Legends of Lancashire 16

Legends of Lancashire 16

“The conditions,” Satan exclaimed, “shall be performed, and as

soon as the wall is built, I shall escort you to your future home.

Let this parchment float, till then, before you, in your waking

moments and in your dreams. Accustom your mind to the thought of

thunder, lightning, sounds of an earthquake, the hissing of fiends,

the rolling of a deep unfathomable gulf, and the clutch of this

little, little loving hand,” and he switched out a horrible paw,

scorched, but not burned; for every joint and muscle moved with

inconceivable ease and speed. “Do not think, poor wretch, that you

shall see me then as merry as I have been at present, nor will you

be merry when limb from limb is torn and mangled? Dream of it,--it

must come to pass. A few hours, Gideon, and I meet you: till then,

adieu,” and the fiend vanished. A long track of blue light, and

dark forms hovering near it, marked the course of his flight over

the wood.

 

As we have been long enough in the cold and bitter storm, and as

all fire and brimstone have disappeared, we do not choose to walk

side by side with the two tailors, on their way back, amidst the

drifting of the snow, which, by this time, had fallen so heavily,

that the way was completely blocked up.

 

We prefer to enter the residence of the parson, and, seated

opposite to his rosy countenance, note a few observations as

to what was passing there. In a parenthesis, we have already

described the worthy man as fat and oily. Indeed, he was singularly

consistent, for whilst he preached _good living_ to others, he

did not neglect to practice it himself, though, perhaps, he had

a private interpretation of the word, and understood it in a

different sense. He told his hearers that they would, in the end,

feel the advantages resulting from it: and certainly, after fifty

years practice, he looked very comfortable himself. This regimen

had endowed him with size and colour, flesh and paint. He had

been called a light of the church; only, we presume, because his

face, in shape, resembled the moon, though scarcely so pale. Yet,

withall, Dr. Mauncel was mild and benevolent, and one of his best

properties was, that he had a beautiful daughter, who had just

reached her nineteenth winter. Many a sigh had been unconsciously

breathed as Mary leant upon her father’s arm, on their way to

church: and as she knelt in prayer, many a look had been directed

towards her, and lovers envied the vicar for the many caresses he

must receive from such a fair being, and thought what a sanctuary

her presence would make of the very humblest home. The little arch

creature knew this, and flung back her ringlets, that her face

might be seen, and then contrived to make it so demure and grave,

that one might have imagined that a ray of happy, but feverish

love, had never brightened over it. When she smiled, it was always

so friendly, that a deeper sentiment, it was thought, could not

lurk beneath it; and she would extend her hand so frankly, that

no one could venture upon retaining and kissing it,--it felt so

sisterly. And yet, the sweet rogue was in love with her cousin

William, then residing at the Vicarage; and when the good doctor

was paying his addresses either to his meals or his sermon, the

young pair were toying with each other’s hands, and his reverence

had once been startled from his reveries, by a very loud kiss.

 

We have, strangely enough, omitted to mention that it was

Christmas night on which all the transactions we have recorded of

the tailors, took place; so that lights were still seen in the

vicarage, and a goose, with others of the same genus, was standing

on the table very peaceably, if we except the smoke of their anger,

which was ascending, and, as the vicar facetiously remarked, much

more comfortable where they were, than without, in the fury of the

storm.

 

“Is all in readiness? Now, nephew, you can fence and carve, bisect

and dissect; but when you reach my age, you will only be able to

devour, decant, or digest. Stay; Mary, bring Rehoboam and Jeroboam,

with all their tribes. Rehoboam was the son of Solomon, and there

is no reason why a wise man should not be fond of him. Come, haste,

Mary, else I shall send William to bring you.”

 

“Nay, nay, uncle,” said the youth, “to avoid delay, I will go at

once, and chide her so, that she must despatch. Now,--dear Mary,”

and the happy couple ran out of the room together.

 

“Sly rogues,” chuckled the old man, who saw how matters stood.

 

Mary, it seems, had been refractory, for it was not until a

considerable length of time had elapsed, that she appeared,

carrying a few glasses, whilst her cousin bore two large bottles,

Rehoboam and Jeroboam.

 

“Ah! ah!” cried the vicar. “Fie, fie, whence come these blushes,

Mary? Let both of you approach; now kneel; and God bless you, my

dear children! Nephew William, take her hand as a Christmas present

from her father; you have already obtained her heart from herself.”

 

“Dear, dear uncle,” exclaimed the delighted youth, as he clasped

his relative’s knees with his hands.

