■*T^ .=< 09 so ^ ,AS^^ *\ "aujnrjuj , r 1 ;r>;> « ^i,' AiGLO-BELGIC AND OTHEE BY CHAKLES R ELLEEMAN. AUTHOR OF " THE AMNESTY ; OR ALBA IN FLANDERS." "reminiscences of CUBA." sanitary reform, and agricultural improvement.' "alphonso baebo; or, the punishment of death." ETC. ETC. HOULSTON & STONEMAN, Paternoster Row ; Edinburgh : THOMAS GRANT. Glasgow :W.R.M'PHUN. Dublin: GEORGE HERBERT. 1854. IToiibon : peinteii bv henev silverlock, 3, wakdrobe terrace, doctors' commons. 9R B 13:" %Mt of Contmts, J 9 Chakles Baugniet, Esq, PAGE INSCRIBED TO A " Few Words" to the Reader v The Dedication 1 The Prologue 3 The Giant Antigen ; or the Founder of Antwerp Pompey and Tibhy ; or the Silken ) ^ , ,, . I 23 William Wilson, Esq. Bonds of Matrimony .....; « The Tale of a Keg ; or a Singular ) \ 35 Charles Dickens, Esq. Eelic of Columbus ; The Court of Chancery -03 Its Victims. The Merchant and the Emperor;) . , _ ^ ^^ > 65 Baron Wappees. • or the Imperial I.O. U ) The Iconoclasts ; or the Image \ ,^ , > 83 Rev. C. Girdlestone. Breakers of the loth Century.. } The Citizen's Progress 103 Alfred Ckowquill, Esq Francois de Valois ; or the Attempt ) ^ ( His Excellency Monsieur on Antwerp in 1583 J ' ( Van de Weyer. 1 554969 TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE INSCRIBED TO The Belle of Cork ; or Diamond ) ^ ^. -r. } 139 R. Knox, Esq., M.D. Cut Diamond ) The Tale of a Butt 155 Mrs. F. E. Davies. The Sea Serpent ; or the Longest j 165 Lt. G. A. Elleeman, E.N. W. V. Pettigsew, Esq., Yankee Yam \ C\\. V. ] New Year's Day at Antwei-p | 185 | Quentin Metsys ; and the Antwerp | i Captain E. I. Ellebman, BeUe 1 ^^^ ( H.M. 98th Regiment. I 227 Right Hon. Lord Murray. Count Cosimavoglionini ; or the In- ventor of Macaroni Discovered The Fortune TeUer ; ^237 C Eight Hon. the Earl of The White Tower's Reply ] 257 ( Carlisle. The EpUogue 263 Our November Post-script : — The New Stamp Act 265 Wanted— A Wife 270 The Czar Unmasked 273 The National American Baby ) ^ \ 270 Show ; Extracts from the Opinions of the \ Press, on " Sanitary Eefonn and Agricultural Improvement ; " hy the Author |.ngl0-^elg}t ^dfeh mib f cgeiibs* A " FEW WORDS" TO THE READER. " To-morrow, and to-moiTow, and to-morrow, Creeps on this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time." Shakespeab. As these rhymes were intended for publication in 1852, I think I am in duty bound, as a simple act of politeness and respect towards those cele- brated and distinguished personages, and those personal fi-iends, who so kindly permitted me to inscribe these Ballads and Legends to them, to say a few words in explanation, and exoneration. VI A " FEW WORDS TO THE READER. of the procrastiuation I have been guilty of, and which has extended, nolens volens, over a period of two years. / This "thief of time," in reference to pecuniary and worldly affairs, is an evil all should religiously eschew, for experience, that harshest of monitors, teaches us that it engenders the heart-ache, the head-ache, the pocket-ache, and — ■ " the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to." — The victims of the "to-morrow" that never dawns, are more numerous than those who have heen swept from the face of the earth by war, pestilence, and famine. Alas, reader, There is a word, which ever fills Our hearts with joy or sorrow: It quite depends how it is meant. And that word is — To-morrow! A "FEW WORDS TO THE READER. VU When lovers meet, in grove or lane, And smiles from Venus borrow; How sweetly sound their parting words, " A(Seu, we meet — To-morrow ! " The happy pair, who were constrain'd To separate in soitow, Must feel unbounded joy to learn, That the will meet — To-morrow! When uncles die, and aunts expire, The heirs shed tears of sorrow; — Then tears of joy, when they are told, "We prove the will — To-morrow f" But when a friend implores your aid. And fain one pound would borrow; He feels he'll never see your gold. Should you say, "come — To-morrow!" For sad experience teaches those. Bred in the school of sorrow: That that which is not given to-day, Is seldom given — To-morrotv ! VIII A "FKW words" to THE READER. What is it gives us aching hearts? What crowns our days with sorrow? — Procrastinating, clay by day, The day that sees no — Morrow! Ah! were it not for angel Hope, Who mitigates our sorrow: Desponding youth — decrepid age — Would hope to see no — Morrow! So much for procrastination, as far as worldly affairs are concerned ; but, as far as the postpone- ment of the publication of a very unimportant volume is affected, the Muses be praised, neither the public, nor my acquaintances, have been injured or defrauded by the delay. The only persons who may (?) have been losers thereby — presuming the work to have met with an average sale, which presumption is as ridiculous as the glorious un- certainty of th« law — are the Author and the Publisher. Having made this lame apology, I shall not weary A "FEW words" to THE READER. ix the reader by specifying the various motives which impeded the publication of this book, the last of my " domestic results" in anno 1852, when I could conscientiously declare that it was fathered and duly registered; but Destiny, whose iron will rules all our actions, ordained that the infant should not be vaccinated or weaned — and I hope taught the art of circulation — untQ the close of this eventful year. Those who make it a daily practice to con the list of " Births, Marriages, and Deaths" in the Times, are continually kept in a state of fever by appalling accounts of elderly ladies and gentlemen, but more especially the latter, yclep'd " fast men,'' being stricken with paralysis; For turtle does make bloaters of us all; And thus the native hue of our complexion, Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of death; A nd human frames of mighty strength and bulk With this regard, their sinews do relax And lose the name of action X A " FEW WORDS TO THE READER. Strange to say, these persons have little or no sympathy for infants so afflicted, who die in their berths; consoling themselves no doubt with the hope, that the infant which might have turned out a demon, or a good-for-nothing, has gone to "that bourne, from whence no traveller returns," and has become a cherub ! Now this infant of mine — stricken with paralysis just as it emerged from "Port Natal;" doomed to lay up in ordinary, like an old hulk, for two years, in " Babbycome Bay" — has miraculously recovered from its paralytic fit. In consequence of its con- valescence, I take the liberty to introduce the child to your kind notice, and recommend it to the patronage of our literary monthly nurses, who, by popjiiug the infant into leading strings, infallibly teach it the art of Circulation ! Forbid them, Apollo, to mix, by mistake, an infusion of gall and wormwood with the milk of " human kindness," that indispensable aqua vitCB A "FEW words' to THE READEK. xi for furthering the growth of thy votaries children; for, were they to send this babe to Hades, it certainly can never hope to become a cherub, and then the disconsolate Author, in reply to their re- criminations, will only have it in his power to quote the words of the poet ; " Sir, I admit your gen'ral rule That every poet is a fool : But you yourseK may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet." regretting all the while, that he did not postpone the publication of his rhymes until To-MORROW ! London, November, 1854. Ubiation. My dear Mother, In dedicating these few trifling attempts of authorship to you, I feel assured of a lenient judge, for I owe aU the little talent they possess, to your kind and fostering care of the early buds of my promise. Amidst the busy mart of mercantile avo- cation, there is little room allowed for the play of poetic imagination or feeling. But the mind, even the mind of a man of business, like the cross-bow, needs relaxation, and this remission is sought after by the million in various ways. I have allowed my mind to play the truant at times, by leaving the Reai, for the Ideal — by DEDICATION. devoting my leisure hours to Erato or Mel- pomene. This, "my last appeal," was devoted to that more humorous sister, Thalia, the muse of comic poetry. I dedicate these offsprings of my brain to a revered Mother, that she may hear through them the voice of her affectionate Son, C. F. E. London, 1852. €\y. |roIoj(«c. A Frenchman one day went to purchase a gown. So he entered a shop, and gravely sat down. " Mr. Mercer, me vant dress of silk, me tink." " What colour?" " De color — veil — it shall be pink.' A magnificent di-ess, all couleur de rose, Was laid on the counter, right under his nose. *' Non, non," cries the Frenchman, " dat is not de ting, 'Tis silk, but not sOk, dat me vant you to bring; You know vat me mean?" "No, sir.' " de Devil ! 'Tis silk, but not silk."— The shopman so civil Now stared at Monsieur, but could not uuderstand That silk was not silk, in Cornhill or the Strand. 4 THE PBOLOGUE. " Vous no understand me ? " "No, sir." " mon Dieu ! De name of de Devil, vou$ know, Sao'ebleu!" " He has got many names, Mounseer, I confess." " Dat is true, you tell me, vone name is de dress. Now you say all de names." " Well, they call him Old Nick." " Kon, non, ce nest pas de Devil on Two Stick ; Odar name?" " Well, sir, they call him Old Harry." " Dat vont do — odar name — you know no-w, je parie." " Asraodeus?" "No, Sar!" " Belzebub?" " Vous no catch!" "Lucifer?" " Oh ! mon Dieu ! it is not de match To light vone cigar — try vonce more, if you can." "The Deuce?" "Not do Deuce.* THE PROLOGUE. 5 "Oh! the old gentleman Is called Satan." ^"Dat is it! the dress of Sa-tan!!" Brought and bought was the dress, called after "Old Nick," And, bowing politely, Monsieur " cut his stick." " Halloo ! no Preface ! " cries the learned quiz, As with both hands he rubs his chubby phiz — "A book without a Pre-face, sir, by gosh, is Just like a face bereft of its proboscis ! Pray, what are cheeks, chin, lips, and their allies, Without the nose pre-fixed 'twixt mouth and eyes? An ugly face is that without a nose, That in cold weather everlasting blows; No matter, if abridged or lengthened out, A man is not a man without a snout. A cook, without a saucepan, cannot cook; A book, without a preface, is no book. What means the man? No/?r^face, but a pro-log — I'll cut him up— he shall not go the whole hog!" 6 THE PROLOGUE. "Hold, hold, Sir Critic! do not vent your ire Because I've dared to tune Apollo's lyre; Because I have not had the face to write An able pre-face, such as some indite. A preface is a note of introduction; In other words it is the author's unction — An ointment made of sue-it, and well scented, Soft-sawder for the work to be presented; In which he calls the Public gentle reader. Briefly, his preface is his special pleader, A sprat wherewith he tries to catch a salmon — In plainer terms, kind reader, 'tis all gammon; His modesty, believe me, sheer pretence, To grab your pounds, your shillings, or your pence ! " Like Jack, who keeps his log, in which he jots. The headway of the ship, so many knots; The taking-in of sails, the letting-out ; The firing bullets at a water spout; The lazy calm, or the tempestuous gale; Or meeting Jonah's friend, the blubbering whale; THE PHOtOUUK. 7 Like Jack, I've writ a Log — this is my Pro — I hope not pro-sily my verses flow. I never tried tUl now to write a ballad, Though well, my friends confess, I mix a salad; With oU and vinegar, they ought to shine — * If they do not, of course the fault is mine. " But, should they shine, may I a hope express. That, like the Frenchman, you wUl buy my dress ? For I addi'ess you, reader, not to cavil , Lest you should send my verses to the DevU!" €^t (§m\ fliittgnti, OR II]e |0unkr 0f gmttoer^. TO CHARLES BAUGNIET, WHOSE GENIUS ENTITLES HIS COUNTRYMEN TO BE PROUD OF HIS BEING A BELGIAN, '^h €nk IS DEDICATED, BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND AND ADMIRER, THE AUTHOR. C|e @iant %\\ti^m. Everybody knows (as a matter of course I allude to knowing bodies, who, if they do not, ought to know) that Antwerp is situated on the banks of the ague-propagating Scheldt Its population, which exceeded two hundred thousand souls in the " good old times" of Charles-Quint, has been reduced to about seventy thousand beer-drinking souls, one- third of whom, owing to circumstances over which they have no control, not being able to afford even single -soled Bluchers or Wellingtons, are forced to patronise wooden shoes. They ai-e very comfortable things in wet weather. The origin of this celebrated town is, to a cer- tain degree — ^like some of our suits in Chancery — wrapped in the profoundest mystery. It has been 14 THE GIANT ANTIGON. called Andoverp, Anturpia, Antwerpha, Ando- werpun, and long before my grandmother (I hope the idea is not a vulgar one) taught me to suck eggs, it was modernised by the natives into Antwerpen. Tradition informs us that a giant once dwelt on the banks of the Scheldt. His surname was Antigon. His christian name I ignore — ^probably he had none. Now, this very tall gentleman was of a very ferocious disposition. Like all the giants we have heard of, or read of, he was a cursed tyrant — the bugbear of the place. He built himself a castle on the very site now occupied by the town, and amused himself by levying tolls and exacting dues from the merchants bound up the Scheldt. Some tradesmen, bolder than the rest, resisted these impertinent demands, deeming tliem unjust and unsound in principle. But as Antigon had neither principles nor principals — (histoiy says nothing about his pals) — he very THE GIANT ANTIGOX. 15 coolly took the law into his own hands, by chopping off their right hands, which he tlu-ew into the Scheldt. •r This was a very sinister, but dexterous mode of ridding himself of so many useless hands. The Flemish words, Hand Werpen, signify, to throw the hand, at which handy work old Antigon was quite an adept; and, as the coat of arms of the town of Antwerp is a castle (argent) sur- mounted by two hands (also argent) on a shield (gules), it is believed that the surgical operations of the giant Antigon, and his subsequently throw- ing the useless limbs into the river, originated the name of Antwerp. Slje iinnt %nii^m. "Oh! 'tis excellent To have a giant's strengtli; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant." Measure for Measure. Upon the banks of muddy Scheldt, There dwelt, in days of yore, A giant measuring at least A dozen feet and more. From whence he came, or who he was, No chronicler could tell; But navigators soon found out He loved taxation well. THE GIANT ANTIGON 17 As if by magic there arose, With turrets strong and high, A castle tall with battlements That almost reached the sky. Across the stream an iron chain He fixed, quite out of sight. Which, with a windlass worked by steam, He slackened or drew tight. Antigon, from his citadel, Now kept a watchful eye. And from the battlements he hailed The skippers passing by. The lazy sailors sailed along As they had done of old. Ne'er dreaming of sound dues, unsound — Of tolls, till then untold. They heeded not the giant who Thrice roared with might and main, "Stop, rascals, stop, and pay the toll, Or I will draw the chain." 18 THE GIANT ANXIGON. They little thought a single man Could put them in a fix; Or force them, beating up the Scheldt, To cross the river Styx. They heeded not Ms stern command, Nor testified dismay; So from their stem they loudly cried, " Old fogey, draw away !" And then, like naughty little boys Who wear no shoes or hose. Each tar upraised his pitchy thumb Against his jolly nose. The savage giant loudly cried, " By jingo, on this strand. If you don't stop and pay the toll, I'll chop ofi" each man's hand ! " The course of ships, like that of love, Ne'er yet ran smooth or clear; The chain is drawn, and then, of course. Each eye draws forth a tear. THE GIANT ANTIGON. 19 A noise like thunder then is heard — The gates now open wide — With patent rope and grapnel strong The giant next they spied. With great dexterity and skill The grapnel then he threw; Although five hundred yards apart, He grappled with the crew. The mate, the sailors, and the cook. The skipper, and boatswain, Perceiving that their goose was cooked, Pronounced resistance vain. The giant hauled with all his might, His hands were red with gore; 'Twas strength — not craft — he needed now, To bring the craft ashore. Though sore his palms, with sore delight He saw the skiS" was hooked ; And reckoned he would palm the gold— The crew guessed they were booked. 20 THE GUNT ANTIGON. Although the tide ran many knots, Not one could run away; And tidily, upon the mud, The skiff imbedded lay. The blockheads now perceived a block, And eke an axe of steel; They axed each other what it meant. And shook from head to heel. " First come, first served ! " the giant took The captain of the band. Most shamefully, but cleverly. He struck off his right hand. Then, one by one, great Antigon His hands laid on the crew; And then a score of blood-stained hands Into the Scheldt he threw. This deed of dreadful note, indeed, Struck terror through the land. And skippers afterwards lay-to — Lest they should lose one hand. THE GIANT ANTIGON. 21 A blazing blazon then lie chose, So chronicles have said — A castle argent, with two hands, Upon "a shield blood-red. The fact of pitching pitchy hands, Into the "lazy Scheldt," Was called, in Flemish, Hand-werpen, Antwerp, where Rubens dwelt. ^nni|in| ntih €M\]; OR f fee Milken §oniis of piitriiitong. TO WILLIAM WILSON, ■r AUTHOB OF "a HOUSE FOE SHAKSPEEE," ' A LITTLE EARNEST BOOK UPON A GREAT OLD SUBJECT, OB CHAPTEE3 ON POETEY AND POETS," ETC. IS DEDICATED, BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. ^m^q M)i S!il)%» A CAT and a dog, who formed part of the establishment of a newly -married couple residing in the suburbs of London, passed their days, like their master and mistress, in harmony and bliss. No entente eordiale was more fully carried out a la lettre. In short, theirs was a life of joyful peace; they never fought; they never quarrelled. One day, however, the young husband, in con- sequence of an observation passed by his wife, married Pompey to Tibby, as they lay fast asleep before the fire, by tying their paws together with a silken cord. The result of this union will be seen on perusing the following ballad. 