thus awaited the turn of the tide, "which, taken at the flood," the captain had informed us, would enable him to proceed to Gravesend.

I had seated myself on one of the end sofas, near the fireplace, where I was most out of the way, and yet could observe what was passing, and I was not a little amused, after the first impatient burst of discontent, to find the ease with which necessity reconciled each individual to his situation, and the practical philosophy they exhibited in endeavouring, as the phrase goes, to "make the best of it." The one who appeared to endure it with the least grace, was the young Irish ensign, whose situation I before alluded to; he gave unerring proof of the irritable genius of his country, and the omnipotence of a colonel in his own corps. One might have taken a bet, that his commission bore a very recent date-that, in fact, his first regimental-coat could not yet have lost its glossy freshness, or the folds in which his tailor sent it home, so intent was he on endeavouring to beat an alarm on every one's tympanum, with the important dissyllables, "duty" and "parade.” Besides, as I before hinted, he appeared to be absent without leave. By picking up the handkerchief of an elderly lady, who sat next to me, and placing the light where it enabled her to read, he had entitled himself to a bow and smile, which reports on the weather, &c., soon converted into actual conversation; and he hazarded anecdote, and such scraps of personal adventure as occurred to him in his momentary cessations of anxiety, with such an apparent desire to please, that it was impossible he should fail; and more than one of the party drew nearer, in order to gather information and amusement from his reminiscences of county Cork, Father Mathew, and Dan O'Connell. With the exception of two medical men, the remainder of the passengers consisted of farmers, corn-factors, and graziers, who had been in town enjoying the spectacle of the "cattle-show."

I have often had occasion to observe, how community of evil, in any shape, breaks down the iron fences of conventional etiquette. Even in this most scrupulously conventional country, where, in the close precincts of a railway-carriage or stage-coach, one is deterred from offering a civility, or interchanging an idea with one's neighbour; only let the coach break down, or an accident happen on the railway, the quarantine on tongues is instantly taken off, and the most demure old maid, the most taciturn old gentleman, incontinently become loquacious. Thus the ruelle round the fireplace of the saloon gradually widened, one after another tendering some mite of conversation towards the general entertainment, for, of course, there was no sleeping accommodation on board, so that all endeavoured to keep their eyes open as long as possible; and finding myself yawning, about one o'clock, over some dry volume of chronology, I put it down, and endeavoured to amuse myself with what was passing.

The ensign was interesting my neighbour with accounts of the Princess of Capua, Scullabogue Barn, and the White Quakers; the medical men were discussing mesmerism, but in such mysterious tones, that no one benefited by their opinions; while the navy veterans told stories of the American war, the mutiny, and how, when shipmates together, they had hoaxed a miller at Portsmouth, by binding themselves apprentice to him; from an opposite table, harsh voices interrupted one another with interjectional phrases in praise of a "wonderfully fine new chaff machine," "the champion plough of England,"

and "Brassy," by which name, I believe, they alluded to some prizefighter; a party of four had possessed themselves of the only pack of cards on board the boat, and endeavoured to while away the time with whist and cribbage. But by far the most amusing group, and one that had hitherto escaped my observation, consisted of a little fat lady, a very tall, thin gentleman, and one of medium size, whose features partook very decidedly of the African character-with a sort of complexion one could imagine in a boiled black. These individuals both turned out to be members of a very grave and learned profession; but at the instant, I laboured under the delusion that I had suddenly stumbled on a triad of Thespians unmasked; for at the moment that my attention was excited towards them, I beheld the whites of the dark gentleman's eyes in a "fine frenzy rolling," as, contracting his brows, and scowling horridly at his gaunt companion, he exclaimed, in imitation of Kean,-" Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless-thy blood is cold-there is no speculation in those eyes, which thou dost glare with."

My first impression was, that he was an actor; but on further acquaintance, Mr. Mulligatawny Jackson proved to be an amateur only, not a partner of the firm of Thespis, Thalia and Co. He was, in fact, a stage-stricken barrister-a mere admirer of the sock and buskin, whose natural taste for the histrionic art had been fostered into a very mania, from his having been the pupil of a person who had filled a confidential situation about the elder Kean.

