dangling over the fearful abyss; but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breathless multitude-such shouting! and such leaping and weeping for joy never greeted a human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity.-Elihu Burritt. HOW LADY BLANCHE ARUNDEL HELD [By kind permission of CHARLES DICKENS, Esq.] THE first of May, the garland day, that ushers in the spring, Saw Wardour Castle fair and strong in arms for Charles the king; The elms were black with noisy rooks, the meadows gilt with flowers, With rosary of blossoms, Time counts the dying hours. The butler moved his casks about, the chaplain was at bowls, The grooms were hissing in the stalls, the boys played with the foals, The Lady Blanche among her maids was busy as the best, Unconcious that the carrion-crow was hovering o'er her nest. All suddenly a group of us upon an outer wall, Was startled by a warning shout from those within the hall, And through the wind-toss'd avenue, from out a storm of dust, Galloped a wounded serving man, whose helmet was all rust. One-two-then three, poor frightened knaves, with faces gashed and torn, One with a broken sword red-wet, who screamed upon a horn; That night our scouts were pouring in, each paler than the last, The shepherds brought us news of Strode, and every troop they'd passed; A moment Lady Blanche turned pale, but soon flushed angry red, To think Old England's golden crown should deck a brewer's head. All night the melting lead was poured into our bullet moulds, The trusty pikes were lifted down from the long ratched holds, Great stones were piled upon each ledge, the guns were duly scoured, Upon the highest tower, our flag of angry challenge lowered. She never chid her serving maids about their tapestry; And yet, of all that busy hive she was the fair Queen Bee. For idleness, or ribaldry, or drunken revelling sport, Dared never e'en to set a foot within the inner court. Her husband and her lord was gone unto the tented field, She was alone without a friend, yet never thought of fear, That sullen night, just at the dusk, from out those garden trees A muffled drum, with mournful throb, sounded upon the breeze; And dark and slow the Puritans began their leaguer then, Not in the open manly way of honest gentlemen. They burnt our stacks, they fired our barns, they harried us all day; At night they poured the hot shot in where we stood firm at bay. They scorched our walls, they blacken'd doors, they splinter'd roof and pane, But to the brave old trusty place no entrance could they gain. One day a pale-faced trumpeter the rebel dogs sent in, Then Lady Blanche tore up the roll, and trod it under foot; We drove the crop-ear from the gate, with scoffing laugh and hoot; We crush'd his trumpet, snapp'd his staff, and set the dogs. at him: Ha!-but for Lady Blanche's grace they'd torn him limb from limb. Their swords smote blunt upon our steel, and keen upon our buff, The coldest-blooded man of us had battering enough; 'Twas butt and butt, and point and point, and eager pike to pike, 'Twas foin and parry, give and take, as long as we could strike. There, in the breach stood Lady Blanche, a banner in her hand, Urging us on with voice and look to scourge this currish band. She stood amid the fire and flame in the red gap of wall, The fire-balls vex'd us night and day; their mines shook down a .tower, Their bullets upon door and roof fell in unpitying shower; At last, on specious promises of mercy to us all, Our Lady Blanche hung out a flag of white upon the wall. They burnt our stables, stole our deer, caught all our fattest carp; They felled the old oaks in the park with axes keen and sharp ; Unearth'd our leaden conduit-pipes and melted them in bars; Tore our great pictures into strips, and split the floors in stars. This was the way the Rebel Dogs a sacred treaty kept, Shot, piked, and sabred half the troop, and burnt the others THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. [By kind Permission of Messrs. R. BENTLEY & SON.] THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! Many a monk, and many a friar, With a great many more of lesser degree, And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. Was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, In and out Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, He perch'd on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat With a satisfied look, as if he would say, As such freaks they saw, Said, "Whatever has come to that little Jackdaw!" The feast was over, the board was clear'd, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, One little boy more A napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight His costly turquoise; And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; And nobody seems to know what they're about, And hunting, and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-colour'd shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; In the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes,-they turn up the plates,They take up the poker and poke out the grates, the rugs, -They turn up They examine the mugs:- They can't find THE RING! And the abbot declared that, "when nobody twigg'd it, Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and prigg'd it!" The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He call'd for his candle, his bell, and his book! He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; |