 

“Nay, nay,” the parson interrupted, “put your arms around that

blushing neck. I have long watched you. When you read for the

old man, William, she sat beside you, gazing upon the same book,

and when your locks and cheeks were together, your voice became

agitated, and then she looked innocently into your face. You always

preferred a large folio, and she slipped her little hand in one

side, beneath it, and then you put yours through, to meet hers; and

for hours, the happy father has been delighted with your loves.

Ah! one other remembrance comes upon me. In our evening walk I was

strolling behind you, when a beautiful child left his sister’s

hand, and ran to you, Mary, and climbing up, kissed you once and

again. I was near enough to hear William say, ‘now, cousin, give

me one likewise.’ Ah! rogues, rogues,” and he took them both in

his arms, and hugged them together, when a knocking was heard at

the gate. The vicar started, but the lovers were so happy in each

other, that they had not even heard the noise.

 

“Some poor traveller seeking shelter from the storm. How the storm

blows without. Hark to that awful howl,” and the good man arose

from the table. He heard the servant open the door, and instantly

a form bounced into the room, all drifted and covered with snow. A

single shake served to discover Mrs. Gideon Chiselwig.

 

“Oh! doctor,” she exclaimed, in a tone altogether foreign to her

usual voice, “what a dream I have been visited with. The devil has

appeared to me, and shewed my dear husband’s name, affixed to a

contract, that he shall be a slave in hell, from to-morrow night,

henceforth, and for ever. He is then to come and take him from me.

Oh! I have shamefully treated Gideon, and now I love him so much,

that I could die for him. ’Twas but this evening, that I struck

him with these heavy hands. Oh! doctor, what can I do? Is there no

hope?”

 

Dr. Mauncel was altogether astonished and confounded. The woman

now before him had the repute of a termagent; and yet she spoke

so affectionately, and bitterly upbraided herself, for her former

cruel treatment of her husband. Nor did she appear at all under

the influence of strong drink. “Good woman,” he at length inquired,

“where is your husband?”

 

“He has gone and sold himself to the devil, for my conduct towards

him. I have made earth miserable, and he would rather live in hell,

than dwell with me any longer. Oh! how I could now love him! My

heart is changed, but it is too late! Yes, yes, it is too late!”

and she wrung her hands in wild agony, tore her hair, and shed more

tears than Jeremiah could have done.

 

“Mrs. Chiselwig,” returned the vicar, “you have, indeed, been

anything but a dutiful and affectionate wife to your spouse, but

now begin a thorough reformation. It is only a dream of evil with

which you have been visited, and Gideon shall, doubtless, be spared

to you for many a long year yet.”

 

“It cannot be! Although the storm rages, he is not in the house; he

has gone and sold himself for my shameful conduct. In the afternoon

I forbade him to go to bed, until I should have arisen; nay, more,

I planted these nails in his face and head, as a tender good night

for a dear husband. Ah! wretch that I am, and yet, he patiently

submitted, took the hand which had struck him, so affectionately,

and was making gaiters for the feet which had kicked him.”

 

“Ah! Mrs. Chiselwig, you were a sad wife,” chimed in the parson.

 

“What tempted you,” asked Mary Mauncel, “to be cruel to Gideon? He

was always so kind and attentive to you.”

 

Her cousin William approached, and whispered something which was

inaudible to all others, save Mary herself. She smiled so prettily,

and with such an affectation of malice, as she tossed her head,

and said, “Try me, you are free at present, but have given me the

chain. I’ll rule you, and beat you into the sober obedience of a

husband. You have told me frequently that you were my slave: I

shall shortly prove it.”

 

“Dear Mary, go on, go on, and tell me what a good little wife you

will make.”

 

Nelly once more appealed to the vicar, with great earnestness.

“Oh! sir, have you not a charm to be obtained from all those books,

from all your sermons, from all your robes, by which you can break

the contract with the devil. Laugh not; he appeared to me, in

such a form, and uttering such words, that to my dying day I dare

not rehearse them. To-morrow night he comes to claim Gideon! Your

profession is to tame and conquer the enemy. Oh! now exert that

power!”

 

“To-morrow night; well then, go home, and I will come at noon, and

see what is to be done. Good woman, you have (innocently I grant)

spoiled my supper, for who can eat with the smell of brimstone. I

declare that that goose now appears to me to have hoofs, instead

of claws. Mary, give Mrs. Chiselwig a compliment from Rehoboam,

to cheer her on her way home, through the storm. You’ll find

Gideon, I hope, there before you, and prove that all your fears

have been the baby thoughts of a horrid dream. May you long live

for each other,--and, Nelly, you will shew, by your future course

of conduct, I trust, that you are willing to atone for all the

domestic misery which you confess to have brought upon honest

Gideon. Nay, drink it off, Mrs. Chiselwig; it is warmer than snow, eh?”