28 POMPEY AND TIBBY. Of course all married people have sworn eternal love and constancy at the altar, which does not, however, prevent their altering their opinions; for the love of the majority is tarnation short; that of others is, like our spiritous liquors, our milk, our tea, and our coflfee, a leetle adulterated; that of the virtuous minority, with the exception of an occasional equi-nox-ial gale, or a south-wester, is more lasting — nay, often doth it endure " even to the death!" I have been told, but I do not vouch for the truth of the repoi-t, that some of Eve's fair descendants have actually said no-bey, in lieu of o-bey, in reply to the injunctions of the reverend representative of Hymen, conceiving (I doubt the morality of their doing so on such an occasion) that that little consonant, placed before the vow-el O, was a most conscientious way of getting out of a scrape, and setting obedience at utter defiance, not for the better, but for the worse. POMPEY AND TIBBY. 29 This must be one of the reasons why the better halves generally get over the worser halves, who often get the worst of it. Others, in the effervescency of rapturous delight and joy at dropping the Miss, and becoming bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, solemnly and truthfully swear that they will love and obey. But, such is the mutability of the human heart, the honey-moon is barely at its full before the poor husband is sadly convinced how fully his sincerity has been abused, and sometimes becomes unpleasantly conscious of the weight of the bone of his bone and the flesh of his flesh. Hence we deduce, and deuced true it is in some instances, that the silken bonds of matri- mony are often anything but silky or easy to bear; and to be wedded under such circumstances, is not unlike goods lodged in a Bonded store, where duty must be paid ere they become free. 30 POMPEY AND TIBBT. The duty, in the case of the Bond-age of matri- mony, is a very heavy one, exceeding the means of the majority; therefore, as few can afford to pay the parhamentary duty to become free, i. e., divorced, they are forced to remain in a Jix — a fact known to many an ill-assorted couple, who cannot, or wiU not, hunt in couples. " 'Tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true." ^0mp8 anb ®il)l)j ; OB THE SILKEN BONDS OF MATRIMONY. Tom prais'd his Mend, who chang'd his state, For binding fast himself aaid Kate In union so divine; " Wedlock's the end of life," he cried. "Too true, alas!" said Jack, and sighed — " Twill be the end of mine." Before a fire, stretched on a rug. Asleep, and face to face, A cat and dog lay warm and snug, In tenderest embrace. And, in a comfortable chair, Magister domus sate, Twisting fair Mrs. Hogg's brown hair Before the genial grate. 32 POMPEY AND TIBBY. 'Twas quite a picture to behold Such harmony as this; Romantic tales have never told Such tales of perfect bliss. " My dearest pet," said Mrs. Hogg, (She was a loving wife), "No one can say our cat and dog Lead an imhappy life. "I've often wished you to explain Why they should happy be, When married folk turn bliss to pain, And quarrel constantly." Shrewd Mr. Hogg rose from his seat — A sUken cord he spied; Round Tibby's paws and Pompey's feet Two knots he quickly tied. He then desired his pretty wife To rouse her sleeping cat; While he, at risk of war and strife, Cried — "Pompey! catch the rat!" POMPEY AND TIBBY. 33 Puss, swift as thought, sprang to her feet, Her mistress to caress; While Pompey, nimble, sharp, and fleet, Dragged "Pussy oif her dress. Pompey attempts, with all his might. To break the silken tie; While Pussy, eager for a fight, Scratched Pompey in his eye. It was, in truth, an awful sight To hear them spit and bai-k; Poor Mrs. Hogg was in a fright. While Hogg enjoyed the lark. "Divorce alone can end their strife!" Cried Hogg, and up he got; Like Alexander, with a knife He cut the Gordian knot. Away flew Tibby, hght and gay. No longer in a pet; While Pompey grinned, as if to say " We may be happy yet" 34 POMPEY AND TIBBY. "You see, my dear," said Mr. Hogg, " Why they could not agree ; Puss never tried to scratch om- dog So long as tkeij tvere free!" Moral. Phoebe, beware, ere Philis slips The fatal auric ring; Erst learn if truth dwells on his lips — If he be ''quite the thing." And you, O Philis, ponder well Before you "pop the question;" Rather than wed a peevish belle, I'd die of indigestion. Pause, therefore, pause, ere saying "Yes"— Unless attorneys lie; 'Twill cost One Thousand Pounds, I guess, To separate your tie. Cjie €nle iif ii Iltg ; OR Jt Singular gclit ,af (i;oluntbus, TO CHARLES DICKENS, Esq. -^1110 (KaU IS INSCRIBED; liY ONE WHO REGRETS THAT HE HAS NOT A MORE LASTING MONUMENT ON WHICH HE MIGHT ENGRAVE THIS TESTIMONY OF SINCERE ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS. side 0f a %\tf OR A SINGULAR RELIC OF COLUMBUS. The following appeared in " The Times," of 22nd January, 1852. " Captain D'Auberville, of the American ship ' Chieftain,' put into Gibraltar, to make good some damage done to his ship. Accompanied by some of his passengers, he crossed the Straits of Gibraltar to Mount Abyla, for the sake of shoot- ing wild fowl. A breeze overtook them; it was requisite to ballast the boat ere they could return. One of the seamen took up what he thought a 40 THE TALE OF A KEG. * piece of rock, which proved to he a keg, made of cedar, covered with barnacles and marine animalculae. " On opening it he found a cocoa-nut, enveloped in a kind of resinous substance; this he also opened, and found a parchment covered with Gothic characters, nearly illegible, which none could read or decipher. He went to an Armenian bookseller, the most learned man in Spain, who offered #300 for it, but the offer was declined. The Armenian translated it word for word. It was a short, but concise account of the discovery of Cathay, or further India, addressed to Ferdinand and Isabella, saying the ships could not possibly survive the tempest another day; that they were then between the Western Isles and Spain; that two like narratives were written and thrown into the sea, in case the Caravel should go to the bottom, that some mariner would pick up one or tlie otlier of them. THE TALE OF A KEG. 41 "This strange document was signed by Christo- pher Columbus, in a bold and dashing hand. It bore the date of 149.3, and consequently had been floating over the Atlantic 358 years." ^t Mt d K J\tf on A SINGULAR RELIC OF COLUMBUS. We have most of us heard of the tale of a Tub, That was rolled on the plains of Bengal, fiUed with grub; Now list to the tale of a Keg on the ocean, That for centuries rolled in perpetual motion. The Stoem, anno 1493. It was blowing gi-eat guns, as it oft blows at sea, And the sea, though in foam, looked as black as could be ; And the fleet of Columbus — dull sailors we own- Rode on huge wafry pillows all crested with down. THE TALE OF A KEG. 43 Within sight of a reef— and a reef in each sail, Great Columbus has hopes he may ride out the gale. But his sailors^were Spaniards — so evei-y man, When the spanker was set. cried "Life is but a span." Unlike British Jack, a brave jolly fellow, They whine like a parcel of spaniels, and bellow; Invoking San some one, on their bare marrow-bones. They feel they are booked by that Saint, Davy Jones ! Now the vessels continue to rock and to heel — Now they make a deep plunge, and they show half their keel; Though buried in water, they're alive in their shrouds, For they rise on the billows right up to the clouds. Columbus in vain cried, " Boys, keep up your pluck, Our Caravel still is buoyed up like a duck; If you'll lend her a hand, she cannot mis-stays — Give up retching, and Cadiz we'll reach in ten days." 44 THE TALE OF A KEG. But the more the ship pitches, the moi'e the bold tars Implore Saints and Virgins midst cracking of spars ; But the Saints and the Virgins, who tenant the sky. Remained very i)roperly deaf to their cry. Columbus at last in a fearful rage flew — He swore he would blow up the ship and the crew: For the wind it waxed higher, and rougher the waves — What a mess if his messmates find watery graves! With arms folded, calmly he gazed on the ocean, When into his head there came this strange notion : " 0, that Mermaid a letter to Cadiz would take. Ere the Caravel sinks, and we die in her wake!" Then he thought of a bottle attached to a buoy — But so slender a vessel the waves might destroy. As he stood between decks, his eye fell on a peg, And Margery hinted — " Pop your note in a keg." THE TALE OF A KEG. 45 Then he wrote to the king and the queen a short note — " Viva su Majestad, we still are afloat! May it please ye, 2)or Dios, we are in a fix ; Ere morning, I fear, we shall all cross the Styx. " We are now off the great Western Islands and Spain, And I firmly believe we'll ne'er see land again ; But in case we should founder this night or next day. By this note you wiU find I've discovered Cathay. "In the hope I shall float, my own story to tell, Bios gu^ ^\s.^ >JS £j)e Iconoclasts. The Inquisition, introduced into the Netherlands by that sanguinary and bigotted monarch, Philip II. of Spain, brought the prosperity of Antwerp to a close. Religious feuds have ever been the curse of nations; no political wars equalled them in atrocity, injustice, or barbarity. The people, accustomed to the lenient and pa- ternal sway of Charles the Fifth, could not brook the tyranny of his hypochondriacal son, the over- bearing insolence of Alba, or the cnielty of his tonsured satellites. It must be borne in mind, that the majority of the inhabitants of Antwerp, in the sixteenth century, were Protestants; but the axe, the faggot, and the horrible tortures inflicted by the Inquisition, either decimated their ranks, or perforce made converts of these unfortunates. 88 THE ICONOCLASTS. These persecuted Reformers must have felt the same indignation as that experienced by the Pro- testants of these reahns, when the Poj)e attempted to tamper with our religious liberties. No doubt, many of their preachers, whose names have not been handed down to posterity, must, in the bit- terness of their hearts, have . made use of words somewhat similar to those I now quote, from a sermon entitled " Testimony against Romanism," preached by the reverend and accomplished divine to whom I have the honour of dedicating this feeble production. " If it be only in the plenitude of their arrogance that some of them i^rofess ability to make the true God, they have formally, expressly, and uniformly introduced The Worship of many that are No Gods; and of these they fashion Images and Bow down to them, with an homage absolutely forbidden by Jehovah. The favourite object of their idolatry is Mary, the mother of our Lord; of whom their legends are most extravagantly false, to whom their language is most offensively fulsome and profane, and to whom they usually apply for mediation, in preference to lier ever-blessed Son. Other countless saints, as well as I THE ICONOCLASTS. 89 angels and their images, come in for their respective shares of this "wonderful and horrible" adoration. And "the priests hear rule by these means." The Iconoclasts assaulted the efBgy of the Virgin Mary, on the day of Assumption, 1566, as she was borne in solemn procession tlirough the streets of Antwerp, to the well-known shout of Vivent les Oeux! Having dispersed those who took part in the ceremony, they repaired to the Cathedral, where they commenced then- work of destruction by di-agging the eflBgy of Christ from the cross, and smashing it to atoms. Every graven image was broken, every tomb mutUated. Not a church or convent escaped during the three days and nights that this scene lasted. The churches and convents in several other towns in Belgium shared the same fate. The following chronogram, inscribed in letters of brass upon the principal porch of this beautiful cathedral, serves to commemorate the epoch. sanCta tVa ConCVLCata sVnt et ContaMInata. %\)t Ironotksts. Part I. Church Controversy 'Tis vain for Concord to suppose That men can live in peace; When they don't fight, they litigate, To fleece the Golden Fleece. From Moses, even to this day. Men have been swayed by Mars; The people after God's own heart Were ever plunged in wars. Unholy wars were bad enough — Far worse was the Cnisade; These Holy wars cost many crownF, And holes in purses made. i THE ICONOCLASTS. 91 War! desolater of the earth. Scourge of the human race ; Cursed be thy. blood-stained hands and sword, Cursed be thy ghastly face. But of all wars waged by mankind, Wars of Religion are, We wager, most unnatural And impious by far. The God men worship is the same. Though different the rite; Yet Romish priests pretend to say No creed save theirs gives Light! They fancy saints and images For souls can intercede, Because, miraculously, they Are seen to weep and bleed. And they presume the prelates have The power to forgive. Priests, like the leech, have daughters who For ever cry, "Give, give!" i 92 THE ICONOCLASTS. For Gold, the donor may obtain A passport to the sky; For Gold, on Fridays he may eat, In lieu of fish, pig's fry. Of crafty or of artful trades, , Than priestcraft none is worse. Lo, o'er priest-ridden countries there Ajjpears to hang a curse! Alas, that creed should battle creed- Nation slaughter nation — Because a Papal Bull ordained Excommunication ! Part II. Papal Aggeession. Now, in the sixteenth century, Some folk began to say, "The Pope is growing insolent — We must curtaQ his swav. THE ICONOCLASTS. 93 "To curry favour, why should we Twine round our necks a rope? Curs, snap your fetters, and then snap Your fingers at the Pope! ',' When he perceives that men of sense No longer with him pull, To bully us, the Pope will send From Kome a thund'ring Bull " But like Eome's ancient pagan priests, We'll take him by the horns; In lieu of garlands, he shall wear . A crown of prickly thorns. "Down with the graven images, Idolatry we'll rout! Down with the tyranny of Kome ! Henceforth shall be our shout." The shout once raised is taken up — Lilce wildfire see it spread, From town to town, while Romish priests Began to quake with dread. 94 THE ICONOCLASTS. The Vatican then thundered forth, And Bulls became the rage; The Holy See, 'twas plain to see, Misunderstood the age. Wise men began to raise the veil, That crafty priests had spun; And, horror-stricken at their tricks, They vowed this creed to shun. They saw how blood was liquified, How wooden dolls shed tears; How miracles were worked, and how Impostors worked up fears. Tliey knew of many churches, where Parts of the cross were shown; They reckoned if these parts were joined, They'd reach a- cross to Rome. " Down with the graven images. Idolatry we'll rout! Down with the tyranny of Rome!" Forthwith became the shout. THE ICONOCLASTS. ^5 Part III. The Procession. The sun rose on Assumption-day Most ominously red; It seemed as if the crimson sky Cried, " Blood must now be shed." , It was the custom on this day The Virgin to parade, Clad in brocade, and followed by The men of every grade. The long procession sallies forth From the Cathedral's porch, With banners fluttering in the breeze. With crozier, cross, and torch. They halt upon the Place de Melr, To chant a holy mass. Ah, little did the monks and priests Guess what would come to pass. 96 THE ICONOCLASTS. The tramp of feet — dense clouds of dust- A loud and fearfiU yell — Caused the high priest to di'op the host, The host on relics fell. " They come ! " Iconolatei*s cried ; " Where shall we shelter seek? The mad Iconoclasts arrive, Rage painted on each cheek!" In all directions prelates flew, Like chaff before the wind ; The Virgin, banners, and the cross, Alack, were left behind. The mad Iconoclasts approach. Zealous in the pursuit. They ask the Virgin why she bides — Her virgin tongue is mute. " Speak, graven image, that can work (So monks and priests pretend) Surprising miracles, and then To thee om- knee we'll bend." I THE ICONOCLASTS. 97 " Speak ! " cried a second. " Tell us why The bigots left thee here!" — "Move!" cried a third; "and leave a place, Unholy, damp, and drear!" A sturdy smith then broke her head; "She feels," cried he, "no pain." Down went her crown — ^her silken gown Is quickly rent in twain. Derisive laughter, wild huzzas. And curses rent the air; The women for her jewels fought, And left the Virgin bare. Like tigers having tasted blood. The image breakers bawl, "To the churches, boys, and let us smash Saint Peter and Saint Paul ! "Down with the graven images 1 Idolatry we'll rout; Down with the tyranny of Rome! Henceforth shall be our shout." H* 98 THE ICONOCLASTS. Part IV. The Cathedral. Deserted was the sacred church, Still as the silent tomb ; The graven images appeared To preconceive their doom. The sun was setting; golden rays Stole through the rich stained glass; And Iris lingered on the spot Where bishops chanted mass. A parting ray shone on the cross, But soon it passed away; The sacred edifice was left In darkness and dismay. The flickering tapers in the aisle A sickly pallor cast, On marble monuments, that told Deeds of the mighty Past! II THE ICONOCLASTS. 99 And here and there a brazen lamp Its ghastly shadows shed, On images of Saints who were Long numbered with the dead. A noise is heard — scai-ed Silence starts — Hark ! 'tis the tramji of feet ; And deaf'ning shouts — " Vivent les Geuv!" Re-echo in the street. The frenzied mob rush through the porch — No beadle stops their course; They fill the Church, and Marot's psalm Is chanted till they're hoarse. Women, with blazing torches, and With voices shrill and loud. Throw light upon the hellish scene. Urging the wrathful crowd. A thousand blazing torches have Dispelled the shades of night; Five thousand image breakers see. Preparing for the fight. 100 THE ICONOCLASTS. A group before the altar watch A sailor try to toss A rope, with which they mean to drag The Saviour from the cross. The coil is fixed. Women and men Now pull with might and main; The image rocks, then crashes down — Some in its fall are slain. Far from discouraging the horde, Alas, more furious gi-own, The statue of the Virgin next Upon the flags is thrown. And Mary Magdalen likewise Is hurled upon the ground ; Saint Peter, dragged from a high niche, Falls with an awful sound. On all sides men on ladders climb, On all sides hammers ring; And, as each marble statue falls, They bellow Marot's hymn. THE ICONOCLASTS. 