"A ROMANCE BY M. G. LEWIS.

"A Doctor so grave and a virgin so bright, Hob-a-n.o.bbed in some right marasquin; They swallowed the cordial with truest delight, Giles Bolus the knave was just five feet in height, And four feet the brown Sally Green.

"'And as,' said Giles Bolus, 'to-morrow I go To physic a feverish land, At some sixpenny hop, or perhaps the mayor's show, You'll tumble in love with some smart city beau, And with him share your shop in the Strand.'

"'Lord! how can you think so?' Brown Sally Green said, 'You must know mighty little of me; For if you be living, or if you be dead, I swear, 'pon my honour, that none in your stead, Shall husband of Sally Green be.

"'And if e'er I by love or by wealth led aside Am false to Giles Bolus the knave; G.o.d grant that at dinner so amply suppli'd, Over-eating may give me a pain in the side, May your ghost then bring rhubarb to physic the bride, And send her well-dosed to the grave.'

"To Jamaica the doctor now hastened for gold, Sally wept till she blew her nose sore; Yet scarce had a twelvemonth elaps'd, when behold!

A brewer quite stylish his gig that way roll'd, And stopped it at Sally Green's door.

"His barrels, his bungs, and his bra.s.s-headed cane, Soon made her untrue to his vows; The stream of small beer now bewildered her brain; He caught her while tipsy--denials were vain-- So he carried her home as his spouse.

"And now the roast-beef had been blest by the priest, To cram now the guests had begun; Tooth and nail, like a wolf, fell the bride on the feast Nor yet had the clash of her knife and fork ceased, When a bell (t'was the dustman's) toll'd one.

"Then first, with amazement, brown Sally Green found, That a stranger was stuck by her side.

His cravat and his ruffles with snuff were embrown'd; He ate not--he drank not--but, turning him round, Sent some pudding away to be fried.

"His wig was turned forwards, and wort was his height, His ap.r.o.n was dirty to view; The women (oh! wondrous) were hushed at the sight, The cats as they eyed him drew back (well they might), For his body was pea-green and blue.

"Now, as all wish'd to speak, but none knew what to say, They look'd mighty foolish and queer: At length spoke the lady with trembling--'I pray, Dear sir, that your peruke aside you would lay, And partake of some strong or small beer.'

"The bride shuts her fly-trap--the stranger complies, And his wig from his phiz deigns to pull.

Adzooks! what a squall Sally gave through surprise!

Like a pig that was stuck, how she opened her eyes, When she recognized Giles's bare skull.

"Each miss then exclaimed, while she turn'd up her snout, 'Sir, your head isn't fit to be seen!'-- The pot-boys ran in, and the pot-boys ran out, And couldn't conceive what the noise was about, While the doctor addressed Sally Green.

"'Behold me, thou jilt-flirt! behold me!' he cri'd-- 'I'm Bolus, whom some call the 'knave!'

G.o.d grant, that to punish your falsehood and pride, You should feel at this moment a pain in your side.

Quick, swallow this rhubarb!--I'll physic the bride, And send her well-dosed to the grave!'

"Thus saying, the physic her throat he forced down, In spite of whate'er she could say: Then bore to his chariot the maiden so brown, Nor ever again was she seen in that town, Or the doctor who whisked her away.

"Not long lived the brewer, and none since that time To inhabit the brew-house presume; For old women say that by order sublime There Sally Green suffers the pain of her crime, And bawls to get out of the room.

"At midnight four times in each year does her sprite With shrieks make the chamber resound.

'I won't take the rhubarb!' she squalls in affright, While a cup in his left hand, a draught in his right, Giles Bolus pursues her around.

"With wigs so well powdered, twelve doctors so grave, Dancing hornpipes around them are seen; They drink chicken-broth, and this horrible stave Is tw.a.n.ged through each nose, 'To Giles Bolus the knave, And his patient the sick Sally Green.'"

In the court of love, Dr. Van Buch.e.l.l, the empiric, may pa.s.s muster as a physician. When that droll charlatan lost his first wife, in 1775, he paid her the compliment of preserving her body with great care. Dr.

