The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 402, Supplementary Number (1829)

"As in the case of the exciseman, the warnings were too late. 'Now, landlord,' said the stranger, after he had been seated a minute, 'may I trouble you to get me a pipe and a can of your best Burton? But, first of all, open my portmanteau, and give me out my slippers.' The host did as he was desired, and produced a pair of red morocco slippers. Here an involuntary exclamation broke out from the company. It began with the parson, and was taken up by the schoolmaster, the exciseman, the landlady, and the landlord, in succession. 'More red!' proceeded from every lip, with different degrees of loudness. The landlord's was the least loud, the schoolmaster's the loudest of all. 'I suppose, gentlemen,' said the stranger, 'you were remarking upon my slippers.'—'Eh—yes! we were just saying that they were red,' replied the schoolmaster. 'And pray,' demanded the other, as he raised the pipe to his mouth, 'did you never before see a pair of red slippers?' This question staggered the respondent; he said nothing, but looked to the parson for assistance. 'But you are all red,' observed the latter, taking a full draught from a foaming tankard which he held in his hand. 'And you are all black,' said the other, as he withdrew the pipe from his mouth, and emitted a copious puff of tobacco smoke. 'The hat that covers your numskull is black, your beard is black, your coat is black, your vest is black, your small-clothes, your stockings, your shoes, all are black. In a word, Doctor Poundtext, you are–' 'What am I, sir?' said the parson, bursting with rage. 'Ay, what is he, sir?' rejoined the schoolmaster. 'He is a black coat,' said the stranger, with a contemptuous sneer, 'and you are a pedagogue.' This sentence was followed by a profound calm."

The stranger goes to the stable, and returns.

"The appearance of the Red Man again acted like a spell on the voices of the company. The parson was silent, and by a natural consequence his echo, the schoolmaster, was silent also; none of the others felt disposed to say any thing. The meeting was like an assemblage of quakers. …

"'Who can this man be?' 'What does he want here?' 'Where is he from, and whither is he bound?' Such were the inquiries which occupied every mind. Had the object of their curiosity been a brown man, a black man, or even a green man, there would have been nothing extraordinary; and he might have entered the inn and departed from it as unquestioned as before he came. But to be a Red Man! There was in this something so startling that the lookers-on were beside themselves with amazement. The first to break this strange silence was the parson. 'Sir,' said he, 'we have been thinking that you are–' 'That I am a conjurer, a French spy, a travelling packman, or something of the sort,' observed the stranger. Doctor Poundtext started back on his chair, and well he might; for these words, which the Man in Red had spoken, were the very ones he himself was about to utter. 'Who are you, sir?' resumed he, in manifest perturbation; 'what is your name?' 'My name,' replied the other, 'is Reid.' 'And where, in heaven's name, were you born?' demanded the astonished parson. 'I was born on the borders of the Red Sea.'

"Doctor Poundtext had not another word to say. The schoolmaster was equally astounded, and withdrew the pipe from his mouth; that of the exciseman dropped to the ground: the landlord groaned aloud, and his spouse held up her hands in mingled astonishment and awe. After giving them this last piece of information, the strange man arose from his seat, broke his pipe in pieces, and pitched the fragments into the fire; then, throwing his long cloak carelessly over his shoulders, putting his hat upon his head, and loading himself with his boots, his whip, and his portmanteau, he desired the landlord to show him to his bed, and left the kitchen, after smiling sarcastically to its inmates, and giving them a familiar and unceremonious nod.

"His disappearance was the signal for fresh alarm in the minds of those left behind. Not a word was said till the return of the innkeeper, who in a short time descended from the bedroom overhead, to which he had conducted his guest. On re-entering the kitchen, he was encountered by a volley of interrogations. The parson, the schoolmaster, the exciseman, and his own wife, questioned him over and over again. 'Who was the Man in Red?—he must have seen him before—he must have heard of him—in a word, he must know something about him.' The host protested 'that he never beheld the stranger till that hour: it was the first time he had made his appearance at the Black Swan, and so help him God, it should be the last!' 'Why don't you turn him out?' exclaimed the exciseman. 'If you think you are able to do it, you are heartily welcome,' replied the landlord; 'for my part, I have no notion of coming to close quarters with the shank of his whip, or his great, red, sledge hammer fist.'