101 The walls ai'e almost stripped, but still They hammer heart and soul; Of popes, saints, cardinals, or monks. Not one will be left whole. To see the works of highest art Rome's insolence atone, In truth would melt an artist's heart, Unless that heart were stone. The host is trodden under foot — (Fear sometimes man controls), With holy oil they grease their shoes. Not caring for their souls. The consecrated wine is seized, And, with a knowing wink, Prosperity to headless saints In sacred cups they drink. Some deck themselves in surplices, Some don a golden vest; The women squabble for the lace, The men destroy the rest. ( - 102 THE ICONOCLASTS. Old manuscripts, aud sacred books — We say this to their shame — Were piled, and soon became the prey Of the devouring flame. Then " Vivent les Geux!" again is heard. Demons rush to and fro. The work of mad destruction done, To convents now they go. Deserted was the profaned church. Still as the silent tomb. The graven images had met Iconoclp'^tic doom! t CitijBE'5 '^^rngrtss; OR gamine ginge "^^s. 4 TO ALFEED CEOWQUILL, WHOSE PRjOLIFIC PEN AND PENCIL HAVE FREQUENTLY CONTRIBUTED THEIR QUOTA TO UNMASK THE ABSURDITIES AND MUMMERIES OF OUR time; S INSCRIBED, BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. ( ij\t Citizen's Irogitss. Almost every Contineutal country has its Carnival. Staid, sedate, calculating, speculative, matter-of-fact England has hers. On the Con- tinent the Carnival is kept on Shrove-tide, lasting the whole of the three days preceding Ash- Wednesday Then comes Lent, with its genuflec- tions, its holy water, its imprinting of crosses on people's foreheads, its masses, and its fastings; very sad times for poulterers and butchers, hut money-making times for fishermen and fishmongers. In London the Carnival is kept, not on Shi-ove- Tuesday, but on the 9th of November. The masquerade is not general, but limited to the privileged few, the principal characters being enacted by His Civic Majesty, his courtiers the 108 THE CITIZENS PROGRESS. Aldermen, the Sheriffs, the Common Councilmen, and Domine knows what, attended by hogs in armour, beef, pudding, and turtle eaters. Oh, the 9th of November is a glorious epoch; for it is the renewal of feasting and gormandising — a Cali- fornian time for the City butchers, poulterers, fishmongers, and other mongers. The word Carnival is derived from the Latin words, Carne-vade, which means — Meat is going, or Beef must now be sent to Coventry. Woe betide the man, woman, or child, that dares to eat a rump steak, unless father Antonio, or padre Jose, has been feed for his authorisation. Pur- gatory stares them in the face, though they can't see it. So much for the forbidden meats during Lent. But in London the meaning is reversed ; for beef is sent from Coventry to the metropolis. O! how many worthy Barons, condemned to the spit, have been devom'ed by our civic gormandisers, after due payment of fees, not to the priest, but to the Smithfield ccllector. THE citizen's PROGRESS. 109 Well, well ! Perhaps there is some sense after all, in keeping up this nonsensical pageantiy, instituted long before the reign of the Tudors and the Stuarts, when masks were in vogue. If it tickles the senses of the citizens, ought we to ridicule their November hobby, however absurd and childish the mummery of the thirteenth century must appear to the business and matter- of-fact men of the nineteenth century? Slje diixpu progress; OB DOMINE DIEIGE NOS. " The best thing to keep them from playing the Devil, is to encourage them in playing the fool." — Devereux. In a lane, in the City, I was born. My worthy sire a dealer in com; Kind neighbours said, and believed it fain. That my honest sire was a rogue in grain. Chorus of Men in Livery. — Domine Dirige Nos ! To a rich fishmonger, a rum old gent, In my teens as a 'prentice I was sent; "When my time was out, I soon became free Of the great Fishmongers' Company. Chorus. — Domine Dirige Nos! -i ■ I i i THE citizen's PROGRESS. Ill Such a mighty cit — of the Livery — Of course must needs of the Council be : A Sheriff now, I oft send to prison "The cove as as prigg'd what isn't his'n." Ckorus.-^O Domine Dirige Nos! By Saint George! I. no longer felt at rest — Ambition began to fire my breast; And sweet success, my efforts to crown, Popped me into an Alderman's gown. Chorus. — O Domine Dirige Nos! I was made Churchwarden against my will, Kept parish accounts, and keep them still; Nobody ever yet knew the amount, But they'll all be right at the last account. Chorus. — Domine Dirige Nos! At last I became, pro tern., a lord ! Lord Mayor of London, upon my word ! ! King from the Tower to Temple Bar, I rode about in a gingerbread car. Chorus. — Domine Dirige Nos! 112 THE citizen's PROGEESS. To pay us a visit, some grand day, I The Queen will come, looking bland and gay. j " Mr. Smith," she'll say, " don't be in a fright, For we mean, my Lord, to dub you a Knight." i Chorus. — O Domine Dirige Nos! Thus we see how a man of low degi-ee, Who never knew aught of his pedigree, When fortune smiles, becomes a bold Knight, His arms, three bloaters on shield so bright." Chorus of Men in Livery. — Domine Dirige Nos ! /rnnrnis Ie Mlm, DUKE OF ANJOU AND AlENCON; OR IN 15 83. TO HIS EXCELLENCY Monsieur SYLVAIN VAN DE WEYEK, BELGIAN MINISTER TO THE COURT OF ST. JAMES, &c. &c. Stc. IS DEDICATED, BY HIS VERY OBEDIENT, HUMBLE SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. ^^ Jfrjintais §t falois. FRAN901S De Valois, duke of Anjon and Alencon, brother to Henry III., king of France, was inaugu- rated duke of Brabant at Antwerp, in the year 1582, and count of Flanders at Ghent, on the 23rd July. The duke soon discovered that his authority was very precarious and uncertain. His courtiers, but more especially the French officers by whom he was ever smrounded, seized every opportunity to increase the disgust, and rouse the indignation, which had taken deep root in Anjou's heart, by pointing out to His Grace the disgraceful servility to which he was forced to submit; that it was unworthy of his rank and name ; that the prince of Orange monopolised his authority. 118 FIIAN90IS DE VALOIS. Even as a spark produces flames by constant fanning, so the unceasing taunts of his ambitious corn-tiers roused the dormant anger of Valois. According to Bentivoglio, it was Fervaque, the duke's favourite — but Strada states, that it was Bodin, his master of requests — who disclosed the sentiments of liis courtiers and oificers. The most persuasive, the most artful language, was put into requisition, to inflame the duke's indignation against the prince of Orange. They urged him to seize the crown, which could be efi'ected by making himself master of Antwerp and other Belgian strongholds. " If," were the conclusive words of the fa- vourite's arguments — " If the violence which must necessai-ily be employed — if the shedding of blood (for, in all probability, blood must flow) —alarm your Highness, remember, that the first who were elected kings established their authority solely by FRANgOIS DE VALOIS. 119 these means ; and tbat those who, in the commence- ment of their reign, were looked upon as tyrants and oppressors, were, in the end, venerated as the saviours of the country, as the fathers of the people. Force is the giver of Right; Success is the founder of Justice!" The dulze recoiled at the numerous difficulties which presented themselves in rapid succession. But the thoughts of a crown, and the advantages to be derived from a sceptre, by degrees dispelled his feai-s. He approved — hesitated — and finally made up his mind to seize Antwerp by a coup- de^main. Alas, on mounting his Pegasus, he little knew how long or how briefly he would fly or jog, tranquilly or turbulently, along that ill-paved, rutty, and dangerous highway. Public Opinion, on which some of the cleverest riders have stumbled, and broken their necks. It is not my intention to review the list of illustrious unfortunates who have met with these "fatal accidents." Their 130 FBAN90IS DE VAT.OIS. names are too well known. My present intention is merely to narrate the duke of Alen9on's un- successful attempt on Antwerp. In doing so, I wish to render homage to the courageous burghers who had the temerity to face the tyrant, and put his large army to tlie rout, verifying the proverb, FOKTES FOBTONA JcVAll Jfranpis §e f aWs ; OR THE ATTEMPT ON ANTWERP IN 1583. Part I. The Antwerp Borghers. Thl Belgic burghers ever were Men of wax and mettle ; Their monkey up, they hiss like steam Oozing from a kettle. No threats — no arguments — could melt Their hearts when once on fire; Their choler, therefore, often filled Their rulers' hearts with ire. When duke, prince, king, or emperor. Imposed a noxious tax, Their honeyed tongues spake vinegar — They waxed as pale as wax. 122 FRANCOIS DE VALOIS. Drums beat to arms, and stui'dy legs In all directions flew, To join theii" corps, wliUe trumpeters Blew horns tUl they looked blue. Portcullises were then let down, Drawbridges were drawn up; On ramparts, rampant citizens Must breakfast, dine, and sup. Looms are at rest, but weavers loom Upon the grassy walls. Playing hap-hazard, hide and seek, With grape and cannon balls. Shells rise and fall, bound and rebound, And burst with dreadful sound; While shells, containing burghers slain. To their last homes are bound. Bombs play old scratch with bombazines, And bombasts quake with fear: No wonder bombardiers should scare Many a gi-auny-dear! FRANQOIS DE VALOIS. 123 When projects, or red projectiles, That harrow, burn, and hiss. And missiles, fail to take a town, And onljrhit a -miss — Fortune's sad elder sister comes. Bringing disease and dearth; Then the besieged, to raise the wind, Eaise all they have on earth. They have to raise a mint of gold. To pay for shot and shell; And raise a monument of bricks To bricks who bravely fell! They have to raise the wind to meet Wai'fare's heartless calls; But — worst of all — ^they have to raze Their ancient brick-built walls. Sometimes the foe no quarter give, Though quarters they will take; Then woe betide the citizens Whose quarters are at stake! 124 Their wail, alas, awails them nought — They have no time to pack — The foe with ire set all on fire, And gave the town the sack! Part II. The Investiture. — Anno 1582. His Grace the due of Alen9on, Son of the king of France, Was requested by the Belgians To come with sword and lance, And help the sturdy citizens. Sorely oppressed by Spain, To drive Don Juan and his troops Before them in the plain The duke forthwith sent deputies To this unhappy land, With promise that he soon would lead A brave and chosen bflud. FBAN90IS DE VALOIS. 125 His promises were numerous, He promised every thing — Alas, the proverb says, 'tis vain To trust a prince or king! Eight thousand infantry were sent, Men of renown and might. Supported by two thousand horse. All clad in armour bright. They met Don Juan's troops at Lierre, Drawn up in strong array; They fought—the Spaniards left the field, And Anjou gained the day. To Namur Juan led his troops, (Don Juan was no ass). He meant from thence to watch events, As it might come to pass, That England, France, or Germany, Each, with a jealous eye. Were waiting for the time " to put A. finger in the pie!" 126 FRAN9OIS DE VALOIS. He knew that William of Nassau Had certain plans in view; That friendship could not long exist 'Twixt Orange and Anjou. He knew that Artois and Hainault Adhered to Spanish sway; In Namur Juan shut himself, "To bide the time o'day." Part HI. The Plot. The duke of Anjou soon perceived With indignation great, That Nassau was the Belgian chief, And ruler of the state. Although he had elected been By Flanders duke and count. He knew he could not place his trust In them on that account. FRAN90IS DE VALOIS. 127 Fervaque, his favourite, soon saw That he was out of sorts; To curry favour with the count, He counted all his torts. ' These stubborn flemingers," said he, "Laugh at you in their sleeve; If you don't mind your P's and Q's, France soon must take ' French leave.' " Corbleu ! it is a sad disgrace To see your Grace, a duke, Obey — in lieu of framing laws. Quake — when he should rebuke! You hold the crown by sufferance, And suffer grief and pain; These rascals have grown insolent, And need the yoke of Spaiu. " You must, my lord, and that forthwith, Lay hands upon the crown; Proud Antwerp we will take perforce, 'Tis an important town. 128 FRAN9OIS DE VALOIS. Fear not, success must crown our anns, And then we'll crown you king; The boldness of the enterprise French troubadours shall sing." The duke agreed; 'twas natural He should aim at the crown; And messengers forthwith were sent To each important town. Ostend, Newport, Ath, and Termonde, Dunkirk, and eke Alost, Were ordered to be ta'en forthwith. No matter at what cost, "Antwerp," said he, "myself will seize, Though dangerous the game; And January the sixteenth Shall witness deeds of fame. For on that day our troops shall storm Each Belgian hold and town; I'll prove imto the world at large. That cunning keeps them down. FRAN901S DE VALOIS. 129 " Let Moutpensier and De Laval, And brave Larochefoucault, Meet marshal Biron, who will head The soldiers of Hainaiilt. To blind the citizens, at once Announce a grand review; Peste! if I do not take the town, My name is not Anjou." * Part IV The Stratagem. To take a town defended by Stout burghers wide awake, Who trusted neither France nor Si)aiu, Nor Alen9on the rake; Who never slept with both eyes shut, Lest evil should befall; Was a project fraught with peril — In short, no joke at all 130 FRAN9OIS DE VAL0I3. Sly Alen9on had introduced By stealth into the town Some hundred soldiers, who had gained Seal's, laurels, and renown. He told the citizens they were Officers of his staff; But the 'cute citizens were not Men to be caught with chaif. Meanwhile ten thousand soldiers came, With arquebuse and lance — Four thousand Swiss — two thousand horse. The chivalry of France. But VilUers, a French nobleman, Forewarned them of the plot : " Beware," said he, " of Alen9on ; Brave citizens, sleep not. "For Catherine de Medicis Has taught her son the art Of base hypocrisy, and well The duke can play his part FRAN9OIS DE VALOIS. 131 He tells you that the men-at-arms Come for the grand review ; If you don't keep a sharp look-out, To-morroW you will rue!" The burghers mustered at the gates, To keep a sharp look-out; These rumours, and the grand review, Had filled their minds with doubt. They saw with fear men clad in steel Steal into their strong town; Across the streets they di-ew the chains, When the cold sun went down, A night of great anxiety Crept slothfully away; With joy the watchful citizens Hailed the faint dawn of day. The camp was hushed— no sound was heard Of drums, nor men-at-arms; The burghers thought it was a trick,- And laughed at theii- alarms i32 FBAN9OIS DE VALOIS. Part V. The Coup-de-main, 16th January, L583. Meanwhile the subtle duke had laid His plot with care and skill; All was arranged to seize the town; The troops obeyed his will; And dining earlier than his wont, He mounted, and then flew. Accompanied by all his staff, To witness the review. The citizens removed the chains, The bridges were let down ; His troops were paitly on the bridge, And partly in the town. He gains the second di'awbridge, where He met the men from France, And, pointing to the town, he cried, " Antwerp is ours ! Advance ! " FRAN90IS DE VAL0I3. 133 Rochepot* falls from his horse, and cries, " Help, I have broke my legs ! " Of Vierendeelf, who guards the gates, His Grace assistance begs. This was the signal fixed upon — Vierendeel is struck down, The troops despatch the faithful guard, And rush into the town. Sure of the victoiy, the French, Who never can keep still, Set up this shout — " The town is ours ! " Long live the mass! Slay! KUl!" 'Twas noon. The burghers, at their meals. Heard this terrific shout — Left knives and forks, for guns and spears, To put France to the rout. • Duke of Eochepot. t Colonel Vierendeel commanJed the Kipdorp gcate. 134 FEAN9OIS DE VALOIS. Rumour soon spread the fearful news, That citizens were slain; That Anjou's troops were pillaging; And that defence was vain. The tocsin tolls — drums heat to arms. And burghers by the score Advance, and fire upon the foe, Who welter in their gore. Both Protestant and Catholic Fight bravely side by side; Forgetting controversies, there — Burgher with burgher vied. The artisans, with sword or stave, Now join the dreadful fight; And soon the streets, bestrewn with slain. Present a shocking sight. The fair sex from the gable roofs. Deeming the fight -unfair, Threw what they could lay hands upon — Stools, tables, stove or chaii'. FKANgOIS DE VALOIS. 135 Balls being spent,* the arquebuse, In lieu of lead, spends gold; The treasure which France thought to draw, Draws 151ood from soldiers bold. A baker, who was baking bread, A bold athletic wight, Rushed, almost naked, in the street. To join the bloody fight. Armed with a trowel made of oak. Half carbonised by heat. He dealt a horseman such a blow, That knocked him off his seat. Alas, it was a sorry sight To see the flower of France, Mowed down like grass in summer time, By bullets, sword, and lance. • Having shot away their ammunition, they bent gold and silver coin with their teeth, which they used in lieu of halls. 130 FRAN9OIS DE VALOIS. Dispersed, dismayed, and temfied. Beset on every side. The cry of " sauve qui pent" is raised By men half stupified. They rush towards the Kipdorp gate — Their hopes of flight are vain; They find the Kipdorp gate blocked up With wounded and with slain. A barricade of human flesh. At least fourteen feet high,* Prevents egress; and here they pause, To raise a doleful cry. They mount the ramparts, where they meet A band of artisans Drawn up in line, who charge the foe With sharp-edged partisans ; WhUe others,, from loop-holes and roof. And windows, shower out balls, The French are forced to take French leave. By leaping from the walls. • According to Strada. FBAN90XS DE VALOIS 137 Like urchins playing at leap-frog, Urged on by their compeers, They leap — and fall into the moat, Ducked over head and ears. They struggle with the muddy waves, And vainly gasp for breath; For, as they rise, man falls on man. And hundreds meet with death. MeanwhUe four thousand Swiss attempt To cross the outer bridge — Forthwith the burghers fire their guns. Just as they crown the ridge. Then AlenQon, who wi-ongly thought France master of the place, Perceiving his mistake, retreats, Enraged at his disgrace. The burghers shout, "Close — close the gates!" Lo! what a dreadful sight! Nine hundred bodies fill the arch, The victims of the fight! 