Hunter, with the a.s.sistance of Mr. Cruikshank, injected the blood-vessels of the corpse with a carmine fluid, so that the cheeks and lips had the hue of healthy life; the cavities of the body were artistically packed with the antiseptics used by modern embalmers; and gla.s.s eyes were subst.i.tuted in place of the filmy b.a.l.l.s which Death had made his own. Decked in a dainty apparel of lace and finest linen, the body was then placed in a bed of thin paste of plaster of Paris, which, crystallizing, made a most ornamental couch. The case containing this fantastic horror had a gla.s.s lid, covered with a curtain; and as Van Buch.e.l.l kept it in his ordinary sitting-room, he had the pleasure of introducing his visitors to the lifeless form of his "dear departed." For several years the doctor lived very happily with this slough of an immortal soul--never quarrelling with it, never being scolded by it--on the whole, enjoying an amount of domestic tranquility that rarely falls to one man's lot. Unwisely he made in advanced years a new alliance, and manifested a desire to be on with the new and the old love at the same time. To this Mrs. Van Buch.e.l.l (No. 2) strongly objected, and insisted that the quaint coffin of Mrs.

Van Buch.e.l.l (No. 1) should be removed from the parlour in which she was expected to spend the greatest part of her days. The eccentric mode in which Buch.e.l.l displayed his affection for his first wife was scarcely less repulsive than the devotion to the interests of anatomical science which induced Rondeletius to dissect the dead body of his own child in his theatre at Montpelier.

Are there no more loves to be mentioned? Yes; let these concluding pages tell an interesting story of the last generation.

Fifty years ago the picturesque, sunny town of Holmnook had for its physician one Dr. Kemp, a grave and reverend ?sculapius, punctilious in etiquette, with an imposing formality of manner, accurate in costume, in every respect a courtier of the old school. Holmnook is an antique market-town, square and compact, a capital in miniature, lying at the foot of an old feudal castle, in which the BiG.o.ds once held sway. That stronghold of moated towers was three centuries since the abode of a mighty Duke; Surrey, the poet earl, luckless and inspired, was born within its walls. The n.o.ble acres of the princely house fell into the hands of a _parvenu_--a rich, grasping lawyer;--that was bad.

The lawyer died and went to his place, leaving the land to the poor;--that was better. And now the produce of the rich soil, which whilom sent forth a crop of mailed knights, supports a college of toil and time-worn peasants, saving their cold thin blood from the penury of the poor-house, and sheltering them from the contumelies of--Guardians of the Poor. Hard by the college, housing these ancient humble children of man, is a school, based on the same beneficent foundation, where the village lads are taught by as ripe a scholar and true a gentleman as ever came from the banks of Isis; and round which temple of learning they play their rough, noisy games, under the observation of the veterans of the bourg--the almsmen and almswomen who sit in the sun and on benches before their college, clad in the blue coats of the charity, and feeling no shame in them, though the armorial badge of that old lawyer is tacked upon them in red cloth.

Holmnook is unlike most other English towns of its size, abounding as it does in large antique mansions, formerly inhabited by the great officers and dependents on the ducal household, who in many cases were blood relations of the duke himself. Under the capacious windows of these old houses, in the streets, and round the market-square, run rows of limes, spreading their cool shade over the pinnacles of gabled roofs, and flinging back bars across the shining shingle which decorates the plaster walls of the older houses. In the centre of the town stands an enormous church, large enough to hold an entire army of Christians, and containing many imposing tombs of earls and leaders, long since gone to their account.

Think of this old town, its venerable dwellings--each by itself suggesting a romance. Hear the cooing and lazy flapping of pigeons, making continual holiday round the ma.s.sive chimneys. Observe, without seeming to observe, the mayor's pretty daughter sitting at the open oriel window of the Guild-hall, merrily singing over her needle-work, and wondering if her bright ribbon has a good effect on pa.s.sers below.

Heed the jingle of a harpsichord in the rector's parlour. Be pleased to remember that the year is 1790--not 1860. Take a gla.s.s of stinging ale at "The Knight of Armour" hostelry--and own you enjoy it. Take another, creaming good-naturedly up under your lip, and confess you like it better than its predecessor. See the High Sheriff's carriage pa.s.s through the excited town, drawn by four enormous black horses, and having three Bacchic footmen hanging on behind. Do all this, and then you'll have a faint notion of Holmnook, its un-English picturesqueness, its placid joy, and experience of pomp.

Who is the gentleman emerging from the mansion on the causeway, in this year 1790--with white peruke and long pig-tail, snuff-coloured coat and velvet collar, tight dark nether garments, silk stockings, and shoes with buckles, volumes of white shirt-frill rising up under his chin? As he taps his shoes on his doorstep you can see he is proud of his leg, a pleasant pride, whether one has reason for it or not!