"This was an irresistible argument, and the proposer of forcible ejectment said no more upon the subject. At this time the party could hear the noise of heavy footsteps above them. They were those of the Red Man, and sounded with slow and measured tread. They listened for a quarter of an hour longer, in expectation that they would cease. There was no pause: the steps continued, and seemed to indicate that the person was amusing himself by walking up and down the room. It would be impossible to describe the multiplicity of feelings which agitated the minds of the company. Fear, surprise, anger, and curiosity, ruled them by turns and kept them incessantly upon the rack. There was something mysterious in the visiter who had just left them—something which they could not fathom—something unaccountable. 'Who could he be?' This was the question that each put to the other, but no one could give any thing like a rational answer. Meanwhile the evening wore on apace, and though the bell of the parish church hard by sounded the tenth hour, no one seemed inclined to take the hint to depart. Even the parson heard it without regard, to such a pitch was his curiosity excited. About this time also the sky, which had hitherto been tolerably clear, began to be overclouded. Distant peals of thunder were heard; and thick sultry drops of rain pattered at intervals against the casement of the inn: every thing seemed to indicate a tempestuous evening. But the storm which threatened to rage without was unnoticed.—Though the drops fell heavily; though gleams of lightning flashed by, followed by the report of distant thunder, and the winds began to hiss and whistle among the trees of the neighbouring cemetery, yet all these external signs of elementary tumult were as nothing to the deep, solemn footsteps of the Red Man. There seemed to be no end to his walking. An hour had he paced up and down the chamber without the least interval of repose, and he was still engaged in this occupation as at first. In this there was something incredibly mysterious; and the party below, notwithstanding their numbers, felt a vague and indescribable dread beginning to creep over them. The more they reflected upon the character of the stranger, the more unnatural did it appear. The redness of his hair and complexion, and, still more the fiery hue of his garment, struck them with astonishment. But this was little to the freezing and benumbing glance of his eye, the strange tones of his voice, and his miraculous birth on the borders of the Red Sea.

"There was now no longer any smoking in the kitchen. The subjects which occupied their minds were of too engrossing a nature to be treated with levity; and they drew their chairs closer, with a sort of irresistible and instinctive attraction. While these things were going on, the bandy-legged ostler entered, in manifest alarm. He came to inform his master that the stranger's horse had gone mad, and was kicking and tearing at every thing around, as if he would break his manger in pieces. Here a loud neighing and rushing were heard in the stable. 'Ay, there he goes,' continued he, 'I believe the devil is in the beast, if he is not the old enemy himself. Ods, master, if you saw his eyes! they are like—' 'What are they like?' demanded the landlord. 'Ay, what are they like?' exclaimed the rest with equal impatience. 'Ods, if they a'n't like burning coals!' ejaculated the ostler, trembling from head to foot, and sqeezing himself in among the others, on a chair which stood hard by. His information threw fresh alarm over the company, and they were more agitated and confused than ever.

"During the whole of this time the sound of walking over-head never ceased for one moment. The heavy tread was unabated: there was not the least interval of repose, nor could a pendulum have been more regular in its motions. Had there been any relaxation, any pause, any increase or any diminution of rapidity in the footsteps, they would have been endurable; but there was no such thing; the same deadening monotonous, stupifying sound continued, like clock-work, to operate incessantly above their heads. Nor was there any abatement of the storm without; the wind blowing among the trees of the cemetery in a sepulchral moan; the rain beating against the panes of glass with the impetuous loudness of hail; and lightning and thunder flashing and pealing at brief intervals through the murky firmament. The noise of the elements was indeed frightful; and it was heightened by the voice of the sable steed, like that of a spirit of darkness; but the whole, as we have just hinted, was as nothing to the deep, solemn, mysterious treading of the Red Man."