138 FRAN9OIS DE VALOIS. The wounded struggle with the dead, The mangled shriek with pain, And gasp for hreath, while crimson streams Gush from each severed vein. This mad attack cost Alengon Just fifteen hundred men. Of hurghers, eighty-three were slain — So records Meteren.* Now, if we add the numhers slain, These and the year agree; For this eventful fray took place In fifteen eighty-three. A chronogram was then inscribed Upon the Kipdorp gate. In order that posterity Should ne'er forget the date. aUXILIUM sUIs DeUs shows, How hurghers bold and stout, Faced Alen^on's ten thousand men. And put them to the rout. » The historian. €I)E mil nf Cnrk; OR \mm^ tut §mmt TO EOBERT KNOX, Esq., M.D. IN ADMIRATION OS' HIS GENIUS AND HIS RESEARCHES IN THE FIELD OF anatomy; (l^jlis 'Baliah IS DEDICATED, py HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. Clje ^tlle of Cork; OB DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. This tale is founded on fact. Many years have been booked by old father Time in his voluminous ledger, since my excellent grandmother used to astonish my juvenile ears with wonderful tales of ghosts, white boys, robbers, and murderers. Alas, she is gone to that bourne from whence no traveller returns. Yet I have not forgotten her, nor her tales; for the deceased narrator and her anecdotes, visions of the Past, will occasionally flit and intermingle with the realities of the Present. It was the beautiful Gobelin tapestry, exhibited at the Crystal Palace, that recalled the circumstance from " the memory of the past." 144 THE BELLE OF CORK. Keader! Fancy yourself in an old-fashioned bedchamber hung with tapestry, at two in the morning, every soul in the house fast asleep in the arms of Morpheus. And now fancy, as you are taking a cursory survey of the figures wrought on the tapestry, that you perceive the glimmer of two orbs, sternly fixed on your eyes, fascinating you as the boa constrictor bewitches its intended ^victim. If your perception be keen, presence of mind will soon throw out the hint, that a thief or a murderer has cunningly cut out the silken eyes of the figure, and that he lurks behind the tapestry, watching, with human eyes, your move- ments. Ah ! Does not the idea cast a shudder over your frame? Does not a tremor like elec- tricity cause your iron nerves to thrill — your blood to freeze — and then your heart, which for an instant ceased to beat, to throb and palpitate, as if it would break its bony cage, or leap into your mouth? If the idea engender these sensations, what must the reality of such a situation create. THE BELLE OF CORK. 145 at that dread horn- of the night, perhaps without means of defence — an assassin watching you as a cat watches a mouse? A woman — young, rich, and beautifiil — found herself placed in this most unenviable, critical situation. But she was courageous — and, generally speaking, women neither lack courage nor presence of mind. It is the savoir faire that gets us out of scrapes, when brute force is unavailable; and to the savoir faire of my courageous relative I now refer the reader. «I;e ¥.fflc of Cadi; OE DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND, Not quite a ceutury ago A straaige event befel Unto an ancestress of mine, A wealthy Ii-ish belle. Her hair was dark as Chinese ink, Her eyes black as a sloe; Her cheeks and smiling lips were pink, Her teeth as white as snow. No marriage bell had ever rung So fair a belle before. Belle-hangers-on, with mettled hearts, Hung round her by the score. THE BELLE OF CORK. 147 Now some admire " those evening bells," "Those evening bells," that peal; Others adore those lively belles. That talk, laugh, love, and feel. Although a bella-donna, she Was not deadly nightshade; Yet, by her eyes, bell-i-potent, Belligerents were made. She went one evening to a ball. And left the window sash Unlocked, when, lo, a burglar bold Stole in, to steal her cash The thief had heard that she was rich — " Och, by my sowl," said he, " I'll hide until she's safe in bed, Then bag her jewelry ! " He struck a light. The room was strewn With dresses, caps, and shawls; But he was startled when he saw Strange figures on the walls 148 THE BELXE OF COKK. The far-famed Gobelins had wrought These figures iai-ge as life. The eyes of Bacchus, quickly, Pat Cut out with a penknife. Pat, having gouged the jolly god, Cried out, "Now he'll see double ! Jist think, old Baccy, that you're drunk, And in a precious muddle." " Faith, by the powers, I must confess The trick is mighty neat. Sure, that's a knock — behind old Bac I'll just make a retreat." The wearied belle unlocks the door, And then sets down the Hght; But, looking round, she thought the eyes Of Bacchus very bright. She gazed, and gazed — and often cast A stolen look askance. Each time she viewed the tapestiy. Old Bacchus met her glance. THE BELLE OF COEK. 149 The unreflecting thief forgot, When gouging Liber's eye,* That his reflecting orbs must wink, And blink repeatedly. Keen as a cat — she smelt a rat; Those eyes the trick betray; Cool as a judge, she did not budge, Nor testify dismay. She knew the slightest sign of fear Would forthwith seal her doom; A stratagem must catch the thief, Whose bright eyes pierce the gloom. She laughed, and sang right menily A pretty Irish air, As she unwove the pearls entwined Around her glossy hair. * One of the names of Bacchns. 150 THE BELLE OF CORK. She laughed and sang, as she unlaced Her rich brocaded dress. The feehngs of Pat Acteon The reader, faith, may guess. She bore her jewels and her rings Into a deep recess. Leaving the iron door unlocked, She put on her night dress. Pretending to be overcome With sleep, she left the light Burning upon the chimney piece, And bade the world — good night But gentle sleep was wide awake. Although Pat heard her snore: Our heroine soon heard the thief Step lightly on the floor. He seized the light — drew near the bed, Armed with an ugly knife ; 'Tis cleai* the burglar means to have Her jewels, or her life. THE BELLE OF CORK. ly] The hardened villain, motionless Stood watching that fair face. He hesitates. How dai-e he slay Such loveliness and grace? He moves the taper to and fi'o — Her lids no motion made, Although repeatedly he drew Across her throat the blade! Her feelings must have been intense. Alas ! What will become Of her, if she but stir or move, Unless her tongue be dumb? Within an inch of her white neck, Glimmei-s the glitt'ring steel; Her potent mind forsakes her not — Her senses do not reel. But. for the heavings of her breast, Exhaling balmy breath, Pat might have ta'en this child of Life, To be a child of Death 152 THE BELLE OF CORK. Long did the burglar fix his gaze Upon the sleeping fay; He sighed— and then to the recess He gently wound his way. This recess, built in olden time, Was full fifteen feet deep; And, as the burglar ventured in, The belle ventured a peep. The moment he had disappeared, She sprang upon the floor — With wonderful dexterity She shiit and locked the door! Her o'erstrained nerves relax — she faints- Her brain, excited, reels; But soon her senses are recalled By kicks from Paddy's heels. Although the thief was strongly built, The iron door and locks, Eesi sting his repeated kicks. Merely resound the knocks. THE BELLE OF CORK. 153 Then furiously she pulled the bell, Alarming the whole house; She coolly told the frightened wights, That shejiad caught a mouse. " And is it for a harmless haste, Hone, you kick up tliis row? Shame wid ye," cried her angry sire, " To wake us up jist now." "My dearest father," said the belle, " It is no armless baste. The beast I've caught has arms, and fain Your daughter's blood would taste." "Och, by my sowl! what do you mane?" "I'll tell you, daddy Pat; My safe recess now safely holds A savage two-legged rat." "I'll fetch my guns and blunderbuss— I'll shoot the artful dodge!" " Nay," said the belle, " let well alone; With us, this night, he'll lodge." 154 THE BELLE OF COKK. At early dawn, ber father told The magistrates, who tell The judge and jury — and, at last, "The sexton tolled his belL" €tie €ak af ii 3M; OR f fee f atom's Clcrl; TO EEANCES ELIZABETH DAVIES. ADTHOE OF " MEMORIES OF GIBEAiTAB," " UNWRITTEN POETRY," ETC., ETC. f jlis faU IS INSCRIBED; BY ONE WHO IS NOT UNGRATEFUL FOB LITERARY ADVICE, WHEN FIRST ABOUT TO CROSS THE " PONS ASINORUM." I Sale 0f K lutt ; THE LAWYER'S CLERK. This tale, a parody of " The Cavalier," is also founded on fact, but it does not belong to the category of the tales of my grandmother. The adventure I have put into rhyme happened some years ago to a fi'iend of mine, who, one day, narrated all the circumstances of this strange affair, with the gusto of a poet — for he is a poet in every sense of the word. Circumstances, and adverse fortune, h3,ve marred all his projects; in lieu of occupying a brilliant position in the republic of letters, he has been kept in the background, aad his talents have withei-ed together 160 THE TALE OF A BUTT. with his manhood. Blasted hopes, age, and iu- finnities, have placed him on the retired list of the disheartened — but not on that of the pensioner. Would that the pensions of a poet laureate, or of general officers, were more general among decayed poets of merit. Peniuy would then be diiven from the tlu-eshold of those whose imagi- native minds have instructed and amused, but who, when in the zenith of then- fame, forgot, that Money, as weU as Reputation, is indispen- sable to procm-e Power, when man is in the prime of life; Comfort, when he is stricken with years It sti-ikes us, that an eminent poet committed a great blunder when he stated that worth made the man, although we agree with him, that "want of it" makes the " fellow." Worth, i. e., Vu-tue, ought to make the man ; but, alas, in this golden age (it never existed before) Gold alone maketh THE TALE OF A BUTT. 161 him. No one can deny the force or the truth of this assertion; for the unfortunate wretch who lacketh it is a worthless — nay, anything but a respectable, fellow. Talent is not discountable, notwithstanding the twenty millions in gold at the Bank ; and as for genius, it is a drug in Lombard Sti-eet. But these observations have nothing in common with our tale of the Lawyer's Clerk, to which we refer the reader. We trust he will pardon the digression. M %uk d K Ittli A PARODY. 'TwAs a bitter cold night, not a star hove in sight, And the wind a gloomy dirge played; When a lawyer's clerk came alone in the dark, His sweet Mary to serenade. A plaintiff's air he sang to the fair, But the wind "out- blew his breath; So he vainly swore, till his throat was sore, " Sweet maid, you'U cause my death ! " Cold, wretched, half dead, he raised his head. He thought he heard Mary sneeze; Yes — she points to a plank, on a butt or a tank, The way to climb up now be sees THE TALE OF A BUTT. ICio Up — up — he hies; to embrace her he tries "Where, oh where, has he gone?" cried she. " O, the rotten plank broke — I fell in — 'twas no joke, Mary made a butt of me ! " With a cry of despair, away flew the fair, Leaving her lover to shiver. Of what use are her tears, while he's up to his ears, In water, from the New River? He dare not shout — the police were about; Most horribly ill at his ease, He began to fear, if the butt he don't clear, In the butt, he's safe, to freeze! Now some men in a fit would have issued a writ, A prey to litigious rage; But young Romeo found, stiff and cold on the gi-ound, A cat, that had died of old age. He seized the slut — popped her into the butt — "There's a cat-a-strophe!" cried he; " Now when Mary brews chicory, coffee, or tea, She may drink cat-sup for me!" CtjE ^m m^tnt; OR %\ft longest ?^ankee l^anu TO LIEUTENANT GUSTAVUS A. ELLEMAN, E.N. €)^b WmMul Cult IS INSCRIBED ; BY HIS AFFECTIONATE BROTHEB, THE AUTHOR. -XO^ C^e ^m Btxi^ml The " capture of the Sea Serpent," so ably and ingeniously told by Captain Charles Seabury, of the whale ship Monongahela, of New Bedford, in the New York Tribune, and which was inserted in the columns of The Times, of the 8th March, 1852, astonished John Bull not a little. Although this yam has found its way into most of our periodicals, I think it necessary to make a few extracts of Seabury's letter, to serve as a guide to those who have not had the singular good fortune to peruse that wonderful epistle. " On the morning of January 13, when in latitude 3 deg. 10 min. south, and longitude 131 deg. 50 min. west, the man on the look-out, seated on the foretopmast cross-trees, sang out 'White water,* and in reply to my 'Where away?' 170 THE SEA SERPENT. said ' Two points on the lee bow.' Supposing it to be made by sperm whales, and being very anxious to obtain oil, I ordered the ship to be kept oflf, and immediately went aloft with my spyglass. » » * i was aloft nearly half an hour before I observed anything like ' white water," and then I presumed it to be made by a ' school,' or rather shoal of porpoises; but wishing to be certain, I ordered the mate, as it was seven bells, to turn up aU hands, square in the yards, and send out the port studding sails. It being my breakfast hour I urged the man to keep both eyes open, and came down; but before I reached the deck my attention was called to the sudden and vehement cry o^Onnetu Vanjan, a Marquesan Islander, 'Oh! look! look! Me see! — too much — too much!' All eyes were instantly directed to the savage to ascertain where he was looking, and then all eyes turned to the lee quarter. I had just time to see ' black skin' when it disappeared. * * • Every eye in the ship regarded it attentively, and not a word was spoken or sound uttered. In a few minutes the whole length of the body rose and lay on the water : it was of an enormous length. Presently the extremity or tail moved or vibrated, agitating the water, and then the head rose entirely above the water, and moved sideways slowly, as if the monster was in agony or suffocating. 'It is a sea serpent ! ' I exclaimed ; ' stand by the boats ! ' » » * We lowered, myself taking the lead, and in a few strokes — the THE SEA SERPENT. ITl wind and sea carn-ing us to leeward— I told tiie boat steerer, James Whittemore, of Vermont, to 'stand up.' AVith calm and cool intrepidity he laid hold of his iron (harpoon), and, when I beckoned with a movement of my hand, quick as thought both of his weapons were buried to the socket in the "'repulsive body before us. I shouted 'stern,' but there was no visible motion of his snaktship. I shifted ends with the boat steerer, and cleared away a lance as quickly as possible, beckoning them to pull up, that I might get a lance, when a movement of the body was visible, and the head and tail of the monster rushed as it were to ' touch the wound.' The frightfulness of the head, as it approached the boat, filled the crew with terror, and tliree of tiiem jumped overboard. I instinctively held out my lance, and its shai-p point entered the eye. I was knocked over, and felt a deep churning of the water around me. I rose to the smface, and caught a glimpse of the writhing body, and was again struck and carried down. I partly lost my consciousness under water, but recovered it: when I rose again in the bloody foam, the snake had dis- appeared, and I shouted, ' Pick up the line.' » * * At first the line went out rapidly, but decreased gradually; nevertheless I was obliged to get up a spare line out of the fore hold and bend on. For fear that the ship would by its weight on the line draw the irons, I put on several drags and gave the line to the mate, when it became 172 THE SEA SERPENT. Stationary. There were now out four boats' lines, 225 fathoms in a boat, and two-thirds of another line, 100 fathoms more — in all 1,000 fathoms, sis feet in a fathom — 6,000 feet — better than one mile and an eighth, an enormous depth, and the pressure at that distance is inconceivable. • • • No eye was closed in the ship — we were speculating on our prey. It was evident he was on the bottom. He stayed down a long time; but on reflection I considered that was his forte — that he was at home there. At 4 a.m., of the 14th, sixteen hours after he went down, the line began to slack, I had it taken to the windlass, when we got nearly two lines 'hand over hand,' then there came a strain again. This strain continuing, I told every- body to bear a hand and get breakfast, and just before we were through, the cook cried out, ' Here he is.' • • • To make our work sure we continued to lance, eagerly seeking for his life, when he drew himself up and we pulled away, and then witnessed the terrific dying struggles of the monster. None of the crew who witnessed that terrible scene will ever forget it; the evolutions of the body were rapid as lightning, seeming like the revolving of a thousand enormous black wheels. The tail and head would occasionally appear in the surging bloody foam, and a sound was heard, so dead, unearthly, and expressive of acute agony, that a thrill of horror ran through our veins. The convulsive efforts lasted ten or fifteen minutes, when THE SEA SERPENT. 