Seventy years of age, staid, decorous, and thoroughly versed in the social proprieties of the old world, now gone clean from us, like chivalry or chartism, Dr. Kemp was an important personage in Holmnook and its vicinity. An _?clat_ was his that a country doctor does not usually possess. For he was of gentle blood, being a cadet of an old and wealthy family on the other side of the country, the representative of which hailed him "cousin," and treated him with the intimacy of kinship--the kinship of 1790.

Michael Kemp's youth had been spent away from Holmnook. Doubtless so polite and dignified a gentleman had once aimed at a brighter lot than a rural physician's. Doubtless he had a history, but he kept it to himself. He had never married! The rumour went that he had been disappointed--had undertaken the conquest of a high-born lady, who gave another ending to the game; and having conquered him, went off to conquer others. Ladies could do such things in the last century--when men had hearts.

Anyhow, Michael Kemp, M.D., was an old bachelor, of spotless honour, and a reputation that scandal never dared to trifle with.

A lady, much respected by the simple inhabitants of Holmsnook, kept his house.

Let us speak of her--fair and forty, comely, with matronly outlines, but graceful. Pleasant of voice, cheerful in manner, active in benevolence, Mistress Alice was a great favourite; no christening or wedding could go off without her for miles around. The doctor's grandest patients treated her as an equal; for apart from her personal claims to respect and good-will, she was, it was understood, of the doctor's blood--a poor relation, gentle by birth as she was by education. Mistress Alice was a great authority amongst the Holmnook ladies, on all matters pertaining to dress and taste. Her own ordinary costume was an artistic one. A large white kerchief, made so as to sit like a jacket, close and high round the throat, concealed her fair arms and shoulders, and reached down to the waist of her dress, which, in obedience to the fashion of the time, ran close beneath her arms.

In 1790 a lady's waist at Holmnook occupied just about the same place where the drapery of a London belle's Mazeppa harness offers its first concealment to its wearer's charms. But it was on her foot-gear that Mistress Alice devoted especial care. The short skirts of that day encouraged a woman to set her feet off to the best advantage. Mistress Alice wore natty high-heeled shoes and clocked stockings--bright crimson stockings with yellow clocks.

Do you know what clocked stockings were, ladies? This writer is not deeply learned on such matters, but having seen a pair of Mistress Alice's stockings, he can tell you that they had on either side, extending from the heel upwards some six inches, flowers gracefully embroidered with a light yellow silk on the crimson ground. And these wreaths of broidery were by our ancestors called clocks. This writer could tell something else about Mistress Alice's apparel. She had for grand evenings of high festivity white kid gloves reaching up to the elbow, and having a slit at the tips of the forefinger and thumb of each hand. It was an ordinary fashion long syne. So, ladies could let out the tips of those digits to take a pinch of snuff!

One night Michael Kemp, M.D., Oxon., was called up to come with every possible haste to visit a sick lady, urgently in want of him. The night-bell was rung violently, and the messenger cried to the doctor over and over from the pavement below to make good speed. The doctor did his best to comply; but, as ill-luck would have it, after he had struck a light the candle illumined by it fell down, and left the doctor in darkness. This was very annoying to the good man, for he could not reconcile it to his conscience to consume time in lighting another, and yet it was hard for such a decorous man to make his hasty toilet in the dark.

He managed, however, better than he expected. His peruke came to hand all right; so did the tight inexpressibles; so did the snuff-coloured coat with high velvet collar; so did the buckled shoes. Bravo!

In another five minutes the active physician had groped his way down-stairs, emerged from his stately dwelling, and had run to his patient's house.

In a trice he was admitted; in a twinkle he was up the stairs; in another second he was by the sick lady's bedside, round which were seated a nurse and three eminent Holmnook gossips.

He was, however, little prepared for the reception he met with--the effect his appearance produced.

The sick lady, struggling though she was with severe pain, laughed outright.

The nurse said, "Oh my!--Doctor Kemp!"

Gossip No. 1 exclaimed, "Oh, you'll kill me!"

Gossip No. 2 cried, "I can't believe my eyes!"

Gossip No. 3 exploded with--"Oh, Doctor Kemp, do look at your stockings!"

And the doctor, obeying, did look at his stockings. One was of black silk--the other was a crimson one, with yellow clocks.

Was there not merry talk the next day at Holmnook! Didn't one hear blithe hearty laughter at every street corner--at every window under the limes?

What did they laugh about? What did they say?

Only this, fair reader--