Among other anecdotes of this actor, which Mr. Mulligatawny Jackson's schoolmaster had preserved, was one, of his having, when at the zenith of his fame, ordered at Ford's, a house at the corner of Vinegar Yard, Drury Lane, a plain joint and pudding to be got ready daily for such of the poor actors as might choose to partake of it. He also told a story of the great actor's setting off for Bath, accompanied by his secretary, in his private carriage, who, as night came on, fell asleep. Towards morning, and while still at some distance from the town, he awoke, and was astonished to find that Kean had left the carriage. He immediately stopped the postboys, to inquire if they had seen him get out, but they pleaded ignorance. The secretary instantly left the vehicle, and wandered into the fields, describing Mr. Kean to the few hinds he met, as a little man wrapped in furs, &c., and offering a reward to any one who could give tidings of him. But no one had seen him. The postboys, who had their cue, begged of him to get into the carriage, and drive to the nearest inn, which the terrified young man did, after he had made the fields echo with the cry of-" Oh! Lord Hamlet! What ho! my Lord Hamlet!" the character in which Kean was to make his appearance; but no Lord Hamlet answered. They drove on; when, just as they were about to enter the inn-yard, another carriage and four drove furiously up, and, to the astonishment of his secretary, Kean descended, accompanied by a travelling pedlar, whom he had met on the road. This man continued with him while he remained at Bath, drinking champagne, and feasting sumptuously every day at his own table. Kean absolutely brought him up to town in his carriage, setting him down in Bow Street, one cold November morning, saying to his secretary, as he did so, "Put your hand in your pocket, and the first thing you touch, give him." The young man did as he was

directed, and the result was, the pedlar left them some ten or twenty pounds better off than when they met.

"Yes," continued the barrister, "though Edmund Kean had many failings, he had some good qualities to atone for them, and amongst them great and uncalculating generosity. Ah!" he went on, "I was present at the greatest audience he ever drew-and that was at his funeral. His son was chief mourner, and Macready one of the pallbearers, and about a hundred of the fraternity followed. It was a very short distance from his house to the churchyard; but Richmond Green was a sea of heads. Some thousands of people were present. Yes, I saw the last of him, both there and on the stage (the demi-negro looked, as he spoke, pathetically)-I remember it as if but yesterday. For many years, he and his son had been at variance; but their mutual friends at length succeeded in bringing about a reconciliation. And on the occasion of Kean's taking leave of the stage, they played together; the one as Othello, the other as Iago. In the first scenes, which are tame, Kean got on very well; but when he came to the words, Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone!' he moved his fingers beseechingly to his son-who stood at the side while he fronted the audience and as the former came forward he faltered, fell on his shoulder, and was obliged to be taken out, while Ward came on, and finished the part for him. In a few days after, he was no more!"

"It is a fact," he resumed, after a deep sigh, "that Edmund Kean could never play till he was three-parts drunk. Of course," he said, addressing the cadaverous-looking barrister beside him, "you have heard of Fred Cooke, the contemporary of Elliston and John Kemble. His passion for drink was so great that, when he was without money, or means of raising it, he has been known to go to a certain pawnbroker's, where he was in the habit of applying, and to say, 'I want five guineas; but I have nothing to pledge but myself. Give me the money, they'll be sure to redeem me when I'm wanted.' And having sent word to the theatre of his situation, he has frequently been found seated on the pawnbroker's counter, with a duplicate pinned to his button-hole. On one occasion, when Elliston wished him particularly to be quite correct, he invited him to dinner, and afterwards begged he would oblige him by submitting to one thing, which Fred promised. He, however, looked rather funny when Elliston, drawing him into a small room in the theatre, told him he must content himself there till it was time to dress. As there was no getting off, Cook consented; but after being locked in for some time, he began to long horribly for punch. By and by, he heard a noise of a broom on the stairs. Hope revived; he called, Mary-Betsy! -whatever your name is, come here, for God's sake!' and he contrived, while curiosity made the maid pause in her labour, to push a crown-piece between the door and the floor-There, that's for you; and Mary, (pushing through another,) go like a good girl, and get me a pint of brandy, and a clean pipe, with this?'

"Oh, sir, I dare not! Master desired that I shouldn't come near the door, sir; nor speak to you upon any account.'

"Pshaw! Go; do as I tell you, and you shall have another by and by.'

"The girl was not proof against the bribe. The brandy and pipe were both brought; and the tube of the latter being put through the

key-hole, the bowl was filled on the outside, and in this way the liquor was sucked up as the Americans drink sherry-cobbler. It is hardly necessary to say, that on Elliston's coming to let him out, Fred was found on his back; but a plentiful supply of soda water enabled him to go through his part as effectively as ever."

A sort of inarticulate growl from the lean barrister, informed Mr. Mulligatawny Jackson, that he had ridden his hobby of theatrical reminiscences too far. The little fat lady was already asleep, and I, very soon after, followed her example; but the novelty, or uneasiness of my position, did not admit of absolute repose.