The party argue themselves into the belief that he is indeed the enemy of mankind.

"'If more proof is wanting,' resumed the parson, after a pause, 'only look to his dress. What Christian would think of travelling about the country in red? It is a type of the hell-fire from which he is sprung.' 'Did you observe his hair hanging down his back like a bunch of carrots?' asked the exciseman. 'Such a diabolical glance in his eye!' said the schoolmaster. 'Such a voice!' added the landlord: 'it is like the sound of a cracked clarionet.' 'His feet are not cloven,' observed the landlady. 'No matter,' exclaimed the landlord, 'the devil, when he chooses, can have as good legs as his neighbours.' 'Better than some of them,' quoth the lady, looking peevishly at the lower limbs of her husband. Meanwhile the incessant treading continued unabated, although two long hours had passed since its commencement. There was not the slightest cessation to the sound, while out of doors the storm raged with violence, and in the midst of it the hideous neighing and stamping of the black horse were heard with pre-eminent loudness. At this time the fire of the kitchen began to burn low; the sparkling blaze was gone, and in its stead nothing but a dead red lustre emanated from the grate. One candle had just expired, having burned down to the socket; of the one which remained, the unsnuffed wick was nearly three inches in length, black and crooked at the point, and standing like a ruined tower amid an envelopement of sickly yellow flame; while around the fire's equally decaying lustre sat the frightened coterie, narrowing their circle as its brilliancy faded away, and eyeing each other like apparitions amidst the increasing gloom.

"At this time the clock of the steeple struck the hour of midnight, and the tread of the stranger suddenly ceased. There was a pause for some minutes—afterwards a rustling—then a noise as of something drawn along the floor of his room. In a moment thereafter his door opened; then it shut with violence, and heavy footsteps were heard trampling down the stair. The inmates of the kitchen shook with alarm as the tread came nearer. They expected every moment to behold the Red Man enter, and stand before them in his native character. The landlady fainted outright: the exciseman followed her example: the landlord gasped in an agony of terror: and the schoolmaster uttered a pious ejaculation for the behoof of his soul. Dr. Poundtext was the only one who preserved any degree of composure. He managed, in a trembling voice, to call out 'Avaunt, Satan! I exorcise thee from hence to the bottom of the Red Sea!' 'I am going, as fast as I can,' said the stranger, as he passed the kitchen-door on his way to the open air. His voice aroused the whole conclave from their stupor. They started up, and by a simultaneous effort rushed to the window. There they beheld the tall figure of a man, enveloped in a black cloak, walking across the yard on his way to the stable. He had on a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, top-boots, with enormous spurs, and carried a gigantic whip in one hand, and a portmanteau in the other. He entered the stable, remained there about three minutes, and came out leading forth his fiery steed thoroughly accoutred. In the twinkling of an eye he got upon his back, waved his hand to the company, who were surveying him through the window, and clapping spurs to his charger, galloped off furiously, with a hideous and unnatural laugh, through the midst of the storm.

"On going up stairs to the room which the devil had honoured with his presence, the landlord found that his infernal majesty had helped himself to every thing he could lay his hands upon, having broken into his desk and carried off twenty-five guineas of king's money, a ten pound Bank of England note, and sundry articles, such as seals, snuff-boxes, &c. Since that time he has not been seen in these quarters, and if he should, he will do well to beware of Doctor Poundtext, who is a civil magistrate as well as a minister, and who, instead of exorcising him to the bottom of the Red Sea, may perhaps exorcise him to the interior of Leicester gaol, to await his trial before the judges of the midland circuit."

