Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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Abmednuggar, to Belinda, second daughter of Major-General Bulcher, C.B. His Excellency
the Commander-in-Chief gave away the bride; and after a splendid dejeune, the happy pair
set off to pass the Mango season at Hurrygurrybang. Venus must recollect, however, that
Mars must not ALWAYS be at her side. The Irregulars are nothing without their leader."
Such was the paragraph—such the event—the happiest in the existence of
G. O'G. G., M. H. E. I. C. S., C. I. H. A.
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
CHAPTER I.
SIR LUDWIG OF HOMBOURG.
It was in the good old days of chivalry, when every mountain that bathes its shadow in the
Rhine had its castle: not inhabited, as now, by a few rats and owls, nor covered with moss
and wallflowers, and funguses, and creeping ivy. No, no! where the ivy now clusters there
grew strong portcullis and bars of steel; where the wallflower now quivers in the rampart
there were silken banners embroidered with wonderful heraldry; men-at-arms marched
where now you shall only see a bank of moss or a hideous black champignon; and in place
of the rats and owlets, I warrant me there were ladies and knights to revel in the great halls,
and to feast, and to dance, and to make love there. They are passed away:—those old
knights and ladies: their golden hair first changed to silver, and then the silver dropped off
and disappeared for ever; their elegant legs, so slim and active in the dance, became
swollen and gouty, and then, from being swollen and gouty, dwindled down to bare boneshanks;
the roses left their cheeks, and then their cheeks disappeared, and left their skulls,
and then their skulls powdered into dust, and all sign of them was gone. And as it was with
them, so shall it be with us. Ho, seneschal! fill me a cup of liquor! put sugar in it, good
fellow—yea, and a little hot water; a very little, for my soul is sad, as I think of those days
and knights of old.
They, too, have revelled and feasted, and where are they?—gone?—nay, not altogether
gone; for doth not the eye catch glimpses of them as they walk yonder in the gray limbo of
romance, shining faintly in their coats of steel, wandering by the side of long-haired ladies,
with long-tailed gowns that little pages carry? Yes! one sees them: the poet sees them still