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-"Oh dear! oh dear! Squire Ingoldsby, bethink you what you

do !” Exclaims old Mrs. Botherby," —she is in such a stew! “Oh dear! Oh dear! what do I hear?-full oft you've heard me

tell Of the curse Wild Roger' left upon whoe'er should break his

cell! “ Full five-and-twenty years are gone since Roger went away, As I bethink me, too, it was upon this very day! And I was then a comely dame, and you, a springald gay,

up and down to London town, at opera, ball, and play ; Your locks were nut-brown then, Squire - you grow a little


grey !

" Wild Roger,' so we call’d him then, your Grandsire's youngest son,

He was in truth,

A wayward youth,

We fear'd him every one,
In ev'ry thing he had his will, he would be said by none,
And when he did a naughty thing, he laugh'd and call'd it fun!
-One day his father chid him sore I know not what he'd done,

But he scorn'd reproof;

And from this roof

Away that night he run!
“Seven years were gone and over— Wild Roger' came again,
He spoke of forays and of frays upon the Spanish Main;
And he had store of gold galore, and silks, and satins fine,
And flasks, and casks of Malvoisie, and precious Gascon wine!
Rich booties he had brought, he said, across the western wave,
And came, in penitence and shame, now of his Sire to crave,
Forgiveness and a welcome home-his Sire was in his grave!
“ Your Father was a kindly man he played a brother's part,
He press'd his brother to his breast—he had a kindly heart,
Fain would he have him tarry here, their common hearth to share,
But Roger was the same man still,-he scorn'd his brothers pray'r!
He call'd his crew,-away he flew, and on those foreign shores
Got kill'd in some outlandish place-they call it the Eye-sores;t

But ere he went,
And quitted Kent,

I well recall the day,
His flasks and casks of Gascon wine he safely "stow'd away;"
Within the cellar's deepest nook he safely stow'd them all,
And Mason Jones brought bricks and stones, and they built up the


Great grandmamma, by the father's side, to the excellent lady of the same name who yet“ keeps the keys” at Tappington.

+ Azores ?- Mrs. Botherby's orthography, like that of her distinguished contemporary Baron Duberly, was" a little loose."

“Oh! then it was a fearful thing to hear “ Wild Roger" ban ! Good gracious me! I never heard the like from mortal man ; • Here's that,' quoth he, 'shall serve me well when I return at

last, A batter'd hulk, to quaff and laugh at toils and dangers past ; Accurst be he, whoe'er he be, lays hand on gear of mine, Till I come back again from sea to broach my Gascon wine !! And more he said which filled with dread all those who listen'd

there; In sooth my very blood ran cold, it lifted With

very fear to stand and hear •Wild Roger' curse and swear!! He saw my fright, as well he might, but still he made his game, He called me • Mother Bounce-about, my Gracious, what a

name! Nay, more an oldi-some' boat-woman,'-I may not say for

shame; Then, gentle Master, pause awhile, give heed to what I tell, Nor break, on such a day as this, Wild Roger's' secret cell!"

up my hair

“ Pooh! pooh!" quoth the Squire,

As he mov'd from the fire,
And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire,

" Pooh !-never tell me!

What ?_wait Uncle Roger's return back from sea ?-

Why he may, as you say,

Have been somewhat too gay,
And, no doubt, was a broth of a boy in his way;
But what's that to us, now, at this time of day?-

What, if some quarrei

With Dering or Darell-
I hardly know which, but I think it was Dering,-
Sent him back in a huff to his old privateering,
Or what his unfriends chose to call Buccaneering,
It's twenty since, as we very well know,
He was knock'd on the head in a skirmish, and so
Why rake up" auld warld" tales of deeds long ago ?-

Foul befall him who would touch the deposit
Of living man, whether in cellar or closet!

But since, as I've said,

Knock'd on the head,
Uncle Roger has now been some twenty years dead,

As for his wine,

I'm his heir, and it's mine!
And I'd long ago work'd it well, but that I tarried

For this very day

And I'm sure you'll all say
I was right-when my own darling Maud should get married !
So lights and a crow-bar 1-the only thing lies
On my conscience, at all, with respect to this prize,
Is some little compunction anent the Excise-

Come--you, Master Jack,
Be the first, and bring back

Whate'er comes to hand-Claret, Burgundy, Sack-
Head the party, and mind that you're back in a crack!"

Away go the clan,

With cup and with can, Little Jack Ingoldsby leading the van; Little reck they of the Buccaneer's ban, Hope whispers, “ Perchance we'll fall in with strong beer too

here!" Blest thought! which sets them all grinning from ear to ear!

Through cellar one, through cellars two,
Through cellars three they past !