Next is the Omen, by Mr. Galt, a powerful sketch. Affixed to St. Feinah's Tree, a Legend of Loch Neagh, we notice the signature of an esteemed correspondent, (M.L.B.) whose taste and ingenuity entitle her to high rank among the contributors to the present work. Kemp, the Bandit, by Delta, is an interesting tale; Life and Shade, a Portuguese Sketch, by Mrs. M. Baillie, is in her best narrative style; and Seeking the Houdy, by the Ettrick Shepherd, is in his happiest familiar vein. The curiosity of the volume, and indeed, the only poetical contribution we have room to notice, is the following lines of Lord Byron, written in his boyhood, to "Mary," (Mrs. Musters,) about a year before her marriage:—

Adieu to sweet Mary for ever;From her I must quickly depart;Though the Fates us from each other sever,Still her image will dwell in my heart.The flame that within my heart burns,Is unlike what in lovers hearts glows;The love which for Mary I feel,Is far purer than Cupid bestows.I wish not your peace to disturb,I wish not your joys to molest,Mistake not my passion for Love,'Tis your friendship alone I request.Not ten thousand lovers could feelThe friendship my bosom contains;It will ever within my heart dwell,While the warm blood flows through my veins.May the ruler of heaven look down,And my Mary from evil defend;Mny she ne'er know adversity's frown,May her happiness ne'er have an end.Once more, my sweet Mary, adieu;Farewell; I with anguish repeat,For ever I'll think upon you,While this heart in my bosom shall beat.

The Editor has subjoined a note, explaining his reason for printing these "schoolboy rhymes," which, of course, is not for their literary merit; still, in comparison with many of Lord Byron's after productions, what the present want of head, others lack of heart, and this is a home truth which his warmest admirers must acknowledge.

The Illustrations are varied and interesting. One of them—the Death of the Dove, engraved by W. Finden, from a picture by T. Stewardson, is remarkably expressive. The Ghaut, by E. Finden, after W. Daniell, is an exquisite Oriental scene. The Frontispiece, Wilkie's Spanish Princess, is finely engraved by R. Greaves; and Mr. H. Le Keux has done ample justice to the Plâce de Jeanne d'Arc, Rouen, from a picturesque drawing, by S. Prout: the lights and shadows being very effectively managed. But we must be chary of our room, as we have other claimants at hand.

THE JUVENILE FORGET-ME-NOT

This little work is a sort of protegé of The Forget-Me-Not, and is by the same editor. It contains fifty pieces in verse and prose, and eight pleasing plates and a vignette—all which will please the little folks more than our description of them would their elders. Nearly all of them contain several figures, but one—The Riding School—about twenty boys playing at Soldiers, horse and foot, very pleasantly illustrates an observation in a recent number of the Edinburgh Review, on the dramatic character of the amusements of children. The scene is a large, ancient, dilapidated building, and the little people personate the Duke of Wellington, the Marquess of Anglesea, &c., with all the precision of military tactics—but no one has a taste for being a private. So it is through life.

Our extract is almost a literary curiosity:

"THE INVALID'S PIPE. 2

"It was not far from the Castle of Fürstenstein, near the spot where the gallant Blucher, with the brave army of Silesia, won such glory, that the Baron of Fürstenstein met a maimed soldier, who was endeavouring to reach Berlin to claim his pension, and whose age denoted that his wounds had long been his honourable though painful companions. The Baron, observing a very richly mounted pipe in the old man's possession, accosted him with, 'God bless you, old soldier! does your pipe comfort you this morning?' The pipe which the old soldier was smoking was made of a curious sort of porcelain, and mounted with gold. The Baron wondered to see so costly a pipe in the old soldier's possession, and wishing to purchase it from him, said, 'My friend! what shall I give you for your pipe?'

"'Oh, sir!' replied the soldier, shaking his head, 'this pipe I can never part with; it was the gift of the bravest of men, who took it from a Turkish Bashaw at the battle of Belgrade. There, sir, thanks to Prince Eugene, we obtained noble spoils—there, where our troops so bravely destroyed the Turkish squadrons.'