I awoke with a feeling of weariness most painful. Raising my head, therefore, once more, I gazed round upon my somnolent companions. The cabin looked as if the fog had penetrated through the closed door and windows, so dim and hazy was its aspect; the half-burnt tallow candles, unsnuffed for the last two hours, appeared to glare without light. And there was an expression almost awful blended with the comedy of the scene around me, that made me feel as if I stood with the fisherman of the story, in the midst of the still citizens of Kilstheheine.*

The whist party illustrated the word better than their game had done. One of the naval men lay stretched on the hearth-rug, the other occupied a corner of the opposite sofa. The ensign-to whose anxious senses the voice of offended duty, terrible as that of conscience to the Thane of Cawdor, cried, "Sleep no more!"-was pacing to and fro the deck. The ladies' heads drooped heavily upon the tables, or rested against the side of the cabin, calm and still; but the gaudy display of heads turbaned with all sorts of coloured handkerchiefs-of ugly faces, and open mouths-and the tremendous sounds that issued from some of them, completed a tableau that I shall not easily forget:

It was with a feeling of real relief that I beheld the faint light of a winter's morning, shortly after, gleam through the hoar-frost that clung to the cabin-windows, and delightedly availed myself of the first sign of life in the stewardess, to obliterate the traces of sleeplessness and fatigue.

One after another my companions followed my example, till the "lady's cabin" presented a knot of as yellow, yawning, dissatisfiedlooking females as ever stewardess looked upon. Headaches were partial; pains in the bones predominated. Bonnets were crushed, cloaks crumpled; in fact, there was no end of complaints. And, to add to the misery, there was but one towel amongst the entire assemblage, while hot water was at a premium, as the jug froze in bringing it from the fore-part of the vessel to the cabin.

These were the list of casualties. The only one of the party missing was the ensign, who, fearful of the fog's continuing, had returned to town, in order to take the coach for Chatham.

Though all complained of having lost their rest, none appeared to have lost their appetites, (judging from the work of demolition at the different breakfast-tables,) and shortly after this necessary affair had been discussed, the fog began to clear away, and we steamed onwards to our destination.

* A legendary city, beneath the River Shannon.

538

THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.*

SUCH is the high-sounding name given to a book of travel, and which is further pictorially rendered by a cross within the moon, like the Egyptian star within the same orbit's disc, an impossibility that, strange to say, Coleridge did not perceive, when he wrote

"The horn'd moon, with one bright star

Within the nether tip."

Do Oriental narratives, like occidental pills, require such naming and gilding to render them acceptable? Not so with us, to whom everything from that land of beauty and of antique association, and the cradle of all the creeds, has always a profound interest. It is equally pleasing to our tried experience, whether the sober prose of Wilkinson, Lane, or Robinson, the descriptive piety of Lyndsay or Olin, the rattling sketches of Napier, the poetry of Chateaubriand, Lamartine, or Milnes, or the brilliant colourings of the authors of "Eōthen" and of the "Crescent and the Cross," come first to hand, and that simply because we can learn from the first class, and can be gratified, without being misled, by the others. We knew two young officers who made an excursion from Malta to Syria solely to see one of Lamartine's beauties; and great was naturally their disappointment and vexation when they found it a mere invention of fancy. This was, however, fortunate in their case, for they might have quarrelled had there been a reality.

We feel, also, as a consequence of the same happy state of mind, a malicious pleasure when we get hold of a traveller thoroughly imbued with the "Arabian Nights' Entertainments," and who crosses the Atlantic humming the last Arab song of home manufacture, on contrasting his first impressions with his after-experiences. There is a world of sly enjoyment in watching how many cold effusions a freshly exported and poetic temperament will bear before it becomes convinced that the East is not all fairy-land.

Thus, on arriving at Alexandria, Mr. Warburton writes

"And now we reach the city walls, with its towers as strong as mud can make them. It must not be supposed that this mud architecture is of the same nature as one associates with the word in Europe. No; over-shadowed by palm-trees, and a crimson banner with its star and crescent waving from the battlements, and camels crouched beneath its shades, and swarthy Egyptians, in gorgeous apparel, leaning against it, make a mud wall appear a very respectable fortification in this land of illusion."

Then comes the process of disenchantment—a boat towed by wild, scraggy-looking horses, ridden by wilder, scraggier-looking men, with their naked feet stuck in shovel stirrups, with the sharp sides of which they scored their horses' flanks, after the fashion of crimped cod; and along the banks of the canal, mud cabins, with Tipperary associations; and then, at length, the sacred river itself, upon whose exotic beauties a whole chapter has just been written previous to seeing it, but arrived there, the deified stream is found to be harrowed up by a greasy,

* The Crescent and the Cross; or, Romance and Realities of Eastern Travel. By Eliot Warburton, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo.