Maid of Meath, 614.
Gossip with some Old English Poets, 98.
Grand Cham of Tartary and the Humble-bee, a poem, 339.
Green, Mr. specimen of his poetry, 101.
Grey Dolphin, story of the, 341.
Grummet, J. 67.
H.
Hajji Baba, his remarks on England, 280;
his projected mission to England, 284;
his preparations, 364;
instructions, 366;
his remarks on the alterations among the Turks, 369;
his inquiries on the state of England, 487;
observations on France, 488;
his passage to Dover, 489;
remarks on the officers of customs, 490.
Halifax, Earl of, see _Montague, Charles_.
Hamburgh, Steam trip to, 509.
Handy Andy, paper so called, No. I. 20;
No. II. 169;
No. III. 373.
Headlong Hall, pieces by the author of, 29, 187.
Hero and Leander, a poem, 410.
Herrick, Mr. specimen of his poetry, 99.
Hints for an Historical Play, 597.
Hippothanasia; or, the last of Tails--a lamentable tale, 319.
Hogarth, George, piece by, 233.
Horse-pond, Reflections in a, 470.
Hot Wells of Clifton, lines to the, 64.
I.
Impromptu, by George Colman, 16;
on "Boz," 297.
Improvement, the victim of, 599.
Ingoldsby, T. 201;
papers by, 266, 341, 529.
----, Caroline, legend of "Tapton Everard" related by, 195.
Inscription for a cemetery, 473.
Introduction to the Biography of my
Aunt Jemima, the Political Economist, 382.
Ivory, Mr. his relation of the story of "Plunder Creek," 127.
J.
Jackdaw of Rheims, 529.
Jaques, criticism on Shakspeare's character of, 550.
Jennings, Mr. 55, 59.
----, Mrs. story of, 591.
Jordan, W. pieces written by, 178, 319.
J----, Madame de, 86.
Jocund, Joyce, piece written by, 190.
Johnson, Dr. 8;
anecdotes of, 9;
his remarks on Foote, 301, 305;
his Rasselas, 550.
Johns, Richard, piece by, 313.
Jonson, Ben, specimen of his poetry, 98.
K.
Kats, Jacob, cobbler of Dort, story respecting, 403.
Kingston, Duchess of, her persecution of Foote, 303.
Knowles, Sheridan, paper by, 614.
Kyan's Patent--the Nine Muses and the Dry-rot, 93.
L.
Lament over the Bannister, 151.
Lavender, Lord John, account of his projected marriage
with Miss Sophy Miggins, 260.
Leary the Piper's Lilt, song of the month for May, 429.
Legends--of Manor Hall, 29;
of Hamilton Tighe, 266;
of Bohis Head, 519;
of Mount Pilate, 608.
Le Gros, C. F. paper by, 247.
Les Poissons d'Avril, 397.
Lines on the "Young Veteran," John Bannister, 168;
to a Lyric and Artist, 177.
Linley, Miss, poem to, 420;
her marriage with Sheridan, 421;
her death, 425.
Lions, some particulars concerning a, 515.
Literature of North America, observations on, 534.
Little Bit of Tape, story of the, 313.
Littlejohn, Mr. 67.
London Fog, lines on a, 492.
Love and Poverty, 469.
Love in the City, 584.
Lover, Samuel, pieces by, 20, 88, 169, 217, 373.
M.
Mac Gawly, Roger, 34.
----, Biddy, 33.
M'Flummery, Mr. story respecting, 210.
Madrigal Society, description of the, 465.
Magan, Mr. 255.
Magian, Dr. papers by, 2, 105, 494, 550.
Maguire, Barney, 191.
Mann, Mrs. 109.
Manor Hall, legend of, 29.
Man with the Tuft, 576.
Marbois, Marquis de, 81, 82 _n._
Mars and Venus, a poem, 247.
Martingal, Bob, story related by, 625.
Marvel, Andrew, extract from his poem addressed to Lord Fairfax, 99.
May Morning, song of the month for May, 429.
Meditation, an Evening, 250.
Memoir of George Colman, 7.
Merry Christmas, 260.
Metastasio, an imitation of, 88.
Metropolitan Men of Science, 89.
Miggins, Mr. Peter, his letter to Lord John Lavender, 260.
