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Full many a year

Did he hand, reef, and steer,

And by no means consider'd himself as small beer,
When old Norman at length died and left him his frigate,
With lots of pistoles in his coffers to rig it.

A sailor ne'er moans;

So, consigning the bones

Of his friend to the locker of one Mr, Jones,
For England he steers.

On the voyage it appears

That he rescued a maid from the Dey of Algiers;
And at length reached the Sussex coast, where in a bay,
Not a great way from Brighton, most cosey-ly lay
His vessel at anchor, the very same day

That the Poet begins,-thus commencing his play.

ACT I.

Giles Gaussen accosts old Sir Maurice de Beevor,
And puts the poor Knight in a deuce of a fever,
By saying the boy whom he took out to please him
Is come back a Captain, on purpose to teaze him.
Sir Maurice, who gladly would see Mr. Gaussen
Breaking stones on the highway, or sweeping a crossing,
Dissembles-observes, It's of no use to fret,

And hints he may find some more work for him yet;
Then calls at the castle, and tells Lady A.,
That the boy they had ten years ago sent away
Is return'd a grown man, and, to come to the point,
Will put her son Percy's nose clean out of joint;
But adds, that herself she no longer need vex,

If she'll buy him (Sir Maurice) a farm near the Ex.

"Take, take it," she cries; "but secure every document.”— "A bargain," says Maurice," including the stock you meant?” The Captain, meanwhile,

With a lover-like smile

And a fine cambric handkerchief wipes off the tears
From Miss Violet's eyelash, and hushes her fears.
(That's the Lady he saved from the Dey of Algiers.)
Now arises a delicate point, and this is it—
The young lady herself is but down on a visit.
She's perplext, and, in fact,

Does not know how to act.

It's her very first visit-and then to begin
By asking a stranger-a gentleman, in—

One with mustaches too-and a tuft on his chin

She "really don't know—

He had much better go."

Here the Countess steps in from behind, and says "No!—
Fair sir, you are welcome. Do, pray, stop and dine-
You will take our pot-luck-and we've decentish wine."
He bows, looks at Violet, and does not decline.

ACT II.

After dinner the Captain recounts with much glee
All he's heard, seen and done, since he first went to sea,
All his perils, and scrapes,

And his hair-breadth escapes,

Talks of boa-constrictors, and lions, and apes,

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And fierce Bengal Tigers" like that which you know,
If you've ever seen any respectable "Show,"
"Čarried off the unfortunate Mr. Munro."

Then diverging a while, he adverts to the mystery
Which hangs like a cloud on his own private history-
How he ran off to sea-how they set him afloat
(Not a word, though, of barrel or bung-hole-See Note)
How he happen'd to meet

With the Algerine fleet,

And forced them by sheer dint of arms to retreat,
Thus saving his Violet-(One of his feet

Here just touch'd her toe, and she moved on her seat,)
How his vessel was batter'd―

In short, he so chatter'd,

Now lively, now serious, so ogled and flatter'd,
That the ladies much marvell'd a person should be able,
To "make himself," both said, "so very agreeable."

Captain Norman's adventures were not yet half done,
When Percy, Lord Ashdale, her ladyship's son,
In a terrible fume,

Bounces into the room,

And talks to his guest as you'd talk to a groom,

Claps his hand on his rapier, and swears he'll be through him—
The Captain does nothing at all but "pooh! pooh!" him.
Unable to smother

His hate of his brother,

He rails at his cousin, and blows up his mother.

"Fie! fie!" says the first. Says the latter, "In sooth, This is sharper by far than the keen serpent's tooth!"

A remark, by the way, which King Lear had made years ago, (When he ask'd for his Knights, and his Daughter said "Here's a go!") This made Ashdale ashamed;

But he must not be blamed

Too much for his warmth, for, like many young fellows, he
Was apt to lose temper when tortured by jealousy.

Still, speaking quite gruff

He

goes off in a huff;

Lady A., who is now what some call "

Straight determines to patch
Up a clandestine match

up to snuff,"

Between the Sea-Captain she dreads like Old Scratch,
And Miss, whom she does not think any great catch
For Ashdale; besides, he won't kick up such shindies
Were she once fairly married, and off to the Indies.

1

ACT III.

Miss Violet takes from the Countess her tone;
She agrees to meet Norman "by moonlight alone,"
And slip off to his bark,

"The night being dark,"

Though "the moon," the Sea. Captain says, rises in Heaven "One hour before midnight,"-i. e. at eleven. From which speech I infer,

-Though perhaps I may err,—

That, though weatherwise, doubtless, midst surges and surf, he When " capering on shore," was by no means a Murphy.

He starts off, however, at sunset to reach

An old chapel in ruins, that stands on the beach,
Where the Priest is to bring, as he's promised by letter, a
Paper to prove his name, "birthright," &c.
Being rather too late,
Gaussen, lying in wait,

Has just given Father Onslow a knock on the pate,
But bolts, seeing Norman, before he has wrested
From the hand of the Priest, as Sir Maurice requested,
The marriage certificate duly attested.

