Bentley's Miscellany, Volume II

"But, sir, he's dead!"

The artist was perplex'd – the case was alter'd:
Distrust, stirr'd up by doubt, his bosom warps;
"God bless my soul!" he falter'd;
"But, surely, you can let me see the corpse?
An artist but requires a hint:
There are the features – give the cheeks a tint —
Paint in the eyes – and, though the task's a hard 'un,
You'll find the thing, I'll swear,
As like as he can, – no, I beg your pardon, —
As like as he could stare!"

"Alas! alas!" the eldest sister sigh'd,
And then she sobb'd and cried,
So that 'twas long ere she again could speak, —
"We buried him last week!"

The painter heaved a groan: "But, surely, madam,
You have a likeness of the dear deceased;
Some youthful face, whose age might be increased?"
"No, no, – we haven't, sir, no more than Adam;
Not in the least!"

This was the strangest thing that e'er occurr'd; —
"You'll pardon me," the baffled painter cried;
"But, really, I must say, upon my word,
You might have sent for me before he died."
And then he turn'd to the surviving tribe, —
"Can you describe
But a few items, features, shape, and hue?
I'll warrant, I'll still paint the likeness true!"

"Why, yes, we could do that," said one: "let's see;
He had a rather longish nose, like me."
"No," said a second; "there you're wrong,
His nose was not so very long."
"Well, well," pursued the first; "his eyes
Were rather smaller than the common size."
"How?" cried a third, "how? – not at all;
Not small – not small!"
"Well, then, an oval face, extremely fine."
"Yes," said the eldest son, "like mine."
The painter gazed upon him in despair, —
The fellow's face was square!

"I have it," cried another, and arose;
"But wait a moment, sir," and out she goes.
With curiosity the artist burn'd —
"What was she gone for?" but she soon return'd.
"I knew from what they said, to expect to gain
A likeness of grandpa was quite in vain;
But, not upon that point to dwell,
I have got something here will do as well
As though alive he for his portrait sat!"
So, saying, with a curtsey low,
She from behind, with much parade and show,
Presented an old hat!

    C.W.

NIGHTS AT SEA;

Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War

BY THE OLD SAILOR

No. IV

"Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years." * * *
"There's some ill planet reigns;
I must be patient till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable."

    Shakspeare.
There glides the dashing Spankaway over the smooth surface of the ocean, whilst, close in her wake, moves the vanquished Hippolito. The damages have been repaired so as to be scarcely perceptible; the shot-holes have been well plugged and secured; and the two frigates appear more like consorts on a cruise than enemies so recently engaged in deadly strife. The breeze is a royal breeze; and gallantly the beautiful ships are splitting the yielding waters, whilst the watches are employed in necessary duties. Near the taffrail of the Spankaway stand two prominent figures, both remarkably fine-looking men, who might be taken for brother officers but for the difference in their uniforms. The one on the larboard hand has his head erect, his chest thrown forward, his left hand thrust into his waistcoat, and his right foot in advance planted firmly on the deck; he is indulging in high-wrought and proud feelings as he silently gazes on the prize; his voice is not heard, but there is a speaking meaning in his look as he contemplates the red cross of St. George upon a white field floating majestically above the tricolour, whilst his own untarnished ensign waves singly at his peak. The individual on the starboard hand has a cast of melancholy on his countenance; his head is depressed, his arms are folded on his breast; and, though sensible that he has done his duty, and defended his command as long as his crew rendered it tenable, yet he knows that he was not well supported by his fellow-citizens, among whom equality is the order of the day; and he is suffering from a sense of deep humiliation at the degraded condition in which he is placed. These are the captains of the two frigates, – the victor and the vanquished.

Upon the quarter-deck of the Hippolito is Mr. Seymour, hurrying to and fro, issuing his orders, and rendering the prize as effective as possible. There is a laughing glee upon his features that plainly evidences the pleasure he cherishes in his heart; he looks around with exaltation as he anticipates the moment when he himself shall have such a desirable command. One step he makes sure of; a few hours more may perform fresh wonders; and his mind, with all the vividness of a seaman's hope, is making a hop, skip, and a jump progress to certain conclusions favourable to promotion. The fact is, Seymour had been long neglected; he was an excellent officer, and a brave man; had fought in several actions, been severely wounded on more than one occasion; but the coveted distinction had been withheld because he was not a first lieutenant. Now, however, he made sure of it; and he already began to feel the weight of the epaulette on the left shoulder, with an ardent determination to do something that would transfer it to the right shoulder.

But whither are the frigates steering? their heads are not on the compass-point for a friendly port, but directly the reverse. Night is coming on; they are running into the gulf of Genoa. There are the Hieres, a little open on the larboard bow, just rising from the sea. South-west should carry them to Gibraltar, and there are they going away north-east.

"Your undertaking is rather hazardous, my lord," said Citizen Captain Begaud; "there are ships of the line in the immediate neighbourhood, and the English fleet may have again resumed its station."

"If the latter is the case," replied Lord Eustace, "I can run no hazard; for Lord Nelson will have a bright eye upon the enemy. On the other hand, the enterprise is worth a little risk; and, though I despise the fellows who gave me the information, yet it is my duty, as well as according with my inclination, to make the most of it."

"Vous avez raison, milord," rejoined the Frenchman; "mais– " he paused: "sacré! the rascal who told you merits the guillotine; he is a disgrace to the grande nation."

"Well, I'm blow'd if I can make any thing o' this here!" exclaimed old Savage, the boatswain, to his subordinate, Jack Sheavehole, as they stood upon the forecastle; "it beats my larning out and out. Here we captures a French frigate, and has all the prisoners in limbo, when, instead of seeing her into a place of safety, why here we goes happy-go-lucky right down into the bight of Ginoar, slap into the enemy's teeth."

"Is that why you calls it a bite, Mr. Savage?" asked Jemmy Ducks, touching his hat with all due respect.

"Calls what a bite, you egg-sucker?" responded the boatswain somewhat roughly, at the presumption of the inquirer in addressing an officer of his distinction so freely. "Calls what a bite?"

"Going into the enemy's teeth, sir!" answered the humble poulterer, again touching his straw covering.

"Did you ever hear such an hignoramus, Jack?" said the boatswain to his veteran mate, in a tone of extreme contempt.

"Why, for the matter o' that, not often, sir," answered the individual addressed, "thof it is but nat'ral for him;" and, seeing that the boatswain was twiddling his rattan with his fingers, as a prelude to castigation, he turned to the poulterer, and, giving him a friendly shove, exclaimed, "Away out o' that, Jemmy; there's the cow's babby bleating for you;" and off he went.