comes when society requires a man, in every sense of the word, to lead it, and then he most assuredly is not to be found among the sheep thus emasculated by the voluntary abdication of their instincts of self-reliance, but among the more self-contained specimens of humanity, which our social arrangements are doing so much to destroy.
THE WITCHES’ RIDE.
Come, come, gossips, now mount, now mount—
Mount, mount, gossips, and spur away,
Brown bog-rushes, or broom, or crutch,
We’ve far to ride ere the break of day.
Will-o’-the-Wisp has flickered and shone
Three times over my drowned babe’s grave;
’Tis time, my gossips, ’tis time to go,
The moon is glittering bright on the wave.
Here our sisters come, two and two,
The air is alive with their widening ranks;
Let the seamen beware the sunken shoals,
And the surf that lashes the weltering banks.
Queen Moon rides on, Queen Moon rides on,
Where the thin white rack is gliding;
We will chase our lady, all through the night,
On our horses that need no chiding.
The clouds, like dragons, and camels, and apes,
Will be shouldering round and following;
Hark! over our heads the jet-black owl
To the snow-white owl is halloaing.
Under our feet the tossing sea
Is unto the mad wind shouting;
O! woe betide the Fifeshire bark,
That our mocking light is doubting.
We’ll ride fast after our lady the moon,
Till Edinbro’ yonder grows small as your hand,
The steeples no bigger than crisping-pins,
And a long white strip the Bamboro’ land.
Back, ere the dawn, while the town is dim,
With the pennons of smoke all blowing one way;
When the stars slink in, and the moon grows pale,
When the sun still sleeps, and the clouds are gray.
Come, come, gossips, the steeds are here,
And we’ve far to cross into bonny France;
We fear no shaft in the southern land,
No guard can stop us with sword or lance.
We’ll halt by the way, a knife to toss
Through the murderer’s window, to tempt him more;
And we’ll drop a rope near the gambler’s bed,
It will serve his turn when the game is o’er.
See how the corpse-lights leap and dance!
Shining to guide us to horse, to horse;
Now then, gossips, we’ll mount at once—
For the churchyard ghosts are out in force.
We’ll brew the storms, and we’ll cast the fires,
That shall wreck and burn, and smite and slay;
King Satan will smile to hear of our work—
Mount! sisters, we’ve much to do ere day.
THE OLD ELEPHANT IN EXETER ’CHANGE.
How well I recollect the old elephant in Exeter ’Change! He had been confined there for many years, and, in consequence of his having been regularly and well fed, his size was enormous. He was very obedient to his keepers, very susceptible of kindness, but mindful of an injury and ready to resent it. In proof of this, I may mention that a man, while looking at him, struck the proboscis of the elephant with his stick, when the animal projected it in hopes of receiving some food. The keeper immediately pulled the man out of the reach of the elephant, advising him at the same time not to go again within his reach. The fellow went with his companions to see the other animals, and on his return thought he would take another look at the elephant, forgetting what he had been told. As soon as he was well within its reach he was knocked down by the trunk of the animal, who selected him out for his revenge amongst several of those who accompanied him. This is no solitary instance, for many similar ones are on record. One is somewhat ludicrous. An elephant passed a tailor every day, who was at work in his small shop by the roadside, and this man was in the habit of giving the animal something to eat. One day, however, when the elephant put out his proboscis to receive his accustomed donation, the tailor pricked it with his needle. The animal took no notice of it at the time, but on his return he collected a quantity of filthy water in his trunk, and deluged the unfortunate tailor with it.
I used often to go to Exeter ’Change to see the old elephant, who was, as I have remarked, of a most stupendous size. When it was arranged that the buildings in which this animal was confined should be taken down, and houses built on the site, forty beasts were removed to the old stables near Carlton House, besides the monkeys; but as it was found impossible to remove the elephant, it was decided that he must he killed. The way in which his death was at last accomplished, not only shows an extraordinary tenacity of life, but is not a little affecting. The account was furnished by the head keeper at the time, a very intelligent man. They first of all tried to poison him, and for this purpose a pound of arsenic was mixed in three mashes, but it produced no effect. Then corrosive sublimate was put into three buns out of twelve. He ate nine of them, but refused to touch the three poisoned ones, although there was neither taste nor smell in them. His hay was then poisoned with a solution of arsenic, but he would not touch it, although he began to be famished, but refused all food, as if he had a suspicion that it was intended to destroy him.
Under these circumstances, a detachment of the Foot Guards were called in, and they fired one hundred and twenty shots into the elephant—three balls entering his brain, and seven into other parts of his head. Still he survived; his keeper next ordered him to kneel down; the poor animal immediately obeyed the order, and his head thus presenting a surer mark, the last shots caused