"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 " cell! Wild Roger' left upon whoe'er should break his "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, "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 from this roof Away that night he run! "Seven years were gone and over- Wild Roger' came again, I well recall the day, His flasks and casks of Gascon wine he safely "stow'd away;" wall. * 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 up my hair 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 old-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!" "Pooh! pooh!" quoth the Squire, As he mov'd from the fire, And bade the old Housekeeper quickly retire, What?-wait Uncle Roger's return back from sea ?— And, no doubt, was a broth of a boy in his way; With Dering or Darell - I hardly know which, but I think it was Dering,- He was knock'd on the head in a skirmish, and so Why rake up "auld warld" tales of deeds long ago?- 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, I'm his heir, and it's mine! And I'd long ago work'd it well, but that I tarried 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 !-the only thing lies On my conscience, at all, with respect to this prize, Is some little compunction anent the Excise- Be the first, and bring back Whate'er comes to hand-Claret, Burgundy, Sack— 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, And their way they took To the farthest nook On this wedding-day of Maud's, 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! One by one The job's half done!— "Where is he?-now come-where's Master John ?"- And Little Jack Ingoldsby soon pops through! Hark! what sound's that?—a sob?—a sigh? 66 What can it be?- It can't be little Jack Ingoldsby? Through stone and through brick, They poke in the light on a long split stick; He gasps, and he sneezes the LIGHT GOES OUT Yet were there those, in after days, -In Mariner's dress,-with cutlass braced With gold, and placed With a degagée, devil-may-care, kind of taste, That Form, they said, so foul and so black 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, To the rez de chaussée, (As our friend Frenchified always calls his ground-floor,) The foul air let out and the fresh air let in, Up into the hall, Where a medical Quaker, the great Dr. Lettsom, "But He!-my Son?— Merciful Heaven!-where-WHERE IS JOHN? Within that cell, so dark and deep, And closed that eye that beam'd with joy Enough!-I may not,-dare not,-show It has a mournful sound, As to the hills and woods around, MORAL. Come, come, Mrs. Muse, we can't part in this way, Or you'll leave me as dull as ditch-water all day, First and foremost then, Gentlefolks, learn from my song, Yet I don't think it sage To entomb it, as some of your connoisseurs do, If any young man, though a snubb'd younger brother, Next-ill-gotten gains Are not worth the pains!— They prosper with no one!-so whether cheroots, And " now to conclude," For its high time I shou'd, When you do rejoice, mind,-whatsoever you do, Don't grudge them their jigs, And their frolics and "rigs,' you too! And don't interfere with their soapy-tail'd pigs; With "Drink there !-we'll have henceforth, no more cakes and ale ! !" Tappington Everard, March 29. T. I. |