Norman kneels by the clergyman fainting and gory,
And begs he won't die till he's told him his story;
The Father complies,
Re-opens his eyes,

And tells him all how and about it—and dies!

ACT IV.

Norman, alias Le Mesnil, instructed of all,
Goes back, though it's getting quite late for a call,
Hangs his hat and his cloak on a peg in the hall,
And tells the proud Countess it's useless to smother
The fact any longer-he knows she's his mother,
His Pa's wedded Spouse.
She questions his vous,

And threatens to have him turn'd out of the house.
He still perseveres,

Till, in spite of her fears,

She admits he's the son she had cast off for years,
And he gives her the papers "all blister'd with tears,"
When Ashdale, who chances his nose in to poke,
Takes his hat and his cloak

Just as if in a joke,

Determined to put in his wheel a new spoke,

And slips off thus disguised, when he sees by the dial it
's time for the rendezvous fixed with Miss Violet.
-Captain Norman, who, after all, feels rather sore
At his mother's reserve, vows to see her no more,
Rings the bell for the servant to open the door,
And leaves his Mamma in a fit on the floor.

ACT V.

Now comes the Catastrophe-Ashdale, who's wrapt in
The cloak, with the hat and the plume of the Captain,
Leads Violet down through the grounds to the chapel,
Where Gaussen's concealed-he springs forward to grapple
The man he's erroneously led to suppose

Captain Norman himself, by the cut of his clothes.
In the midst of their strife,

And just as the knife

Of the Pirate is raised to deprive him of life,

The Captain comes forward, drawn there by the squeals
Of the Lady, and knocking Giles head over heels,
Fractures his "nob,"

Saves the hangman a job,

And executes justice more strictly, the rather, 'Twas the spot where the rascal had murder'd his father. Then in comes the mother,

Who, finding one brother

Had the instant before sav'd the life of another,
Explains the whole case,

Ashdale puts a good face

On the matter; and, since he's obliged to give place,
Yields his coronet up with a pretty good grace;
Norman vows he won't have it-the kinsmen embrace,-
And the Captain, the first in this generous race,
To remove every handle

For gossip and scandal,

Sets the whole of the papers alight with the candle;
An arrangement takes place on the very same night, all
Is settled and done, and the points the most vital

Are, N. takes the personals; A., in requital,

Keeps the whole real property, Mansion, and Title.
V. falls to the share of the Captain, and tries a

Sea-voyage as a bride in the "Royal Eliza."

Both are pleased with the part they acquire as joint heirs, And old Maurice Beevor is bundled down stairs!

MORAL.

The public, perhaps, with the drama might quarrel
If deprived of all epilogue, prologue, and moral,
This may serve for all three then:

"Young Ladies of property,
Let Lady A.'s history serve as a stopper t' ye;
Don't wed with low people beneath your degree,
And if you've a baby, don't send it to sea!

"Young Noblemen! shun every thing like a brawl;
And be sure when you dine out, or go to a ball,
Don't take the best hat that you find in the hall,
And leave one in its stead that's worth nothing at all !
Old Knights, don't give bribes! above all, never urge a man
To steal people's things, or to stick an old Clergyman!

"And you, ye Sea-Captains! who've nothing to do
But to run round the world, fight, and drink till all's blue,
And tell us tough yarns, and then swear they are true,
Reflect, notwithstanding your sea-faring life,

That you can't get on well, long, without you've a wife,
So get one at once, treat her kindly and gently,
Write a Nautical novel,-and send it to Bentley !"

VINCENT EDEN;

OR, THE OXONIAN.

BY QUIP.

CHAPTER X.

CONTAINS A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE PROCEEDINGS AT HENLEY.

THE indisposition of the sable sufferer above stairs was by no means allowed to interfere with the hilarity of the dinner party below. In vain had his Royal Highness repeatedly intimated, through the medium of his secretary, his inability to proceed to Oxford that night, in consequence of the severe cold and fever which he had contracted through his ardent desire of witnessing every thing English,-in vain had he implored the revellers, through the same respectable agency, to allow him a little repose from their uproarious festivities. The cloth had been withdrawn, the wine circulated, and the healths of the Mayor and Corporation of Henley been drunk individually, collectively, and in short, according to every possible form and modification of modern toast-giving; while Mr. Richardson Lane was already half way through a curiously compounded recitation, expressive of the humours of a country fair, into which he had dashed headlong at the request of the above mentioned dignitaries of Henley.

"Walk this way, ladies and gentlemen-this way, if you please. Here you are a penny a peep, twopence a show, and a long look for sixpence. Stand out of the way, you little rascals, with dirty hands and no halfpence in 'em, and let them nice well-behaved young gentlemen, with clean faces and copper coins in their fingers, come and see what they'll first tell me they never saw before, and then go home and tell their grannies they want to see again immediately, if not sooner.

"Here you are-gingerbread nuts-gingerbread nuts, all hot! all hot! Try 'em, buy 'em, buy 'em, try 'em-all hot, gingerbread nuts. (With a sigh)-Oh, what beauties!

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