THE SHIPWRECK. "Hark! peals the thunder of the signal gun.”—BYRON. THE day had been particularly fine, and I stood admiring the departure of the sun as he was rapidly retiring from the surface of the ocean, whose watery ridges were beautifully crimsoned with his parting beams; when my attention was attracted by a group of peasants, who were silently watching the appearance of something on the boundless deep, though its distance rendered it as yet scarcely discernible. I turned my eyes towards the object which had so firmly fixed their attention, and in a short time beheld a vessel sailing in gallant trim before the breeze, which filled her canvass. After observing it for a considerable time, I saw it stop suddenly in its course, and the sails, which but a minute before were swelled out by the wind, hang motionless, while the streaming pennon curled itself round the mast. From the conversation of some old men who stood by me, I found her situation was by no means enviable. One, who by his silver hairs and hoary look seemed to be the senior of the party, was remarking to his neighbour" Say what you will, Davy, but I like not the look of yon sky; those little clouds bode no good to the dweller on the salt seas; and for my part, I'd rather pass a week of nights in St. Edmund's Turret, where the ghost of Esterling is for ever crying out, Beware! Edmund, beware!' than I would be now upon those sleepy waves." The person who stood next him, and whom I had concluded to be a fisherman, from the old and tattered jacket which he wore, added to the foreboding remarks of the first speaker-" Aye, aye, I ween ye speak the truth, and may I never draw net again if some harm comes not to yon brig before midnight. I well remember, when forty years ago last March, the 'Bonny Gilderoy,' stuck in the same place. She little knew her danger, nor thought that rocks were there, because she did not see them, but the first squall pitched her bows under, and in half an hour she was shivered plank from plank. I shall never forget that day, nor the song which mad Wilson, as he was called, made the same day. Hold now, you shall hear it, unless my memory be buried with him who made it." The old fisherman proceeded to sing in a voice by no means musical, yet suited well to the song itself, and to the scenery around. THE BONNY GILDEROY. The winter's snow was on the ground,- The gallant sun refused to shine, The sea look'd wild, the sky look'd dark, Loud was the sea-gulls joy; When from the west, on the billows breast, Came the Bonny Gilderoy. Anon the slumb'ring winds arose And swept the briny sea, The waves that long lay still and dead, Now danced right merrily; They beat against the rugged rocks, Aye threat'ning to destroy, But careless still, of good or ill, Sailed the Bonny Gilderoy. The thunders shook the murky sky, While loud the sparkling billows roar'd Then danger bid all hands aloft, For the lightning past, and struck the mast, And then the piercing shriek was heard, For all was lost, and the gallant ship Which hovering flew round the lifeless crew Of the Bonny Gilderoy. The song was scarcely ended when a rough looking sailor, who had been all along gazing from the heavens to the sea, and then to the ship, exclaimed aloud, "Hold your noise, Tom, we shall have enough of noise presently, for there goes the cormorant and the gull; and if the black clouds deceive me not, we shall soon hear the cries of man mixed with their cursed croaking, and the roar of the dashing breakers; so bear a hand, let's down and make safe the skiffs-there's no time to lose with so wild a sky above, and so still a sea below us.' With that he bounded off, followed by his companion, and they were soon lost amidst the windings of the rocks. earth. The few withered leaves which still clung to the branches rustled with a fearful motion; while the waves came slowly to the shore, and sent forth a low and hollow sound as they beat against the cliffs, or flowed over the shells and pebbles of the coast. This seemed to be the signal for the whole to depart, and in a short time I was the only one left, except indeed a young man, who till now had escaped my observation, and who was leaning against an old wall a short way off, with his arms folded and apparently regardless of every thing, save the vessel, upon which he had fixed his eyes immovably. But the darkness of the night, which now came on apace, concealed him from me, and I fancied he had, following the example of the rest, retired to his home. The moon now rose, but the scud which swept wildly over the horizon only permitted it to be seen at intervals, while the largeness and paleness of the halo with which it was surrounded evidently indicated the approach of a storm; which was confirmed by the awful stillness which reigned on Darkness now asserted her power uncontrouled. No object could be discerned save here and there a faint glimmer which shone through the window of the cottager, and even that was hardly distinguishable; for the inmates had well nigh excluded all light, by crouding round its source, where they sat either silently gazing at each other, or else relating some doleful narrative, of itself sufficient to terrify the superstitious peasants without the assistance of the portending elements. Many a tale of most terrifying description had already been told, and many more bat half related was deprived of its conclusion, and cut short on the verge of its melancholy catastrophe by a loud blast of wind, which threatened destruction to half the village, and the flying open of the doors announced to those within the arrival of the storm they had been fearfully expecting. The rain, at the same time, began to descend; at first in a few large drops, which pattered mournfully against the windows, and increased in a minute to the tempest shower: the lightning flashed faintly along, and the rumbling of the thunder was heard at a distance, Though every flash grew more vivid