Such gifts, as we have seen, may lead to a "Morbid Delusion, the climax of which is Murder!"
The fate of the Wig itself is somewhat doubtful: nobody seems to have recollected, with any degree of precision, what became of it. Mr. Ingoldsby "had heard" that, when thrown into the fire by the Court-keeper, after whizzing, and fizzling, and performing all sorts of supernatural antics and contortions, it at length whirled up the chimney with a bang that was taken for the explosion of one of the Feversham powder-mills, twenty miles off; while others insinuate that in the "Great Storm" which took place on the night when Mr. Jeremiah Jarvis went to his "long home,"—wherever that may happen to be,—and the whole of "The Marsh" appeared as one broad sheet of flame, something that looked very like a Fiery Wig— perhaps a miniature Comet—it had unquestionably a tail—was seen careering in the blaze,—and seeming to "ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm."
[UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES.]
BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLDSBY, AGED 15.
(Communicated by her Cousin Tom.)
Oh! how I should like in a Coach to ride, Like the Sheriffs I saw upon Lord Mayor's day, With a Coachman and little Postilion astride On the back of the leader, a prancing bay.
And then behind it, oh! I should glory To see the tall serving men standing upright, Like the two who attend Mister Montefiore, (Sir Moses I should say) for now he's a Knight.
And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault—but I'll hint as he can't see me blush, That I'd not have the things I can only allude to Either orange in hue or constructed of plush;
But their coats and their waistcoats and hats are delightful, Their charming silk stockings—I vow and declare Our John's ginger gaiters so wrinkled and frightful, I never again shall be able to bear.