----, Miss Sophy, 261, 265.
Minister's Fate, the, 577.
"Monstre" Balloon, a poem, 17.
Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, remarks on her character, 138;
comparison between, and Byron, 140;
extracts from her letters, 141;
her observations on Addison, 362 _n._
Montague, Charles, Earl of Halifax,
Addison's letters to, 356, 358, 360, 363;
remarks respecting him, 358 _n._ 359.
Months, songs of the, No. I. 1;
No. II. 105;
No. III. 217;
No. IV. 325;
No. V. 429;
No. VI. 533.
Morgan, Mr. 25.
Morier, J. Italian anecdote by, 103.
Mount Pilate, legend of, 608.
Murphy, Murtough, character of, 171;
his duel with Squire Egan, 373.
Murtough Murphy, _see Murphy_.
Muskan, Prince Puckler, paper by, 398.
N.
Nights at Sea; or Sketches of Naval Life during the War, No. I. 269;
No. II. 474;
No. III. 621.
North American Indians, remarks on the periodical literature of, 534;
on their poetry, 536.
Nugent, Mr. specimen of his poetical taste, 272, 273.
O.
Ode from the Emerald Isle, 620.
O'Dryscull, Reddy, communications by, 45, 397, 525.
O'Finn, Mrs. character of, 33;
her conversation with Terence O'Shaughnessy, 41.
O'Funnidos, Rigdum, piece written by, 208.
Ogle, Miss, her marriage with Sheridan, 425.
Old Age and Youth, a poem, 79.
Old English Poets, a Gossip with, 98.
Oliver Twist, his birth, 105;
education and board, 107;
escapes being apprenticed to a sweep, 218;
his entry into public life, 225;
conduct during his apprenticeship, 326;
his quarrel with Noah Claypole, 334;
his refractory conduct, 430;
account of his journey to London, 435;
of his rencontre with the strange young gentleman, 437;
introduction to the Jew, 441.
Ollier, Charles, paper by, 98.
Opening Chaunt to the Miscellany, 6.
"Original" Dragon, a legend of the Celestial Empire, 231.
Original of "Not a drum was heard," 97.
O'Shaughnessy, Terence, see _Terence O'Shaughnessy_.
P.
Paddy Blake's Echo, 186.
Palaver, Mrs. character of, 591.
Pantomine of Life, 291.
Parallel, Mr. story told by, 277, 616.
Paris, remarks on society in, 86; picture of, in 1837, 387.
Passage in the Life of Beaumarchais, 233.
Perceval, Mr. remarks on his assassination, 679.
Periodical Literature of the North American Indians, 534.
Peter Plumbago's Correspondence, 448.
Peters, Mr. 196.
----, Mrs. 196.
Phillips, Ambrose, remarks respecting him, 359 _n._
"Plunder Creek," (1783,) a legend of New York, 121.
Plum, Sir Toby, 116.
----, Lady, 116.
Poets, Gossip with some Old English, 98.
Pontius Pilate, legend respecting, 610.
Pooledoune, John, the victim of improvement, 599.
----, Roger, 600.
Portrait Gallery, No. I. 286;
No. II. 442.
Pounce, Mr. story related by him to the Wide-awake Club, 209.
Poverty, glee in praise of, 525.
Prologue to the miscellany, 2.
"Prout, Father," pieces by, 1, 46, 63, 96, 397, 525.
Q.
Queershanks, Mr. 135.
R.
Randolph, Thomas, specimen of his poetry, 99.
"Random Records," extract from, 14.
Rankin, F. H. paper by, 382.
"Rattlin the Reefer," piece by the author of, 65.
Rasselas, remarks on, 550.
Reckoning with Time, 12.
Recollections of Childhood, 187.
Reflections in a Horse-pond, 471.
Remains of Hajji Baba, 280, 364, 487.
Remnant of the time of Izaak Walton, a poem, 230.
Reynolds, Hamilton, piece by, 138.
Rheims, Jackdaw of, 529.
Richardson, John, the Showman, biographical account of, 178.
Richie Barter, story of, 116.
Rising Periodical, 101.
Robethon, M. de, Addison's letter to, 357.
Romance of a Day, 565.
Rooney, Andy, see _Handy Andy_.