than that which had pre The name of a chain of hidden rocks, where the scene of the present parrative is laid. ceded it, and every peal became so attentively on the vessel. The louder and louder; while the in-boat darted o'er a wave and was lost tervals between each was filled up with the whistling of the wind, and the roar of the breakers, which had now risen to considerable violence. Nothing could be well greater than the contrast which, at this time, existed between the tumult without, and the silence within doors. For each sat silent and motionless as a statue; or if any one ventured to speak it was done in so subdued a tone, that it sounded but as a whisper, and even then the speaker seemed afraid of infringing upon the rights of the maddened elements. But this lethargy was not doomed to last long, for we were soon roused from it by the thrilling report of the signal gun, which broke upon the ear with an awful echo, and seemed possessed of electric power-again, once-twicethrice the signals were heard in rapid succession; and now the idea of fellow-beings being in danger roused all from the stupor which the first report cast them into. Each forgot for a while the tempest which a few minutes before had filled them with fear, and rushed toward the shore. By the time I had reached it, the beach was covered with those who being better acquainted with the ways, had got there before me. But no one could do more than express his feelings in sudden ejaculations, as the lightning or the flashes from the guns, which now kept up an incessant firing, revealed the vessel to his view, where she might be seen struggling between two sharp rocks, which rose upon each side of her, and against which the angry breakers beating caused the surf to cover the ship every minute. The people on the shore, either stood motionless with fear, or ran madly from place to place along the rocks, to catch a glimpse if possible of the stranger vessel, for to render her any assistance in her present situation was altogether impossible. However, to do all that might be done, two small boats were brought forward, and a liberal reward offered to any who would be hardy enough to risk their lives for the preservation of others. Instantly one of them was occupied by a young man whom, by the glare of a torch, I recognised to be the same that I had seen at night-fall gazing from sight in a moment. By the flash of the guns we could still distinguish the brig whenever the surf, which now rose to a tremendous height, presented a clear passage; but the little skiff seemed to have disappeared for ever, and it was given up for lost by most persons. However, after waiting in painful suspence for several minutes, it was again observed wearing to its object, and a shout from the vessel announced that the crew had recog nised the intrepid hero who had come to their assistance. But fate seemed determined to thwart all human efforts, for a heavy swell, accompanied with a resistless squall of wind, forced the ill-fated vessel against one of the rocks she had so long avoided; and, from the confused noise which ensued, we understood, alas! too well that she was wrecked-that all was passed. Darkness now completely veiled every object from our sight, and the next flash of lightning shewed us the ship, though still together, yet laid completely on her beam-ends, and washed by every wave. About an hour after the storm began to abate, and the moon peeped through the clouds at intervals. We still continued on the beach in hopes of being able, every minute, to gain some information concerning the wreck; but we waited in vain; the vessel still remained immovable, and the fragments which floated ashore had nothing on them from which we might learn her name or place of destination. Midnight arrived, and we were well repaid for all our anxiety by the appearance of our little skiff, emerging from the waves with its gallant charge, and two other persons. We hailed it with all our might, but our joy was considerably damped on receiving no answer. A minute brought it to where we stood, but its cargo was stiff; one had ceased to breath-the generous youth, indeed, was still alive, but the power of utterance was gone, and ere morning he also was a corpse. While the third, the maid he loved, and whom he had rescued from a watery grave, at the expence of his own life, survived but a week, and now rests beside him in the church-yard of St. D. DELTA. DICK SPOUTER; OR, HE WOULD BE AN ACTOR. "Make way there, ho! a group of players come, "WHAT can be pleasanter than the profession of a player? Sir, there is nothing like it; an actor's life presents a constant succession of variety; he lives in a scene of delusion, dispensing delight to thousands, and inhaling in return the grateful incence of their praise; he 18 "The glass of fashion, and the mould of form; The observed of all observing." "Wherever he goes the public eye is on him, and the utmost importance is attached to his most trivial actions. Your poets are but secondary beings; 'tis true, they have the merit of invention, but what are their conceptions if not embodied by the actor? The genius of the one is confined within the limits of imagination; like the figures of a phantasmagoria, his hero's are only reflected on the curtain of our fancies, till the other enters on the scene, and turning the airy nothing's into flesh and blood, gives to the entire representation a startling reality." Such was the eulogium on an actor's life, pronounced some years since, by my stage struck friend, Dick Spouter, as I in vain endeavoured to persuade him to abandon the idea of following the profession of a player, for which, notwithstanding his wit, and other most companionable qualities, I could not but consider him to be totally unfitted. "All that you have said, my dear Dick," said I, "is no doubt very fine, and perhaps very true. The life of a favourite actor, I grant you, glides on pleasantly