And their way they took

To the farthest nook
Of cellar four- the last !-
Blithe and gay, they batter away,

On this wedding-day of Maud's,
With all their might, to bring to light,
“ Wild Roger's” “ Custom-house frauds !"

And though stone and brick

Be never so thick,
When stoutly assailed they are no bar

To the powerful charm

Of a Yeoman's arm
When wielding a decentish crow-bar !
Down comes brick, and down comes stone,

One by one

The job's half done!-
“ Where is he?--

-now come-where's Master John ?" —
There's a breach in the wall three feet by two,
And Little Jack Ingoldsby soon pops through!
Hark!—what sound's that?-a sob?-a sigh?
The choking gasp of a stifled cry?-

"- What can it be?

Let's see !-let's see !
It can't be little Jack Ingoldsby?

The candle-quick!"

Through stone and through brick,
They poke in the light on a long split stick;
But ere he who holds it can wave it about,

and he sneezes -the LIGHT GOES OUT

Yet were there those, in after days,
Who said that pale light's flickering blaze
For a moment gleam'd on a dark Form there,
Seem'd as embodied of foul black air !
-In Mariner's dress,—with cutlass braced
By buckle and broad black belt to its waist,-

On a cock'd-hat, laced

With gold, and placed
With a degagée, devil-may-care, kind of taste,
O'er a balafré brow by a scar defaced !-

That Form, they said, so foul and so black
Grinn'd as it pointed at poor little Jack.-

- I know not, I, how the truth may be,
But the pent up vapour, at length set free,

Set them all sneezing,
And coughing, and wheezing,
As, working its way

To the regions of day,
It, at last, let a purer and healthier breeze in!

Of their senses bereft,

To the right and the left,
Those varlets, so lately courageous and stout,
There they lay kicking and sprawling about,
Like Billingsgate fresh fish, unconscious of ice,
Or those which, the newspapers give us advice,
Mr. Taylor, of Lombard-street, sells at half-price!
-Nearer the door, some half-dozen, or more !

Scramble away

To the rez de chaussée,
(As our friend Frenchified always calls his ground-floor,)
And they call, and they bawl, and they bellow and roar
For lights, vinegar, brandy, and fifty things more.
At length, after no little clamour and din,
The foul air let out and the fresh air let in,

They drag one and all

Up into the hall, Where a medical Quaker, the great Dr. Lettsom, Who's one of the party, “ bleeds, physicks, and sweats 'em.”

All ?--all-save One

“ But He!-my Son ?Merciful Heaven !--where- WHERE IS John ?

Within that cell, so dark and deep,
Lies One as in a tranquil sleep,
A sight to make the sternest weep!-

- That little heart is pulseless now,
And cold that fair and open brow,
And closed that eye that beam'd with joy
And hope—“Oh, God! my Boy!—my Boy!"-

I may not dare not show
The wretched Father's frantic wve,
The Mother's tearless, speechless-No!
I may not such a theme essay-
Too bitter thoughts, crow'd in and stay
My pen—sad memory will have way!
Enough !-at once I close the lay,
Of fair Maud's fatal Wedding Day!

It has a mournful sound,

That single, solemn Bell!

As to the hills and woods around,

It fling's its deep-toned knell;
That measured toll !-alone-apart,
It strikes upon the human heart!

-It has a mournful sound !


Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way,
Or you'll leave me as dull as ditch-water all day,
Try and squeeze out a Moral or two from your lay!
And let us part cheerful, at least, if not gay!
First and foremost then, Gentlefolks, learn from my song,
Not to lock up your wine, or malt-liquor; too long!

– Though Port should have age,

Yet I don't think it sage
To entomb it, as some of your connoisseurs do,
Till it's losing in flavour, and body, and hue;
-I question if keeping it does it much good
After ten years in bottle and three in the wood.
If any young man, though a snubb'd younger brother,
When told of his faults by his father and mother,
Runs restive, and goes off to sea in a huff,
Depend on't, my friends, that young man is a Muff!

Next-ill-gotten gains

Are not worth the pains ! -
They prosper with no one !--so whether cheroots,
Or Havanna cigars,-or French gloves, or French boots,
Whatever you want, pay the duty !-nor when you
Buy any such articles, cheat the revenue !

And now to conclude," —

For its high time I shou’d, -
When you do rejoice, mind, -whatsoever you do,
That the hearts of the lowly rejoice with you too !-

Don't grudge them their jigs,

And their frolics and “rigs,' And don't interfere with their soapy-tail'd pigs; Nor“ because thou art virtuous,” rail, and exhale, An anathema, breathing of vengeance and wail, Upon ev'ry complexion less pale than sea-cale! Nor dismiss the poor man to his pump and his pail, With “ Drink there !— we'll have henceforth, no more cakes and ale !!"

T.I. Tappington Everard,

March 29,

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