Rose, Sir George, piece by, 168.
S.
Sabine Farmer's Serenade, 46.
Saddleton, Emanuel, 341.
Scenes in the Life of a Gambler, 387.
Scowl, Mr. 133.
Seaforth, Lieut. Charles, account of his somnambulism, 191.
Seymour, Mr. story related by, 276.
Shakspeare, criticisms on his plays, 551.
Shakspeare Papers, No. I. 494;
No. II. 550.
Sheavehole, Jack, story told by, 476.
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, memoirs of, 419;
his poem to Miss Linley, 420;
private marriage with her, 421;
his plays, 422;
his parliamentary talents, 424;
anecdote of, 425;
his second marriage, _ib._;
his misfortunes, 426;
death, _ib._;
character, 427;
Byron's opinion of, _ib._
Shurland, Sir Ralph de, adventures of, 341.
Signs of the Zodiac, a gastronomical chaunt, 397.
Simpkinson, Mr. character of, 197.
----, Miss Julia, her poetic taste, 197;
her ode, 200.
Slowby, Richard, account of his adventures, 313.
----, Sir James, 313.
Smyrk, Mr. Peter, 116.
Snaps, Mr. story respecting, 210.
Some particulars concerning a Lion, 515.
Songs, for the private theatre or drawing-room, 92;
of the Anti Dry-rot Company, 94;
of the Cover, 402;
songs of the month, No. I. 1;
No. II. 105;
No. III. 217;
No. IV 325;
No. V. 429;
No. VI. 533.
Sonnet to a Fog, 371.
Sorrows of Life, lines on the, 290.
Sowerberry, Mrs. character of, 229;
dislike of Oliver Twist, 335.
----, Mr. description of, 225;
takes Oliver Twist as an apprentice, 227;
his conversation respecting him, 328;
character of, 433.
Spectre of Tappington, story of the, 191.
Spencer, Charles, Earl of Sunderland,
remarks respecting him, 363 _n._
Spriggings, Miss Priscilla, 572.
Steam Trip to Hamburgh, 509.
"Stories of Waterloo," pieces by the author of, 33, 251.
Stray Chapters, No. I. 291;
No. II. 515.
Summer Night's Reverie, a poem, 428.
Sunderland, Earl of, see _Spencer, Charles_.
Swift, Dean, anecdote of, 2.
T.
"Tales of an Antiquary," pieces by the author of, 121.
Tappington Everard, description of the Manor House of, 192.
Terence O'Shaughnessy, account of his first attempt
to get married, 33.
The Abbess and the Duchess, a poem, 153.
The Abbey House, 187.
Theatrical Advertisement Extraordinary, 152.
"The Bee-Hive," pieces by the author of, 286, 442.
"The Old Sailor," pieces by, 269, 474.
The Spectre, a poem, 131.
The Two Butlers, 306.
Time, Reckoning with, a poem by Colman the Younger, 12.
Timmins, Mr. his description of the Wide-awake Club, 209.
Tom ----, story respecting, 306.
Tomnoddy, Lord, 561.
Travelling, remarks on, 561.
Tulrumble, Mr. N. account of the public life of, 49.
----, Mrs. 51, 52.
Twigger, Edward, 53.
U.
Useful Young Man, a poem, 485.
V.
Victoria, Princess, ode on her birth-day, 620.
Visit to the Madrigal Society, 465.
Visits, an Evening of, 80.
W.
Wade, J. A. pieces by, 186, 492.
Warwick, Countess of, notice of her marriage with Addison, 362 n.
Webbe, Egerton, paper by, 371.
Wharton, Duke of, anecdote of, 357 n.
----, Thomas, Earl of Wharton, lord lieutenant of Ireland,
remarks respecting, 356 n.
Whitehead, C. pieces by, 155, 461.
Who are you? a song, 88.
Who milked by cow? paper so called, 65.
Wide-awake Club, character of the, 208.
Whitbread, Mr. his respect for Mr. Perceval, 583.
Y.
Youth's New Vade Mecum, a poem, 462.
Z.
"Zohrab," papers by the author of, 280, 364, 487.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
London: Printed by Samuel Bentley, Dorset-street, Fleet-street.
End of Project Gutenberg's Bentley's Miscellany, Volume I, by Various