173 ey suddenly stopped, the head was partly raised— it fell — e body partly turned, and lay still. • * * As I am reparing a minute description of the serpent, I will merely give you a few general points. It was a malt ; the length 103 feet 7 inches ; 19 feet 1 inch around the if neck; 24 feet 6 inches around the shoulders; and the largest part of the body, which appeared somewhat dis- tended, 49 feet 4 inches. The head was long and flat, with ridges; the bones of the lower jaw separate; the tongue had its end like the head of a heart. The tail ran neai-ly to a point, on the end of which was a flat firm cartilage. The back was black, turning brown on the sides ; then yellow, and on the centre of the beUy a narrow white streak two-thirds of its length; there were also scattered over the body dark spots. On examining the skin we found, to our surprise, that the body was covered with blubber like that of the whale, but it was only four inches thick. The oil was clear as water, and burnt nearly as fast as spirits of turpentine. * » » We took in the head, a frightful object, and are endeavouring to preserve it with salt. We have saved all the bones, which the men are not done cleaning yet. In cutting open the serpent we found pieces of squid and a large blackfish, the flesh of wuich dropped from the bones. One of the serpent's lungs was three feet longer than the other. I should have observed 174 THE SEA SERPENT. that there were ninety-four teeth in the jaws, very sharp, all pointing backward and as large as one's thumb at the gum, but deeply and firmly set. We found it had two spout-holes or spiracles, so it must breathe like a whale ; it also had .four swimming paws, or imitations of paws, for they were like hard, loose flesh. The joints of the back were loose, and it seemed as if, when it was swim- ming, that it moved two ribs and a joint at a time, almost like feet. The muscular movement of the serpent after it was dead made the body look as if it were encircled by longitudinal ridges. We were nearly three days in getting the bones in, but they are now nearly clean, and are very porous and dark colom-ed. The heart I was enabled to preserve in liquor and one of the eyes, but the head, notwithstanding it is cool, begins to emit an ofiensive odour; but I am so near the coast now that I shall hold on to it as it is, unless it is likely to breed a distemper. Every man in the ship participates in my anxiety." Having now acquainted the uninitiated with all the facts, which Seabury tells us are not fictions, we beg to refer the reader to our version of the " longest Yankee yarn" that has ever been spun by brother Jonathan THE SEA SERPENT. 175 Should the story iJiove true, let us at once confess that the Yankees are the smartest fellows in all creation. Have they not out-sailed and out-reaped us? Have they not picked our locks? Have they not .... Yes — they have out-Heroded Herod ! ^t §>m Btxpnt ; OR THE LONGEST YANKEE YARN At last they have caught this sea serpent or snake, Whom many supposed a mere fabulous rake; With precious long lines the Yankees have hooked him — With very brief lines an author has booked him. No one could believe — no, not even myself — The stories oft told of this wonderful elf; We'd as soon think of catching a weasel asleep. As nabbing a boa on the blue briny deep. THE SEA SERPENT. ]77 Kow presume that this boa, sh-, was no boa of fur — We should blush, on the Yankees, to east such a slur — But as fur meaneth thief — if they would but own it, We should very soon leam where Jonathan stole it If it had been a boa ladies wear round the neck. That the crew of 'cute Seabury saw from the deck Of his ship Monongahela, I'll stake my life. That old Neptune would swear it belonged to his wife. If 'twere so, in the New York Tribune we should see An advertisement headed " A Boa Lost at Sea ;" Describing, at full length, length, breadth, colour, and shade- The Reward that by Neptune of course would be paid. 1'8 THE SEA SERPENT. But no — 'twas no tippet, but a real live snake, • That old Seabury caught— half asleep, half awake ; For in latitude three degi-ees, blowing a gale, A man cried " White water," which he guessed was a whale. "Where away?" quoth the skipper, who stood on the prow; " Just two points," said the sailor, '• beyond the lee bow." So the ship was kept off, while all eyes were kept on The white water where sperm whales were keeping it on. From the cross-trees the skipper now ardently looks. While the crew were preparing their boats, lines, and hooks; But seeing a school, (naval scholars, I guess) Up went the port stuusails— my eyes! what a press! THE SEA SERPENT. 179 Ahead flew the ship on the fathomless ocean, Right away for the spot where they saw the com- motion ; When a nigger exclaimed, " Massa, look — dere — me see — Oh ! too much for a whale — 'tis de Snake oh de Seal" The captain and saUors caught a glimpse of " black skin," As he made cui'ds and whey with his tail and his fin. They lowered the boats — and at last they were able To stick a harpoon in his skin hard and sable. "Astern!" cried the skipper. Astern shot the boat — Up went snakev's head — lawk! they saw down his throat. So shocking a sight filled the crew with dismay; Some leaped overboard — to get out of his way! But, like Hector, the skipper was not very shy; With a thrust of his spear he poked out suakey's eye. It was not " all my eye," for, betwixt you and me, The sea serpent pitched Seabuiy into the sea. 180 THE SEA SERPENT. When he rose to the surface, he saw blood and foam, But no snake; he had gone down in search of his home ; "Ply the lines," cried the skipper; "'tis tarnation fine; With a hook in his hack he'll ne'er more cross the line." Now Seahury spins an almighty long story: . He says that the serpent, so foamy and gory. Went down, like an oyster, full six thousand feet deep, And lay there, many hom-s, as if fast asleep. All night long the sea snake lay, without signs of life, In the fathomless ocean. Who knows but his wife, Like Edward's fair queen, did all she was able, To rescue her lord from the harpoon and cable. THE SEA SEEPENT. 181 But no — ^he was doomed! Yes! the die had been cast- She feels that the hai-poon and lines hold him fast; He feels he must rise — leave his wife, bairns, and home; Alas, on the ocean he'll never more roam ! At four he appears " Here he is ! " cried the cook ! They lower tliree boats, and they all steal a look Of the monster, who lay (by Jove, 'tis no fable) On the top of the water, rolled up like a cable. But how shall I describe that fierce struggle for life, As they lanced him with spears? Then began the dread strife ; The rising and swelling, the sinking and creeping, The spouting, the twisting, the springing, and leaping. 182 THE SEA SERPENT. With horror they gazed on the form now collecting, Which, quicker than thought, on a sudden, disjecting. Was whizzing and hissing, and quiv'ring and rattling — Grim death, it is clear, and the monster, are battling. It was fearful to see the toiling and splashing, The bubbling and heaving, the curling and flashing ! Old Seabury teUs us the sight was astounding, And the moans of the snake, unearthly, confounding ! For ten minutes or more the serpent was foaming ; Then faint grew the waving, and fainter the moaning. With a fearful rebound, he uplifted his head. Gave one loud piercing cry — then lay still. He was dead. I pom'trayed to myself a brute full three miles long, With a head like a dragon — with claws sharp and strong ; Whose great eyes, shooting fire, as red as carnation, Were enough to alarm all Yankee creation. THE SEA SERPENT. 183 But no, this male sea snake, in his dark coat of mail. Was one hundred feet long from the snout to the tail ; Forty-nine feet in breadth; and you may calcukte He had ninety-four teeth, all in rows, small and great. Leave we now the smart Yankees to pickle their snake. Which, to haul on the deck, they could not under- take; When we see all the bones, frightful head, heart, and tail, We'll believe the Sea Serpent — was never a Wlinle. 9mM at 10 W. VESALIUS PETTIGEEW, ESQ., M.D. 'ijiis €zk IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. \mu §'q at ^.irffaerg. Those who have never left the shores of Albion, have no idea whatsoever of a New Year's Day on the Continent, especially in France and Bel- gium. Presents and bon-bons are the order of the day. The pastrycooks' shops are literally gutted, to the satisfaction of young ladies and their mothers, who not only enjoy the kisses, crackers, and sweetmeats, but look out for the sweetmeat kisses, that follow in quick succession. On this momentous day the shops are closed, and business at a complete standstill. The only business tolerated is that of calling upon friends and acquaintances, to wish them many happy returns of the day, health, prosperity, and bliss. 190 NEW tear's day at ANTWERP. A list is usually prepared — a sort of street direc- tory. Heaven knows, the one I drew up on the 31st of December contained no less than one hundred and eighty-three names of married and single ladies — all housekeepers — on whom I had to call individually during the course of one single day. The worst of these calls was, that you were called upon to kiss the cheeks of the lady of the house, no matter what her age or infirmities might be. The reader wUl agree with me, that it required some cheek to expect a kiss in the case of ago and infirmities; on the other hand, it was undoubtedly rather pleasant in the case of youth and beauty. In this case — one not of Fieri Facias — I saluted the lovely Miss, And wished her a happy New Year; On her lips I planted a kiss — The smack still rings in my ear NEW year's day at ANTWERP. 191 And then it was amusing to observe the differ ence when the planet Venus, or Pallas, was embraced by the favourite, and the less favoured satellites. ^ With these belles 'twas not give, but take. Though the fair maids made no fuss, They preferred, unless I mistake, One buss — to the Omni-buss. After an absence of several years, I happened to be at Antwerp, on a visit to my mother, at the latter part of December, 184 — . New Year's Eve was celebrated according to the custom of the country. When the clock struck twelve, we wished the Old Year, poor fellow, un ton voyage, not omitting to throw into his teeth all the miseries, the losses, the sickness, and disappointments he had showered upon us. He, whose bii'th had been hailed with delight and rapture but twelve brief months before, was seen to expire without regret; all hopes for the future being concentrated in the 192 NEW YEARS DAT AT ANTWERP. puny infant, who was to make his appearance as soon as the last stroke of the clock had ceased to vibrate on our impatient ears. To cut a long story short, I will briefly state, that on tlie following morning, at about ten o'clock, being New Year's Day, I prepared to sally forth on my bussing excursion. By a singular fatality, the first three persons I came in contact with in the street, were, 1° the doctor, 2° the apothecaiy, and last, though not least, the under- taker. Fortunately I did not meet with a lawyer; had the Fates so willed it, the next person I should have encountered, must, without a doubt, have been the " Old Gentleman in Black," calling on his friends and acquaintances, to wish them also "a happy new year." Scarce had I left dull Venus Street, Whom should I but my doctor meet. He smiled, and looking very bland, Exclaimed, whilst grasping my right hand. THE DOCTOR. — THE APOTHECARY. 193 " I wish you health and happiness ! " On health he laid peculiar stress. I thought of draughts, aperient pills, And cataplasms, and long bills. rf "Doctor," quoth I, "How could you thrive, And store up honey in your hive, If it were not for throbbing hearts, And inflammations, rheums, and smarts. Or indigestion and the spleen — Or blows that tinge flesh blue and green?" The doctor smiled— laughed in his sleeve— " Vale," said he — and took his leave. Onward I went. " A happy year ! " Jocosely sounded on my ear; When, stopping short, and turning round To ascertain whence came the sound. The doctor's aide-de-camp I found. Profoundly bending to the ground. The kind apothecary then Hoped I should see fourscore and ten, 194 NEW tear's day at ANTWERP. And, like the M.D., slyly said, "I hope you'll never want my aid." "Kind sir," said I, "go and dispense Your medicines, but not nonsense!" He doffed his hat, with an arch smile; " Boujour," said I, " cher Monsieur Byle." In merry mood I paced the street, When, suddenly, I chanced to meet The last man whom I wished to see, La Roche, the undertaker! There stood, smiling civility. Mingled with quaint ui-banity — The horrid coflBn-maker. Off went his hat, and bending low. Respectful courtesy to show, He trusted that, mid health and glee, I'd live one hundred years to see. I am not superstitious — I credit not the marvellous— THE UNDERTAKER. 195 Yet, I confess, my heart beat quick, I felt a tremor on my lip; For his cold eyes appeared to say, I yet may»iive to see the day, To lay you in your bed of clay. He scanned my cheeks, as if to try Hidden diseases there to spy; If slow consumption in my chest Was working my eternal rest. An undertaker you may tell Forthwith, by an unearthly smell Of musk and incense, or quick lime, That overpowers you for the time. I wished the fellow at the Devil. " La Roche," said I, " you're mighty civil ; I wish you, as well wish I may, Fifty-five funerals per day ; Moreover, I sincerely trust. Since die we shall, and die we must. That, ere me, you will turn to dust" I bowed, and walked away, 196 NEW year's day at ANTWERP. But on mine ear a fiend's laugh fell: It sounded like a funeral knell, Sad, on a New Yeai-'s Day. Ere I proceed, a circumstance I'll teU, Which to a friend of my late sire befel, With this identic undertaker hold, Who never buries gratis, but for gold. Gratis indeed! Where is the undertaker. Who would provide interment for the dead? Unless friends pay for Pomp, the cofl&n-maker Would leave the coi-pse to rot upon its bed. Gratis indeed ! The smooth-tongued undertaker Hints at respect for the mem'ry of the dead ; The mourners listen to the coffin-maker, And squander all in polished elm and lead. Gratis indeed! The winning undertaker Talks about mutes, and feathers manifold, Of pageantry! 'Tis thus the coffin-maker. Heedless of moralists, who cry, " Shame, shame ' " From widows and from orphans squeezes gold, To gratify Pomp, Vanity, or Fame. •7 There was an Antwerp citizen, With face the hue of lead, Who, one day being taken ill, Be-took himself to bed. His wife sent for a famed M.D., A clever Sangrado, Who felt his pulse, and shook his head. As if to say — no go ! Nathless he thought, I'll scare grim Death, Draughts and blue bills I'll ply; But worse and worse the patient grew — He felt that he must die. 198 NEW YEARS DAY AT ANTWERP. Although his will was duly made, No will had he to die; He grieved to leave his money bags, His wife and family. Wrapped up in thought and counterpanes. One morn he heard a knock. And barely had he cried " Come in," When some one turned the lock. It was his faithful valet, who Approached his master's bed; " Sir, there's a gent, as comes to know If you're alive or dead." " The Deuce there is ! " exclaimed the cit, "Who can the fellow be?" "No fi'iend of yourn, sir, I can swear. Nor of the family." "What is he like?"— "A tall pale man, StifiF, sir, as yonder poker; He smells of musk, is dressed in black, And wears a milk-white choker." THE ANTWERP UNDERTAKER. 199 "Where have you left this sable mau?" "Hard by, outside the door; He says but little — therefore, sir, 'Tis plairv-he thinks the raore." "Go, Thomas, go; conduct him here; This fellow I must see ; He may have matters of import To tell me orally." Tom soon returned, and ushered in The gentleman in black. Who, seeing that he was not dead, Felt half inclined to tack. The patient recognised La Koche — His lukewarm blood grew cold ; There stood the undertaker, who Ne'er buries but for gold ! Brave was the cit; so laughingly He faltered a " Good day !" Then gaining self-possession, he Resolved to have his say. 200 NEW year's day at ANTWERP. "La Eoche," said he, "what brought you here? Turn not your eyes away. Did some kind friend inform you that My flesh had turned to clay? " You hesitate — out with the truth — Confess — what have men said?" " Monsieur," the undertaker hsped, " They told me you were — dead ! " " They did, did they ! Well, it is kind— I thank you for your call; And, since you're here, we may as well Talk of the funeral. "Presuming that I were to die — For I feel rather queer — You shall conduct the pageantry, And lay me on the bier." The undertaker made a bow. And his grey eyes shone bright; At thoughts of suchi a funeral, His heart filled with delight. i THE ANTWERP UNDERTAKER. 201 He cleared his throat, and then spoke thus— "Monsieur, when you are dead, I will, with pleasure, bury you In coffin lined with lead." "Hold, rascal! Pleasure did you say?" "Monsieur, upon my soul, 'Twas honour that I meant. Sometimes O'er words we've no control." "Ah!" cried the cit, "you have the gift Of what some call the gab ; Erst name your price. If dear, I swear. My body you sha'nt nab. " I hate all pomp and idle show, Th' interment must be plain; Though you can fix the hour, 'tis clear To name the day were vain." The undertaker scratched his head, And, taking up a pen, Replied, " The cheapest hour is eight— The dearest one i«3 ten." 202 NEW year's day at ANTWERP. "And pray, Monsieur La Eoche, how miich, Since die you know I must, Do you propose to charge my wife, To lay me in the dust?" La Roche began to calculate. Lest there should be disputes, The cost of coffin, nails, and gloves — The hire of plumes and mutes. With awful gravity he said, " 'TwUl cost five thousand francs, To bury you respectably, And eke deserve your thanks." "What! when I'm dead!" exclaimed the cit; " La Roche, you are a knave. Console yourself, it sha'nt be you, That lays me in the grave!" He kept his word. For when life ceased To move heart, lungs, and muscles, According to his wish, his wife Did bmy him at Brussels. t ; • ! I THE LONDON UNDERTAKER. 203 Ere I proceed, a second tale I'll teU, About a London undertaker, Stranger by far than that one which befel To the bold Antwerp coffin-maker. %\t f onhii Inkrtakr, A NABOB, who wallowed in gold, Fidgetty, lean, and skinny, Fell sick one day, and grew, I'm told, As yellow as a guinea. Day followed day, sickly and wan, Croesus lay in his chamher; Not all his wealth could heal the man, Or change his hue of amber. The neighbours said, " He'll surely die, Certain as milk makes butter" — Rimiour bruiting the doleful cry, Set tradesmen in a flutter. THE LONBON UNDERTAKER. 