"'Talk another time of your exploits, my friend,' said the nobleman; 'here take this double ducat, and give me your pipe; I feel an insurmountable wish to possess it.'

"'I am a poor man, sir, and have nothing to live upon but my pension; yet I would not part with this pipe for all the gold that you possess. Listen, sir, and I will relate to you the story of this pipe, which is remarkable, or my poverty would long ere now have induced me to sell it:—As we Hussars were charging over the enemy, a shot from the ranks of the Janissaries pierced our noble captain through the breast; I caught him in my arms, placed him on my horse, and carried him out of the confusion of the battle. It was an irresistible sensation of gratitude that prompted me to do so, for he had once rescued me when I was wounded and taken prisoner. I watched over him to the latest moment; and a few moments before his death, he gave me his purse and this pipe, then pressed my hand and breathed his last sigh. Heroic spirit! never shall I forget him!'

"As he thus spoke, the tears fell fast from the old man's eyes; but he soon recovered himself, and proceeded—'The money I gave to the worthy landlord under whose roof he died, and who had been thrice plundered by the enemy; the pipe I kept as a sacred remembrance of the brave. In every situation, and through all the vicissitudes of my life, I have taken care to preserve it as a sacred relic, whether pursuing or retreating from the enemy; and when it was not in use, I placed it for safety withing my boot. At the battle of Prague, a cannon-ball unfortunately carried my right leg and pipe away together. My first thought was to secure the safety of my pipe, for at the moment I felt but little pain, and then–'

"'Stop, soldier; your story is too affecting! O tell me, I entreat you, who was the brave man, that I may also honour and respect his memory?'

"'His name was Walter von Fürstenstein; and I have heard that his family was of Silesia, and that his estates lay in that province.'

"'Gracious God!' ejaculated the nobleman, 'he was my father! and the estates you mention, good old man, are now mine. Come, friend, forget all your sorrows, and live with me under that same Walter's roof whom you so faithfully served; and come and eat of Walter's bread, and partake of that comfort which your age demands, and which my gratitude for your services to the best of fathers is ready to bestow. I am too deeply affected to say more at present; enter this mansion, where you shall repose in peace for the remainder of your life!'

"'Thanks, noble sir, I accept your generous charity; the son of Walter von Fürstenstein is worthy of such a father. Here, sir, take this relic (presenting the pipe)—it is a memorial of that Providence which has so miraculously conducted me from the father to the son.'

"The pipe still remains hung up among the family trophies in the Castle of Fürstenstein."

THE IRIS

The reader may perhaps require to be told that this work is "a Literary and Religious Offering," or Annual. It has been tastefully and judiciously edited by the Rev. F. Dale, M.A., and its characterestics, if we may use the term, are several productions of his highly imaginative and powerful pen. These accompany, or rather are accompanied by a series of Engravings from pictures, by old masters, on the subject of the Life of our Saviour. The other pieces, upwards of forty in number, blend the grave with the gayer or lighter subjects.

Among the embellishments are the Madonna and Child, from Murillo; half-figure of the Saviour, and St. John, and St. Magdalen, all from Carlo Dolci; The flight into Egypt, from Claude; Christ expounding the Law, from Leonardo da Vinci; the Incredulity of St. Thomas, from L. Caracci; Hagar and Ishmael, from Barocci. The idea of transferring the pictures of the old masters to the present work in place of original designs, is excellent, and the style in which this arduous task has been executed, is creditable to the talents of the respective artists.

Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.

1

Some nice calculators have estimated that the various sums received by Mr. Wilkie for the supplies he has furnished to the Illustrations of the Annuals of the coming season amount to upwards of £1,000.—Athenaeum.

2

This story has been transmitted to the Editor as the genuine production of the son of a British military officer, only nine years of age, and composed from a circumstance which actually occurred in a noble German family.