enough, once he has passed the grand ordeal of public opinion. Indeed, I believe there is no description of talent so much courted, or so well paid in these times, as that of a successful actor; but turn the picture for a moment, and fancy the reverse. Do but imagine a man full of immortal longings after his -Old Play. trionic fame, but without the slightest particle of talent to imitate haman nature, and your good sense can scarcely present to you a more ridiculous figure. Behold him in the act of tearing a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings,' groaned at by the boxes, hissed by the galle ries, pelted by the pit (here Dick gave an involuntary shudder), made the laughing stock, in short, of all his friends and acquaintances. A poet," I continued, " may pass muster, although his verses are as poor as chicken broth; a briefless lawyer has generally something to commend him on the score of wit or waggery, even if his legal knowledge were insufficient to supply him with powder for his wig; a bad painter, or a crazy musician, carry something about them to redeem their absurdity, but a player, without talent, is of all hounds the dullest. He is a black sheep among men; 'a tainted wether of the flock. No, no, my dear Dick, if you regard your own interest, and the advice of one who sincerely wishes you well, you would try any thing on sooner than the sock or buskin: for, be assured that, excepting in the instance of a few gifted persons, who have risen into sudden eminence by the mere effort of their natural abilities, the profession of an actor is, of all others, the most hazardous to attempt, and the most laborious to pursue; and, as I once heard from an eminent performer, who is still in the enjoyment of a merited reputation, it is not till the mental and bodily faculties of a player are on the decline, that he begins to understand his profession.' In short, my dear Dick," I added, "there are so many difficulties to be encountered, and such various crosses and vexations to be endured, ere a man can arrive at any thing like a respectable rank in the profession, that unless you had talent the most decided to start with, and even then, such is the capricious and uncertain nature of public taste, that you could not be certain of success. I, for one, should give my decided vote against your pursuing this line of life." Dick, who had heard me to the end with tolerable patience, finding it in vain to alter my opinion, or to gain my approval to his favourite scheme, gave up the task of combatting my arguments, and merely added, "I regret that I am obliged to disagree with you, my good Sir, but my resolution being fixed, your advice unfortunately comes too late, as I have made up my mind to leave London to night, for the purpose of making a provincial tour previous to the opening of Old Drury, where I have no doubt of obtaining a firstrate engagement. Indeed, my own anticipations of success," he added, with the most self-satisfied look, "are considerably strengthened by the opinion of several amateur friends, who have witnessed my performance of some of Shakspeare's top characters. Among others I may mention the names of Lord Frederick Fustian, Sir Richard Rant, and Major Monthit, with whom I had the honour to play at Cheltenham and elsewhere; and, between us both, I cut them all out. None of them were fit to tie my shoe strings. Had you but seen me as Hamlet, in my cut velvet dress and black bugles, you would have said How well he looks the prince; his lofty, air Gives full assurance of his high de gree: Nobility to others lends a grace, But he, methinks, reflects a lustre on it.' Sir, they were all mad, down-right mad with envy at the thought of my plucking their laurels; and, would you believe it! the Hon. Augustus Featherbrain, who played Horatio to me, finding that I threw his talents so completely into the shade, had the meanness to try to put me out several times, by pretending to forget his cue; and, when he found that I was too perfect in my part to be disconcerted by his blunders, he actually trod on my corn, as if by accident, at a most particular passage, of which he knew I meant to Eur. Mag. Dec. 1823. have given a new reading. The pain I felt brought the tears into my eyes; but I never flinched, and thus instead of enjoying my mortification, he was obliged to stand by, the unwilling witness of my glory.' -"After this flourish, my dear Dick," said I, "I shall add no more than merely to wish you every success; but where, may I ask you, do you propose to make your public debut?""I did intend," said Dick, "to have started at once in London; but, as Henry VI. says, I did not wish to be the cause of civil broils.' After my first appearance, I am fully aware that the two rival establishments would go to loggerheads about me, to try which should claim me as its own; and then I should be the talk of the town, and every one would be pointing at the great Mr. Spouter.' Besides, I have no particle of envy in my composition, and I did not think it altogether a fair business to eclipse established merit. Kean, Young, and Macready, are deserving actors in their way; but comparisons might be drawn to their prejudice, and I wish to avoid every thing that tends that wayfor these reasons I have fixed upon Bath as my starting-post, and thither I shall proceed to night; and if you look in the papers towards the close of next week, you will see the account of my debût. I appear in my favourite character, Hamlet, and I anticipate the most complete success. How I shall astonish the natives: the town shall teem with my praise, and the critics shall laud me to the skies. Nothing like it since the time of Garrick's first appearance in Goodman's-fields. I shall be the stare, the talk, the go! I will astonish even Garrick's shade, On Kemble's brows the laurel'd wreath shall fade, Young, Kean, Macready, shall no lonYe lesser stars hide your diminished ger blaze; rays!"" |