205 For weeks and weeks they heard no sound, In chamber, hall, or locker : Echo was heard not anywhere round, But rust devoured the knocker. Solemn silence reigned in that house: Still as death was every room; So deathlike, not even a mouse Had the face — to face the gloom. No doctor calls — no surgeon's lad, With his buttons, draughts, and pill. Where are his friends? It must be sad To have no comforters when ill. One day, howe'er, a neighbour came. And raised the rusty knocker; He knocked so loud. Silence fled in shame, While Echo cried, " Stop, stop her ! " After a pause, a groom appeared; Of him he made inquiry; " Master," says he, " I'm much affeared. Is still, sir, far too fiery." 206 NEW year's day at ANTWERP. He called next day. The servant said. Looking the picture of gloom; " Master, I fear, will soon be dead— ' He be hast'nin' to the tomb." "I'm Maggott, the undertaker."— "Oh! lookin' out for a job?"— " Serve me," said the coffin-maker, "There's two hundred hob for Bob!" At ten that eve he hm-ried back. "Alas," cried Bob, with a sigh, "I've lost the best master, alack! I told you he soon would die." "All right!" said Maggott. "Instantly This job, old boy, we'll settle ; I'll measure the corpse, and decently Bury this man of metal." "Stop!" said Bob to the artful dodge, " No money, no corpse for thee ; No interment, unless you lodge In this palm the promised fee." THE LONDOX UNDERTAKER, 207 Maggott gazed on tlie couch of death, And thought of the precious gold Which they leave, when the rich lose their breath, And go to the churchyard mould. But thought he of human desires, Of pride, ambition, and fame ; Of honours to which man aspires, Which oft redound to his shame? He near'd the bed — threw off the sheet. To take the nabob's measure; Up jumps the corpse — straight on its feet, Frowning with dire displeasure Maggott sprang back in an awful fifight, Dropping his measure or ell; He thought the corpse the yellowest sprite That ever arose from hell! The corpse raised its arm. Whack followed whack, Wallop succeeded wallop; He roared — he bellowed; on Maggott's back Echo re-echoed a gallop. 208 NEW year's DAT AT ANTWERP. A gallop he danced — a polka too. Upsetting table and chairs; Gaining the door, at last Maggott flew, More dead than alive, down stairs. (Iiliimtm ?llttet)0; OR %\)t iainter an^ i\n Itc. TO CAPTAIN EDWAED I. ELLERMAN, H.M. 98th EEGIMENT, %^ut €aliB AEE INSCRIBED, By HIS AFFECTIONATE BROTHER, THE AUTHOR. <^ The fact of the celebrated painter, Quentin Metsys, haviug exercised the profession of a black- smith and locksmith up to the age of twenty, is well known to all our virtuosi. His vocation of making, repairing, and picking locks, was, however brought to an abrupt termination, in consequeno of his being smitten with the fair eyes and oily locks of the daughter of Floris, the artist. Met- sys proposed, but the painter disposed, by refusing to give his daughter in man-iage to a blacksmith. No doubt, on learning the decision, he exclaimed — "Well, Hohbs*, I never!" t * This Hobbs must have been some celebrated picker of locks, and cotemporary of Metsys. 214 QUENTIN METSYS. Metsys was a crafty and cunning fellow Though not a Lucifer, he was determined to be a match for the old file of a painter. He began by send- ing hammers, pincers, false keys, and files to Halifax, and, unknown to Flore, practised the drawing of noses, eyes, ears, and teeth, until he equalled the proud artist. So much in favour of perseverance. One day, while Flore was absent from home, Metsys called to see his lady love; and, passing by the door of the studio, he entered, and found himself before Flore's famous picture, representing St Michael driving Satan and the rebel angels from Paradise. An idea struck him. The opportunity was too favourable to be lost. Seizing the brushes, he hastily painted a large bee upon one of the thighs of a falling angel. There it sticks to this day. When Flore returned, he posted himself before his picture. He gazed with admiration on his production, but was startled on seeing a bee, QUENTIN METSYS 215 gathering honey from the thigh of one of his devils. No doubt he thought it deuced odd — and odder still, when he found that all his puffing and blowing cSiild not drive it away. He soon discovered that it was painted. His rapturous exclamations are recorded in the following lines. ^iimtin Petsp; OB THE PAINTER AND THE BEE. "Connubialis amor de mulcibre fecit Apellem." Hebe lies smith Metsys. — Great has been his fame : By trade a smith — not Metsys Smith by »ame. He forged — not bank-notes — but the partizan, And casque that peered above the bai'bican. His leathern bellows day by day he plied; His crafty hand on glowing iron tried. Though not a Chubb, his locks no soul could pick ; So deep his cunning, he defied Old Nick. He toiled, a blacksmith. Was not this a shame? QUENTIX METSYS. 217 One day, howe'ei', there came a lovely dame — He thought of Venus, who, in days of yore. Sought Vulcan for the arms Achilles wore. The maid seemed fairer than the queen of love; He stood quite mesmerised — he scarce could move; His hammer di-opped — the red-hot shoe grew cold — The smith grew bashful, and the fair maid bold. She smiled, and whispered something about — smoke; Of com-se, smith Metsys thought the stove was broke. He took a liaramer from the anvil bright, And followed her. Her hair was dark as night; Her eyes shone brighter than the sparks that flew From pliant steel, ere it grew hard and blue. Sweet eyebrows, gently arching, cast a shade On crimson cheeks, where all the graces played. The timid smith, with scarce a word to say. Bewildered, followed on the maiden's way. He was so bashful when their eyes did meet ! At last they gained the place — her father's street. 218 QUENTIN METSYS. Franz Flore, the artist, told him what to do; The job, whate'er it was, is nought to you, But I may venture, even on hearsay, To state the blacksmith called th' ensuing day. The artist's little job was left alone; He came — and came — until he did his own. He loved — she loved, and yet she ne'er had shown it. Until his warmth had fairly made her own it. But the stern sire — success had made him proud — Looked down with scorn upon the canaille crowd; " When you can pamt, good Cyclops," with a smile He said, "return. Good even, friend, the while." " Walker ! " cried Metsys. " Let me curse my trade. My locks, my keys, all that these hands have made; Confound all Smiths! for love it is no go — I'll blow my bellows off to Jericho ! " Metsys returned; to Vulcan bade adieu; With Cupid partner, started life anew Ah ! little then did Francis Flore suppose The quondam Smith knew how to draw a nose. QUENTIN METSYS. 219 How shade a chin, and how to paint an eye, By Jove, the smith the artist can defy. It chanced the -painter had gone out one day; Metsys in stealth came his respects to pay: He passed the studio, found the door ajar- Hookey! temptation was too strong by far. He gently pushed the door, lest it should creak, And like a felon he was forced to sneak. He spied Flore's painting : Saint Michael in the sky, Hurling the rebel angels from on high; Who, falling headlong into pits below. Assumed the quaintest features as they go. Some looked like d,ragons clad in' scaly mail. With wings extended flutt'ring on the gale ; Etna-mouthed devils, with amazing tails. To thresh great sinners — like to rustic flails, A boar's head one — a most amazing pig, With sturdy tusks, and eke a flowing wig; And ne.^t a lion-man: you could not need a More wild, fantastic, strange oUa-podrida. 220 QUENTIN METSYS. Saint Michael's broad sword flared up in the middle, While angel hands scraped tunes upon the fiddle. These rebel angels would indeed have made Fit subjects for Mons. Jullien's masquerade. Now, having fed his gaze, smith Metsys took The brush and palette. With a master's look, Upon a devil's thigh he quickly drew A humming bee ; then down the brushes threw. To his deal" mistress now he quickly flies; She the sweet insect in an instant spies. She screams — is fearful lest the bee will sting. " Poh, poh!" cries Metsys; "'tis no living thing; But hush — your father comes. Behind this screen Let's hie, and watch him, where we ai'e unseen." Flore slowly entered: but, with startled look, He saw the bee, and then a duster took. "Bonder and Blixem!" cried the good old man; To puff and blow the artist next began. " Saint Luke, have mercy ! Well, I do declare This bee 's as obstinate as anv bear " QUENTIN METSY3. 221 Puff—pitff! " The insect sticks like cobbler's wax Will nothing make the thing its hold relax? She'll spoil my devU with her waxen thigh; I'll gently pokelier — she might sting! — my eye! I'll ope the casement, and entice her out — I'll pluck a rose — Franz, mind what you're about! How very odd, it moves not leg nor wing! Can this be fancy? 'Tis a living thing! Saint Luke! No — yes — no — aha, I see. Some cunning rascal has bamboozled me: 'Tis painted! He, I swear, who drew this bee, Shall have my daughter. I'm in ecstasy!" "'Twas I!" cried Metsys.— " You, smith Metsys, You!"— " I was a smith, but now a painter true, Who claims your daughter, and her dowry too ! " " She's yours," cried Franz. " Love's labour is not lost, If she repay the trouble she has cost!" 222 THE ANTWERP BELLE. Leave we smith Metsys in his narrow cell, At the foot of the fretted steeple ; And go we to visit an Antwerp belle, The envy of fretful people. ®|t Intkii |cl[e. An Antwerp belle! Now, reader, do not wonder, Nor shut your eyes like fatalists in thunder, Because famed Rubens painted women fat, Or gave Chapeau de Faille a velvet hat; Because Teniers and other aitists shed A heaviness about the Flemish head: Encircling grace in woollen petticoats. Spun from fat Flemish sheep or Flanders goats; Wrapping their tiny feet in woollen hose, And casing them in clumsy wooden shoes; Or picture beauty with a turned-up nose A tumed-up nose. We must suppose, Though female pride I would not nettle, Was very properly intended, 224 THE ANTWERP BELLE By nature, when the tip she bended, As a hook whereon to hang a kettle. I'm not to blame, If men like Rubens, Floris, Kuyp, and Eyck, Dow and Cornelitz, Breughel and Van Dyck, Or Wouvermans, and Steen, or Mike Willmann, Consigned to fame Noses quite the reverse of Roman. But now I propose. Kind reader, to tiy To describe a nose As straight as a die. Rose in a noble mansion sate, A rose on the verge of bloom; Her smile was sure the heai-t to elate Of those oppressed with gloom. On her cheek so fresh and so fair, Old Time or ti'oublesome Care No fuiTows had ploughed, I can swear. What right had they to plough there? THE ANTWERP BELLE. 225 But the time will come when old Time Will plough those cheeks lying fallow; Death may cut her off in her prime — Disease may -turn her skin sallow. But ere these evils oppress her, While she glides near the soiu-ce of life's stream, Like an artist I'll try to pourtray her, Ere her beauty fades like a dream. Her auburn hair, of a rich golden hue, Fell in luxuriant ovixls d la corkscrew, Kissing her rosy cheeks, where sweet content Was robed in modesty and sentiment. On that smooth surface, just beneath the eye, Aurora played, as in the northern sky; And o'er her even brows was to be seen A cheerful forehead that would grace a queen — Terse, delicate, and white — not Mgh, nor low — / A forehead such as few could boast or show. Two lids, from which dame Nature with a dash Of her keen hand had drawn the long black lash, 226 THE ANTWERP BELLE. Half veiled blue eyes, so loving and so glad, Which seemed as if they never could look sad. Her nose " du'ected strate," as Chaucer said. And well became her Grecian face and head, Graced by such ears, whose unadorned tips Fond kisses begged of fond endearing lips. Her mouth was perfect, of the deepest red; None more than I do pale and thin lips di'ead; Lips are the seat of frankness and of love, And mark the serpent, or proclaim the dove. And when they parted — bless me, what a row Of pearly teeth, as white as Eve could show! Then, gUtt'ring like an avalanche of snow, Her neck sloped gently to her arms below. Her hands are long, tapering, and white ; Her waist is slender, but not laced too tight. Her shoulders broad, but broader still her hips; On tiny feet most gracefully she trips. Stately, yet gentle as a turtle dove, This Antwerp beauty is the Queen of Love! Cnimt (©oBimatingliniiini; OR i^c gistotor of flatmni giscobereir. ^1 TO ^ THE RIGHT HON. LOED MURRAY. &c. &c. &c. €\}U €nU IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS VERY GRATEFUL AND OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. €m\\i €mmuk^\mm; OB THE INVENTOK OF MACAEONI DISCOVERED. A GOLDEN custom hath John Bull : When Fortune comes with both hands full. He treats his friends to dinner. John scorns to act a sordid part, And proves he has a gen'rous heart. Whenever he's a winner. To celebrate this momentous day, A valued fi-iend, rich, witty, and gay. Invited me to dinner! To meet a Scot of the name of Mac, An Italian, who gave the Pope the sac, A carbonari, only fit for the rack — In short, an awful sinner. % 232 COUNT COSIMAVOGLIONINI. The count, a pupil of Paganiui, Was called Cosimavoglionini; Of noble descent was he. But Mis(s)Fortune in a whimsical whim, Jealous of Fortune, sacrificed him At the shrine of Liberty. Mac Alphen, the Scot, belonged to a clan. That in days of yore in petticoats ran. Armed with broadsword or rapier. He had come from India, where he had bought. And sold, and bartered — but never had fought With Gough or Sir Charles Napier. We met. " 'Twas in a crowd" of dishes. Dished was the soup — dished were the fishes — Piping hot the tui'tle mock. But the wines, so delicate, old, and nice, Like Franklin's ships, were blocked up in ice, To give our palates a shock. OOnNT COSIMAVOGLIONINI. 283 The soup disappeared, and so did the fish; Course followed course, dish followed dish, TUl, of course, each course was eaten. Then came entremets, with snipes and quails. And things that looked like puppy dogs' tails, With a taste that smacked of the wheateu. "Ah! dis is de dish, de macaroni!" Cried Cosimavoglionini, Rubbing his hands with glee; "De Italian cook who invented dis paste, Vas vone man of sense, and vone man of taste, De idol of Italy!" "Mr. Mac," said I, "do you hear the count? Who looks as if he'd eat any amount Of baccy pipes that are stewed." " Baccy pipes ! " exclaimed the Scot, with a grir That caused the gi'avy to flow down his chin, As the slipp'ry tubes he chewed. 234 COUNT COSIMAVOGLIONINl. " The count says," quoth I, " some Italian cook, Who never, like Soyer, the trouble took To write an elaborate cookery book. Invented macaroni. Now, sure as this paste is made of maize corn, I mean to amaze, though he treat it with scorn, Count Cosimavoglionini. " The chef who invented this paste, you'll see, Was not born, though he died in Italy; Of Scottish descent was he." " Och, mon, did ye sae it fell to the lot Of a countiymon of mine," asked the Scot, "To invent macaroni?" " Fodge, fodge ! " cried the count, with a savage look, "How can you say 'twas vone Scotchman cook, Dat made dis vonderful paste!" And he snapped his fingers, and made a grimace. " We always were an inventive race," Said the Scot, " and men of taste." CODXT COSIMAVOGLIONIXI. 235 "Inventive!" exclaimed the count. "Veil, I never Believed de Scotch people so mighty clever, Aide' dey invented, 'tis true, De pipes, wliat gib de poor cat belly ache, De fiddel, whatTjeep de musician awake, For he scratch, and vish de Debbil would take De pain aud instrument too ! " The Scot clenched his fist, for his choler rose; He felt half inclined to smash the count's nose : And seeing the count casting eyes on his kuiie, I thought it prudent to end further strife Respecting macaroni. So I took a card, and wrote on its back A name that took the Italian aback, For the name of the cook began with Mac — 'Twas Andrew Mac Arony! * The count took the card, and gazed on the name Of the Scot, who had gained Ausonian fame, By mixing dry flour with water, 236 COUNT COSIMAVOGLIONINI. And passing a wire througla the unbaked paste, Which, when stewed and flavoured with meat, has a taste Of wheat worth ^3 per quarter. And then I explained how the canny Scot Had embarked to avoid a rebel's lot, And set sail for Italy; That he landed at Naples, where he took A shop, and set up as a pastrycook, And invented macaroni. WhUe England's for beef, porter, puduing, and veal, France vaunts her soup maigre and Bony; The Scot, he delights in his cakes of oatmeal, And Naples in stewed Mac Abony! t jfmimi €tl\tL TO THE EIGHT HON. THE EAEL OF CARLISLE. &c. &c. &c. IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS VERY GRATEFUL AND MOST OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. %\t Jfortene Cdk. Returning homeward, buried in deep thought, Dreaming of things that were, but are no more, That sprang from Chaos, and returned to nought, I heard a moan that issued from a door. My feet were riveted, as if a shock Of electricity had petrified Or turned my frame into a marble block; I could not move, I felt so terrified. For I had heard strange tales about this dwelling. So old and dismal, "ominous and drear;" (As tales, we know, can never lose by telling). My heart was filled with superstitious fear. 242 THE FOKTUNE TELLER. The oaken door, besmeared with dingy paint, Was richly carved with heroes long forgotten, While in the centre stood a headless saint, Surrounded by an allegory rotten. The gable roof hung over with a frown; The shutters as they swung creaked mournfully ; The crumbling walls seemed ready to fall down, While on the roof an owl shrieked dolefully. A flickering light now cast a feeble shade Upon the casement and the whitewashed walls; I caught the outlines of a face, which made Imagination think of shrouds and palls! Imagination — fanciful, yet weak — Inspii-ed my heart with superstitious fears; I'd heard of witchcraft's prophecies, and eke Of things foretold by necromantic seers. I'd heard how past events had been exposed. And how futurity had been foretold. I longed to bear events to come disclosed; By Fancy fired, Timiditv grew bold. THE FORTUNE TELLEK. 