The main incident recorded in the following excerpta from our family papers has but too solid a foundation. The portrait of Roger Ingoldsby is not among those in the gallery, but I have some recollection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answering the description here given of him, much injured, and lying without a frame in one of the attics.
[THE WEDDING-DAY;]
OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE.
A FAMILY LEGEND.
It has a jocund sound, That gleeful Marriage chime, As from the old and ivied tower, It peals, at the early Matin hour, Its merry, merry round; And the Spring is in its prime, And the Song-bird, on the spray, Trills from his throat, in varied note, An emulative lay— It has a joyous sound!! And the Vicar is there with his wig and his book, And the Clerk with his grave, quasi-sanctified look, And there stand the Village maids all with their posies, Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses, Dight in white, A comely sight, Fringing the path to the left and the right; —From our nursery days we all of us know Ne'er doth "Our Ladye's garden grow" So fair for a "Grand Horticultural Show" As when border'd with "pretty maids all on a row." And the urchins are there, escap'd from the rule Of that "Limbo of Infants," the National School, Whooping, and bawling, And squalling, and calling, And crawling, and creeping, And jumping, and leaping, Bo-peeping 'midst "many a mouldering heap" in Whose bosom their own "rude forefathers" are sleeping; —Young rascals!—instead of lamenting and weeping, Laughing and gay, A gorge deployée— Only now and then pausing—and checking their play, To "wonder what 'tis makes the gentlefolks stay," Ah, well-a-day! Little deem they, Poor ignorant dears! the bells, ringing away, Are anything else Than mere parish bells, Or that each of them, should we go into its history, Is but a "Symbol" of some deeper mystery— That the clappers and ropes Are mere practical tropes Of "trumpets" and "tongues," and of "preachers," and popes, Unless Clement the fourth's worthy Chaplin, Durand, err, See the "Rationale" of that goosey-gander.
Gently! gently, Miss Muse! Mind your P's and your Q's! Don't be malapert—laugh, Miss, but never abuse! Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism, Is, Miss, believe me, a great piece of Jack-ass-ism, And as, on the whole, You're a good-natured soul, You must never enact such a pitiful rôle. No, no, Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys In the churchyard, who're making this hubbub and noise— But hush! there's an end to their romping and mumming, For voices are heard—here's the company coming!
And see!—the avenue gates unfold, And forth they pace, that bridal train, The grave, the gay, the young, the old, They cross the green and grassy lane, Bridesman, Bridesmaid, Bridegroom, Bride, Two by two, and side by side, Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and prov'd, And cousins, a great many times removed. A fairer or a gentler She, A lovelier Maid, in her degree, Man's eye might never hope to see, Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby, The flow'r of that goodly company; While whispering low, with bated voice, Close by her side, her heart's dear choice, Walks Fredville's hope, young Valentine Boys. —But where, oh where,— Is Ingoldsby's heir? Little Jack Ingoldsby?—where, oh where? Why, he's here,—and he's there, And he's every where— He's there, and he's here; In the front—in the rear,— Now this side, now that side,—now far, and now near— The Puck of the party, the darling "pet" boy, Full of mischief, and fun, and good humour and joy; With his laughing blue eye, and his cheek like a rose, And his long curly locks, and his little snub nose; In his tunic, and trousers, and cap—there he goes! Now pinching the bridesmen,—now teasing his sister, And telling the bridesmaids how "Valentine kiss'd her;" The torment, the plague, the delight of them all, See he's into the churchyard!—he's over the wall— Gambolling, frolicking, capering away, He's the first in the church, be the second who may!
'Tis o'er;—the holy rite is done, The rite that "incorporates two in one," —And now for the feasting, and frolic, and fun! Spare we to tell of the smiling and sighing, The shaking of hands, the embracing, and crying, The "toot—toot—toot" Of the tabour and flute, Of the white wigg'd Vicar's prolonged salute, Or of how the blithe "College Youths"—rather old stagers, Accustom'd, for years, to pull bell ropes for wagers— Rang, faster than ever, their "triple-bob-mayors;" (So loud as to charm ye, At once and alarm ye; —"Symbolic," of course, of that rank in the army.)