243 I raised my hand, and pulled the time-worn hell. It sounded dolefully upon mine ear; And, as its knelling slowly died, there fell Sounds that denoted footsteps drawing near. The bolt is drawn — the chain falls with a clang. The door upon its rusty hinges creaking; A voice upon my ear then harshly rang — So solemnly I thought Clotho was speaking. I then beheld that beldam, gray and old, Whose mystical " and comprehensive view" Meanings the very darkest could unfold — "The Past, the Present, and the Future knew." A rusty lamp, feeding a sickly flame. Cast on her wrinkled face its pallid hue; I felt awe-struck — I say it to my shame, And from my pores oozed drops of clammy dew. For I had heard strange tales about this dwelling, So old and dismal, ominous and drear; (As tales, we know, can never lose by telling), My heart was filled with superstitious fear. 244 THE FORTUNE TELLER. She made a sign. Like one led to his doom, I followed her along a narrow hall: "Tie flickering flame barely dispelled the gloom, Casting strange shadows on the dingy wall. She pressed a latch; back flew an oaken door — We crossed the threshold of a dismal chamber; Strange implements bestrewed the time-worn floor, Witchcraft's conjuring implements and lumber. Too feeble to dispel the shades of night, The lamp seemed rather to augment the gloom; While fancy, fear, or my bewildered sight, Revealed the spectral tenants of the room. And as I gazed, with wonderment and awe, On mystic symbols that affright the dull, A magic circle on the gi-ound I saw, Composed of bones and many a human skull. She took a seat, and bade me quick di-aw near. I sate in serious thought and contemplation; A mumbling sound caught my attentive ear: The beldam had commenced an incantation. THE FORTUNE TELLER. 245 Upon the oaken table where she sate, Lay a naked dagger and some phials; And that mysterious book, the Book of Fate, From which she prophesied Success or Trials ! She made a sign. I tendered my left hand; Her eye ran slowly o'er the line of life; She shook her head. Could it be my last sand Had nearly run its course of grief and strife? She dropped my hand ; then oped the Book of Fate, Giving her dark, mysterious mind full scope; And as I watched her face, I felt elate, Or trembled, as she cast my horoscope Suspense, we know, is diflBcult to bear; Too oft, alas, suspense is worse than death. Delay has often caused a bitter tear, A throbbing heart, a gasping after breath ! "Woman!" cried I, "you fill my heart with dread. Wliy do you keep me in suspense and fear? I have not asked thee to awake the dead. Or force yon eyeless skulls to shed a tear. 246 THE FORTUNE TELLER. " I came not hither as a neophyte. Placing implicit faith in necromancy, Or cabalistic signs — soothsayings trite, That mystagogues employ to fetter Fancy. " I came to ascertain if thou wert able To tell me of events long passed away. Reveal the Past; and should it prove no fable, Most patiently I'll listen to thy say." I ceased. The mystagogue withdrew her gaze, Which, whUe I spake, was sternly fixed on me; Once more she wandered through intricate maze Of past events, linked to Futurity. Her seai'ching eye wandered from page to page, Pages impressed with dark Horoscopy ; The gatherings of the necromantic sage And seer who studied Meteoroscopy. And, as I watched her, buried in deep thought. Apparently in converse with the dead. The strangest thoughts, no doubt by fancy wrought, Inspired my mind with tei-ror and with dread. THE FORTUNE TELLER. 247 More mournful and more dismal grew the gloom — More bluely burned the stedfast sickly flame — More tenanted with spectres seemed the room — More diabolical the old beldame. ♦• The burdened air seemed peopled with strange things — Pale spectres danced infernal galopades — Birds of ill omen flapped their leathern wings — While Death personified the King of Spades ! These aerial spectres, phantoms of the brain, Awful in look and foim, whizzed round and round, Inviting me to follow in their train. I sate in fear; my terror was profound. For I had heard strange tales about this dwelling, So dismal, and so ominous and drear; (As tales, we know, can never lose by telling). My heart was filled with superstitious fear. 248 THE FORTUNE TELLEB. To veil these phantoms from my perplexed eye, I placed, on each bewitched lid, a hand. The beldam raised her head to prophesy, And roused the dreamer v/ith her magic wand. Then, pointing to the cards, she slowly said, " Thrice cut the pack — then mix — and cut again.' Upon the cards my trembling hands I laid, Thrice cut, then mixed, and cut the pack in twain. I gazed intently on the motley crew Of men with fair, or women with dark hair; I wondered how the beldam could construe So truly what was foul, and what was fair! And then her tongue, versed in occultic skill, Most truthfully revealed the mighty Past: So faithfully, alas, a deathlike chill Over my trembling frame a shudder cast. She ceased, rose from her seat, and took the light ; Slowly she moved towards the magic ring; Ere I could speak, the room was dark as night — I heard no sound, save bats upon the wing. THE FORTUNE TELLER. 249 Then, I confess, fear preyed upon my heart, (The brave are not exempt at time from fears) A sudden flash and glare caused me to start, While a cold sweat fell from my pores like tears. The glare proaeeded from the magic ring; Each eyeless skull shot forth bright rays of light; While in the centre stood a spectral thing, Pale, motionless, like goblin, fay, or sprite. The deathlike silence reigning in the room— The figure, demon-like, within the ring — The lurid glare, which pierced the dismal gloom — Made me the closer to the table cling. At last the figure raised its magic stave. And, with a solemn voice that harshly fell, Sounding as if proceeding from the grave. Said, " Stranger, attend to what 1 have to tell. " Thou hast undoubtedly oft heard the name Of Nostradamus, who, in days of yore. By nightly readings of the stars, gained fame, As well as crafty astrologic lore. 250 THE FORTUNE TELLER, " Maybe thine eye, if curious, hath read The quatrains published by this wondrous sage Events so truthfully predicted, led Men to place faith in every line and page. "Albertus Magnus and Jerome Cardan Did likewise spend their nights in watching stars. The former made a thing shaped like a man, An oracle predicting Peace or Wars. "Arsepius, a necromantic sage, Beheld a star fi.x.ed near Cassiope: He prophesied the warfare winds would wage, And sweep proud Holland's dykes into the sea! "It came to pass.* The walls of Leyden fell. Both Mechlin and Louvain were inundated. And Holland ravaged by a fiendf from hell, Thaddee Hagecius had prognosticated. • 1J7:!. + Philip II. THE FOBTUNE TELLER. 251 "Wiseacres ridiculed the propliecy, Scorning the rumours about bloody wars. They struck a medal of His Majesty, With this device : " The sage commands the stars"\ "The lore collected by these sapient men, Is deeply graven on my brooding mind; By nightly searchings have I learned the ken Of prophecy, as thou shalt truly find." She ceased. Methought I heard the beldam call On the unknown — when, lo, a vapour bright Fell, like a circle, on the dingy wall, Just as a magic lanthorn throws its light. Like a base coward, paralyzed by fear, I watched, with throbbing heart, the silver light; Withm the circle figures now appear — Lo, my own image stands before my sight t San/rns clominahitur Asfns. 252 THE FORTUNE TELLER. The actors in this busy play of life Appear, perform, then vanish into air. Alternate scenes of. joy, love, hate, and strife, Engender happiness or bitter care. I saw the horrors of a town on fire — I heard the roar of bursting bomb and shell — I saw my father, braving battle's ire. To save the town rush to the Citadel.* Now he returns, joy painted on his face, - A ti'uce is signed; men banish their alarms. In scene the next, my sire had run his race; I saw him dying in my ti'embling arms. • During the bombardment of Antwerp, in the month of September, 1830, my late father, then Consul-General for Hajiover, presented himself before the gates of the Citadel, at the imminent peril of his life, obtained an interview with General Chasse, and fortunately succeeded in procuring a cessation of hostilities, thereby saving that fine old town from destruction. THE FORTUNE TELLER. 253 Next, scenes of courtship, jealousy, and hate, Where maids both dai'k and fair in turn appear. I saw much truth iu that decree of fate: " The course of love ne'er yet I'an smooth or clear." At last, a scene of horror and alarm Brought to each pore big drops of clammy dew ; I raised a shout ; that scream destroyed the charm, And with it vanished the dissolving view. O ! I had heard sti'ange tales about this dwelling, So old and dismal, ominous and dreai-; (As tales, we know, can never lose by telling). My heart was filled with superstitious fear. I rubbed my lids until both eyes were sore : Eeader, however strange all this may seem, I found myself facing an oaken door: The Fortune Teller's tale — was but a dream. ^f~^ €^t ai)tiite Cntutt's I^B^iltj. ' ^t Slljite Soter^s ^tplf. After the conflagi-ation of the Armoury, wMch catastrophe took place on the 30th October, 1841, a French poet, whose mind was filled with the reminiscences of imperial humiliations by Great Britain, took up— not his carbine, but his goose- qmU, and fired a most acerb feu de peloton at poor John Bull, because he had had the imper- tinence to collect the trophies Gallia lost at Waterloo, and arrange them in apple-pie order in the Armoury. Our friend across the Channel must have for- gotten the ponts d'Austerlitz and Jena, and the column in the place Vendome, cast from the cannon taken by Napoleon the Great — the hero 258 THE WHITE TOWERS REPLY. of a hundred fights — who stands tip-toe ou its summit, not unlike " Patience, smiling at griet" Our friend, when he heard of this national cala- mity, fondly hoped that the Tower and the Armoury, with all their historical recollections, had fallen a prey to the devouring element. St. George be praised, he was doomed to dis- appointment. Notwithstanding that I am a bit of a cosmopolite, I felt an honest indignation at the sneers thus virulently cast on British valour, and therefore in my turn seized my pen, and launched the following reply in the teeth of the Tower's railer. ®|e Slljite gotocf s fvcglg. Malignant Gaul! mock not too soon my fate, Britannia still protects me from thy hate; And where the Fire-King, riding on the blast, Around my walls his lui'id lightnings cast. Swift she came forth, the havoc wUd to stay; While troops of royal ghosts, in grim array, Held up to heaven their shadowy hands to pray. The conquering William's awful shade was there. His White Tower guarding with parental care; While the mad flames, that would have vanquished me, Coiled like a monster round the Armoury. What well-won trophies there, Gaul's sons can tell, What conquering arms, her plains can witness well. 260 THE WHITE tower's REPLY. Say these are gone, their monument shall rise In barbed grandeur, piercing to the skies; While I, disdainful of the daring flames, Eeign regal still. Queen of the golden Thames. Proud river, richly freighted with the stores That commerce brings in tribute to thy shores! Seated majestic on thy bank, I look Through countless pages still of Fate's dark book, And there in glowing letters brightly see England triumphant mistress of the sea. Oh, Gaul ! too jealous of my honoured name, Hide thy vain hopes, nor blot my glorious fame. Indignant heaven reverses thy decree; Time's chariot passes hurtless over me. My structure still eternally shall stand. Linked with the proudest annals of the land; And, safely treasured by my hoary walls, Witness of crimes and death's black funerals, Lie precious relics, that a halo cast Around the doings of the mighty past. THE WHITE tower's REPLY. 261 With crests erect, my one-and-twenty steeds Remain to testify their riders' deeds; And many names heroic of renown, All linked with glory, some with England's crown. Couldst thou l^lieve that heaven, like thee unjvxst, Desired to see me levelled to the dust. Because my bastions, towers, and dungeons deep, Where legend's haunted gloom sad mysteries keep. Have sometimes echoed to a traitor's groans, Or hid from light a royal martyr's bones? Would Gaul for these attempt with sland'rous rage To soU my honours and insult my age. Invoking malediction on my head, Because my laurels grew where Gallia bled? Learn then, vain railer! to thy deep despair. The trophies lost Old England well can spare. The British force that won them from thy race Is phoenix-gifted to supply their place; And, safely still preserved, her sons may view The breast-plates Gallia wore at Waterloo ! 202 THE WHITE TOWERS REPLY. More sad memorial, by Napoleon lost, The swords and cannons that a sceptre cost; A loss, the death-blow to his glory gave; That changed him from a monarch to a slave Had the wide ruin spread destruction round, 'Keft me of all, and razed me to the ground, Britannia's tears had hallowed my sad lot, My funeral pyre had risen on the spot — A mighty monument of matchless toil, Reared to my honour o'er proud Gallia's spoil. Malicious neighbour ! know the Tower still stands, Guarded by British hearts and British hands. Strong to protect our land, our Queen, our laws, And fling defiance iu a rightful cause. Not yet am I in dust and ashes laid: Beware! The loss may be by Gallia paid. Sljje dEgikpt If, armed with patience, you have read this hook, Cast it not from you with an angiy look; On Mount Parnassus I have never trod, I'm hut a mortal — not a demi-god, Who, on demy, has dared to print his rhymes. You may observe, " We live in wondrous times ;" I'll tell you more : " wonders will never cease," Unless you hind the Mind, and keep the peace ! Here you have mine, with notions manifold, Neatly got up, and hound in blue and gold ; Like the " Greek Slave" — if naked truth he told— All that I'm waiting for, is — to be sold! 264 THE EPILOGDE. If a dull hour these verses have beguiled — If moody faces on these pages smiled — If — why more ifs? — why, I shall be content, (Although my rhymes have no " Rossini-ish tone," To sooth the savage breast, or melt a stone) To find to Hades I have not been sent! And now the rhymer thinks that it is meet To wipe his pen, and beat a safe retreat. I fondly trust, whate'er may be my due. Reader, no lashing to receive from. you. And when again in print my name you'll see, I simply hope, that you'll "Remember Me!" 4 (it)nr J^nnetnkr ^n0t-Hrri|it. %\t lefu StHmp %± GooD-natured people are safe to be imposed upon. Where is the man who can say, " I never have been done !" Mr. Charles Matthews, in one of his plays, says, " Do, but don't be done !" It therefore requires more tact and knowledge to avoid being done than to do. It is simply a case of Experience versus Green, until Green loses his sap, when Green be- comes Brown, and does young Green. So it has been, is, and ever will be to the end of time. 266 THE NEW STAMP ACT. Whilst preparing this volume for publication, I received the following pressing, but friendly letter, from an eminent firm in Paris. Of course they were friends, for none but friends take such un- warrantable liberties — liberties which put an end to your freedom, by putting you into quoad. The epistle ran as follows : "Paris, 10th October, 1854. " Dear Sir, — Money is tight, therefore ready cash is very useful to us just now. We can place a draft on you with the greatest facility. Will you oblige us by accepting the enclosed? We pledge our word, as honorable men, to remit you the funds three days before the bill becomes due. We await your answer per return of post, and subscribe ourselves, "Yours obediently, "John Accommodation & Co. "PS Make it payable at your Bankers." THE NEW STAMP AOT. 267 ''No. 132,000. £251 10s. 6i. ''Paris, lOth October, 1854. " Three months after date, pay this Sale of Exchange, to our order, the sum of Two Hundred and Fifty-one Bounds, Ten Shillings, and Sixpence, value received, as per advice from " John Accommodation & Co. " To Mr. C. F. Ellebman, " London." " Mine ogles !" cried I, " this is rather cool, and the new Stamp Act came into operation yesterday !" So I took my pen, and wrote as follows : "London, 11th Octoher, 1854. " Dear Sirs, — I duly received your favor of yester- day's date. You seem to forget that the new Stamp Act came into operation yesterday. As for " honor," why Brutus was an honorable man, and so was Cassius, but this did not prevent their murdering 268 THE NEW STAMP ACT. Caesar? Accept the bill! yes, I have accepted it with a vengeance, as the red ink will testify. There never was such a hill presented for negociation, nor perhaps ever will ! BjTon never said a truer thing than when he wrote, " Save me from my friends." You must give up " kite flying," your tail is not long enough, and " thereby hangs a tail." Hoping that money will be more plentifril when you receive this, " I remain, dear Sirs, your's very truly, " C. F. E." The following is a fac-simile of my acceptance, payable at my Bankers — Aldgate Pdmp & Co. Bills, Bills! Odious things, Far worse than pilla Or hornets' stings: 'Twixt me and you, I dread the day When they fall due — With nought to pay! THE NEW STAMP ACT. 269 BUls, BUls! Both short and long, My poor heart fills With terrors strong. I lose my wits, ^y temper too, At sight of writs — For bills o'erdue! Bills, Bills! Deuce take the things! Three months I ween, Borne on Times' wings, Seem but a dream! At last we wake, — Costs, fees, protest. And — no mistake. You know the rest. Very sincerely yours, C. F. E Mk)s—% Mifel " Gai, gai, mariez vous, Mettez-vous dans la misere; Gai, gai, mariez vous Mettez-vous la corde au cou!" Old French Song. You say you wish to marry, But know not where to find, A maid, or widow, Harry, Quite suited to your mind. She must have lots of money — A share of common sense — With smiles as sweet as honey, And sympathy intense. WANTED — A WIFE ! 271 Her skin must be the fairest; Her eyes, the softest blue; And rows of teeth, the rarest That ever met your view. Her auburn hair, the longest That woman ever grew; And shining curls, the softest, Ting'd with a golden hue. Her nose must not be pointed. Nor must it be a pug : Nor flat, nor round, nor jointed Like the handle of a jug. She must be tall and slender; As graceful as a fay; Plump, muscular, not tender, To last for many a day. She must be fond of music. Dance, sing, and play right well; Or else it would be physic Dispensed by a blue-belle. 272 WANTED — A wife! She must be even-minded, Aflfectionate and true; And then, you might be blinded, E'en if she were a shrew. If this May-lady can be found, Bring her to me, I pray: I'll stuie my life, if she be sound, She'll marry Doctor Dayt ^^t €iM InmasW. If you wish to be acquainted With Kussia and her Czar, Pray God your ship be stranded on A Russian rock or bar. Fear not to be a prisoner, Nor curse your evil star: You'll be treated " like a gentleman" By Nicholas the Czar. The Russ is no barbarian, He spits not in your face, Like Turkish boys, who shout " Giaour," And hate the Christian race! The Russ is all civility E'en to a British Tar, Who was treated "like a gentleman." By Nicholas the Czar! 274 THE CZAR UNMASKED. No Tigers were the Cossacks who, At Osten Sacken's call, Among the poor doom'd Tiger's crew, Pom-'d canister and ball. 'Twas kindly meant, the Russians made A target of a Tar, To treat him like a gentleman When brought before the Czar. Brave Gifford fell! Down went the flag! It filled his eyes with tears, To strike that flag, which ever filled Our enemies with fears! But Fate ordaiu'd the Tiger should Strike, on a Russian bar. That the crew might be well treated. By order of the Czar! They take them to Odessa, Invite them out to tea: Oh no ! they are not prisoners, But treated like the free! — THE CZAR UNMASKED. 276 Who would not be a prisoner, If placed upon a par With Dukes, and other employes. By Nicholas the Czar! Our naval hero then was sent To where the Neva flows; Politeness and civility There led him by the nose. "Monsieur," said Prince Dalgourouki, Addressing the brave Tar, "I'm to treat you like a gentleman, By order of the Czar ! " You have liberty to roam. Sir, From early dawn 'till eve, Ay, wherever you think fit, Sir; But, lest you take French leave, We appoint Lieutenant Sharman To be your guiding star ; He will treat you like a gentleman, By order of the Czar. 276 THE CZAB UNMASKED. "You must hold no conversation With any of your race, Save through the intervention of Officials of the place. You may write — but all your letters (Fear not the seals we'll mar) You'll send through Gen'ral Sitinin, By order of the Czar ! "Pray accept pens, ink and paper — Of sealing wax, two sticks — Make notes of all you witness, And write that we are bricks. From St. Petersburg to London, Abo to Temesvar, Nowhere will you be treated as By Nicholas the Czar." He waits upon the Emperor, Who sets the captive free: They talk of this, and then of that, Jack is in ecstacy! THE CZAB UNMASKED. 277 The best of friends must part, we know: Alas, it grieved the Tar, To part from such a gentleman As Nicholas the Czar! With open arms, Dalgourouki Receives the son of Mars; Gives him a sword, a Russian blade, Which never had made scai-s. " Speak well of us, and think of us. Forget not when afar, You were treated like a gentleman By Russia and her Czar!" " Farewell, Dalgourouki, farewell! Adieu, Sharman, adieu! When once I reach "old England" safe By Jove I'll think of you! Your sympathy, remarkable, I'll publish wide and far, — I was treated like a gentleman By order of the Czar!" 278 THE CZAB UNMASKED. This grateful, guileless officer Left, and took up his pen. Will he convince — will he convert- His sceptic countrymen? Because, duped by a clever dodge This soft young British Tar, Was well treated like a gentlemau By order of the Czar! %\t Itational ^.mtrkaii ^a% Sljota. THE RISING GENERATION IN ARMS. " We find in the Cincinnati Times the following account of one of the most remarkable fairs of that go-ahead country, held at Springfield, Clark county, Ohio. It is a refreshing change from the dry columns of political resolves and Convention speeches."— See "Times," 24th October, 1854. ' Ho ! Ho ! for the merry, merry show, With a forest of faces in evei7 row!" Last days of Pompeii. THE ARRIVAL. Uncle Sam beats John Bull hollow, On the land, and on the sea. John, I reckon, cannot follow Those whom Washington set free! 280 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. Cattle shows, and Crystal Palace, Dwindle into shades I trow, When you learn that Cincinnati Held a public Baby Show. English matrons! ye are beaten — Hide your faces— tear your hair — Your philosophy ne'er dreamt of Holding here a Baby fair! British farmers, cease your babbling. Let your oxen meagre grow; What is Smithfield— What your cattle— When compared to Springfield show? Lor a mercy! None but Yankees Could have dreamt of such a show; Mingling babies with molasses, On the banks of Ohio ! Engmes, ploughs, and new inventions. And quartz crushers are pass'd by. To the tent, where matrons gather. Men and women madly fly. THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. 281 More than fifteen thousand people, Minus bonnets, shoes, and hats, Rush like mad to get a peep of Some four score of squalling brats. Those wjjo guessed that half a dozen, Or one dozen might be there ; Were dumbfounded, when they reckoned Some two hundred at the fair. Now, as each train lands its thousands, Mid the noise of steam and drum ; Doting mothers, loving fathers. Shout aloud— "the babies come!" Never was there such a rushing. Under fair Columbia's skies: As they bear their squalling burdens Each makes certain of the prize! , Well know we, what says the Proverb. " Money makes the mare to go" — Money plays the very devil Even at a Baby Show! 282 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. Indiana — Pennsylvania — Hamilton of Ohio — Even Massachussetts hastens With its babies to the show! Such a motly crew, I reckon, Never met in Ohio French and English— Dutch and German, Smite the ear where'er you go. " Oc/f mein kindt" — and "Drat the baby" " Voyez done mon petit choux" — " Lieve Mieke"—" Stop her yelling"— Rent the air, and louder grew. Here a cluster of black niggers Laugh and chatter, full of mirth; Cato never thought these orittui-s Had become so scarce on earth. " Rara abis, wos one~ black swan!" — "Yes, by Golly !"— Sambo said; "Now me back my little Phoebe, For de blackest face and head!" — THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. 283 Here a settler, who had settled That his bairn should win the prize- There a slaver, who had betted All his helps on Juno's eyes!— Grim Kentucky, chawing baccy. Quite forgot that " Kice had riz"— Speculating, notwithstanding Prizes for his Dinah's phiz! — Like an army in disorder, They arrive with loss of kits; What with matrons, pressing, fainting, Babies teething, ta'en with fits: Fathers scrambling, nurses scolding. Bottles broken into bits! — Terror-stricken, lo, the Judges Seem as if they'd lost their wits! 284 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. THE BABY TENT. Over yon white tented sanctum, Gaily wave "the Stai-s and Stripes;" But the canvas " shakes and trembles," — The restless babes will " tune their pipes !' "Music may have charms" to soften, Soothe and calm "the savage breast;" But combined with cries of infants, Such a concert is a pest! "Drown that music!" — shout the Stewards, "Rattle kettles — blow Sax horns: — Strike up " Yankee-doodle" — " Cheer boys" — Young America's on thorns!" — All a growing! — All a blowing! Sucking, screaming, eating pap! Matrons sit, like Roman matrons, With their treasui'e on their lap. All a growing! — All a blowing! Piercing shrieks afTright the sky: Neither bugle, nor ti-ombone, Have the power to di'own their cry. IHE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. 285 Mrs. Hivling — Mrs. Snyder — Vainly kisses — vainly pats — Neither frowns, nor sugar-candy, Stop the yelling of the brats ! "Bahy'tent," — or Babe-el tower, — Now presents a wondrous scene : Such confusion, worse confounded, In Old England ne'er was seen! "Little darlings," for inspection Fidget wofuUy about; •'Little angels" play the devil, Putting Patience to the rout! Watch that mother, fondly gazing On her bloated infant pet; Zounds what cheeks, puffed up like batter, And grey eyes, so deeply set! Any one who saw that baby, Might enquire "Where ai-e its eyes?" Yet that mother feels quite certain. That her pet will gain the prize ! 286 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. Watch that other — 'tis amusing, How she courts the doctor's glance : Doctor Martin, of Xenia, Thinks that mother has no chance. "There's a baby!" — thinks the doctor, Eyeing one with chubby legs; " But that fair one is the smartest, Was it fed on milk and eggs?" — " Dearest doctor ! feel my infant" — Cries a delicate young wife : — " Did you ever see a baby So well built in all your life?"— "Doctor, doctor!" cried her neighbour, "Mine is more robust and tall; Thirty pounds, when last I weighed it, There — take care — don't let it fall!" — Then most tender exclamations Fell from all the matron's lips; Maunders' treasury contains not Such vernaculary slips! II THE NATfONAL A.MEIKCAN BABY SHOW. 287 " Tome to mudder's arms, you sweet one !" All the time it rested there: — "Stan up muzzer's little darling!" But it lay in lappy lair. "Bless'its heart— it shall have tandy"— That's the Yankee name for milk;—" "Now tiss its ma, and dump, and dump. Sweety, teety, soft as silk !"— " Good bady nurse can tome its air, Bady does not try a bit!"— Such were the coaxings mothers used, Kind, affectionate, and fit. Over this white-tented sanctum. Proudly waved "the Stripes and Stars, - •Neath the canvas— what a hiibbub— Sure the babbys want their Ma's! "Baby tent," or Babel tower. Now presents a wondrous scene. Such confusion, worse confounded, Cincinnati ne'er had seen! — 288 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. THE JUDGES DELIBERATE. Now tlie Judges, male and female, Gravely enter " Baby tent" — Bands are playing — babes are screaming — With the noise the air is rent. Men and women, stewards, children. Cluster round the ring of ropes; While the matrons in a circle. Look elated, flushed with hopes. What a moment! Hearts are throbbing, Yet the babes will not keep still; Caps and bonnets, shawls and tippets, Roll about at infants' will. " Ducks of children," dribble, grizzle ; " Loves of babes" upset then- pap ; Some were watching baby neighbour, Fingers itching for a slap ! " Silence !"— Hark— a shout arises, "Room, make room, more babies come!" In rush matrons, belter, skelter, They're in time, the prize aint won. THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. 289 What a scene in the convention — What a scramble for a place — Then, oh then, rage and vexation Mantled many a matron's face. All are seated; all ai'e ready; All the babes are "up in arms;" While the Judges in procession Praise, or criticise their charms. Some were found too tall and slender — Some too lean, and some too fat — Some too drowsy — some too noisy — Wanting either this or that. Thus we see that true perfection, Dwells not in the human race; Some are crooked, others bandy, Lacking beauty, strength, or gi-ace. Chance alone endows vain mortals, Call it Nature, if you will ; If we could command perfection, Man would be an angel still! 290 THE NATIONAL AMEKICAN BABY SHOW. Watch the mothers' anxious faces, As backs, legs, and arms they bare; Tops and bottoms, milk and gruel. That's the stuif, that's babies' fare. One from Indiana, reader, Twenty-eight pounds, we are told, Fully weighed, although its mother Swore it was but five months old One might pity handsome Paris, Mesmeris'd by six fine eyes . It was Cupid who decided, Lovely Venus gained the prize Priam s son had but three ladies, Two to vex, and one to please; But our Judges had two hundred Springfield matrons to appease 1 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BABY SHOW. 291 THE VERDICT. Now the Judges are approaching, Lo! how soon the hubbub dies — Round the platform, all are pressing, All are mad to learn the prize. Hark! what says good Doctor Martin? " Citizens of Oliio ; Listen, you shall hear the verdict Given for this Baby Show! "Romner gains the splendid Service, For a daughter ten months old! Prize the second, to Mc Dowall, For a son of finest mould. Prize the thu-d, to Canon's daughter— On one point we all agree; We award the plainest salver To the plainest of the three !" 292 THE NATIONAL AMERICAN BAB/ SHOW. Uncle Sam beats John Bull hollow, On the land, and on the sea; John, I reckon, cannot follow Those whom Washington set free ! Cattle Shows, and Crystal Palace, Dwindle into shade, I trow. Now you know that Cincinnati Held a public Baby Sliowi I Priee Is., Fourth Edition of SANITARY REFORM AND AGRICULTURAL IMPROVEMENT. By C. F. Ellerman, Author of " Disinfection, or Bemaiks on the Health of Towns." LONDON GEORGE PEARCE, 310, STRAND. EXTRACTS FROM THE OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. " Of the various works which the interest created by the present subject has called into publication, perhaps few have more startling disclosures in this respect than a letter which has just appeared, addressed to Lord Morpeth, under the title of ' Sanitary Reform and Agricultural Improve- ment," by Mr. C. F. Ellerman." — Morning Post, Feb. Wth. " Well would it be at the outset if authors and orators on the subject of sanitary reform adopted as a guide Mr. Ellerman's opening sentence. True it is, that the pamphlet above quoted keeps to the point thi-oughout; it does not wander unnecessarily into estrinsic subjects. Supplementary to the paramount object of consulting public health, by the ready remov^ of waste matters ot noisome and injmious kinds, it argues lucidly enough — what, indeed, eveiybody knew before — that ' the bane of the town is the boon of the country,' and that these same matters so hostile to health in crowded cities, towns, and villages, by a wise and wonderful provision of nature, are, in their propei place, eminently adapted to promote pviblic health, by encouraging fertility iu the earth, and securing an abimdant supply of food. * * We refer to the work itself for further details; but one valuable passage we must extract as more particularly medical in its bearing. * * " Lancet, March ith. " Mr. Ellei-man has put forth a pamphlet, which contains much useful infonnation. * * So far as a cbeaj) and effective deodorising agent is concerned, we believe the object has been attained by Mr. EUerman. We would, however, strongly recommend a perusal of his pamphlet." — Mark Lane Express, Feb. Hth. " Mr. EUerman is one of those praiseworthy individuals who have been induced, by the prevailing sanitai^ movement, to tm-n their attention to the best possible means of combining an improved mode in the construc- tion of sewers, with the accumulation and economy of all their valuable contents for agricultural purposes. * * Here is a mine of wealth, which we have no doubt will soon he made available by the commercial enterprise of the country. In cariTing out this object we have no doubt Mr. Ellerman's plan will meet with the attention it justly deserves." — Economist, Feb. i2lh. "We have here before us a writer who professes to make sanitary sewerage profitable. We have risen from the perusal of his letter to Lord Morpeth with better hopes than we have ever had, that all the sanitary agitation which has seized us as one of the worst of those epidemics which it is its professed object to drive away, wUl not end in talk. 'We have given a very imperfect outline of this very able pamphlet, wliich we wish the public may read with as much satisfaction as we have." — Durham Advertizer, March 17th. " This pamphlet itself, however, is the author's best apology. Although of a truth sprung of private interest, it has manifestly tlie public good for its permanent object, and cannot fail to be of public service. • ' • The author writes with an earnestness and fervour well calculated to fix attention and enlist support." — Mechanics' Magazine, Feb. \2th. " Mr. Ellerman's work will be found well worthy pemsal by aU' inter- ested in the subject of sanitary reform." — Patent Journal and Inventors' Magazine, Feb. \2th. " In conclusion, we sincerely thank Mr. EUerman for his pamphlet on Sanitary Reform and Agricultural Improvement, which we consider to be tlie most important and valuable that has hitherto appeared on these subjects." — Artisan, March 1st. " It is only too true ; and it is not the best way to improve the public health by poisoning us all. Wliat tliat best way is, is the great question of social science at this moment. Mr. Ellerman's plan gives a solution to an essential portion of it." — Howitt's Journal, March ith. " In the pamphlet now before us, we have a much more comprehensive and detailed scheme than the one we formerly sketched out, and supplying many of those minutiae of design and methods of operation which we left to future consideration. We fully agree with tlie general principles on which Mr. EUerman founds his arguments, and cordially recommend the pamphlet as candid, well written, lucid, and most happUy timed. We wish we could afibrd more time and space for the consideration of various points connected with the proposed system. * * " — Edinburgh Weekly Journal, March 1st. " These facts, which are of general importance, we have extracted from Mr. EUeiTuan's statement; his own plan makes up the remainder of the letter, but we cannot do more than state its general outlines." — Manchester Examiner, Feb. 'Zdlh. " Among the multitudinous pamphlets that have issued from the press upon this subject, a letter by Chm-les EUerman, Esq., to Lord Morpeth, has lately attracted our notice. * • We regret that our space wiU not aUow us to quote more at length ; but the whole bearing of the author's arguments is in fuU accordance with the evidence based upon data not to be controverted. We cordially recommend the perusal of the above letter. * * " — Hampshire Guardian, Feb. 2Srd. " But this is not the only important discovery of the day in the same direction, if vie may rely upon the statements put forth in a pamphlet just issued by Mr. Ellermau, and which undertakes to prove that ' health and abundance are lurking beneath that which has too frequently proved the fertile source of disease and death in our large towns. * * We caU upon our agricultural friends to investigate and judge for themselves." — Dorset Couiily Chronicle and Somerset Gazette, Feb. 24