sake more than my own. Twenty years of hard work up-country in India have told upon him, and so it will be a glad day for me when he u in reach of proper advice, and is sheltered from the chill evenings of these northern climates. Hadn’t you better put an extra shawl round your chest, Mr. McDunner?”
The old civilian was very open to attentions of this kind, for he really had been badly hit in the liver, and he liked to talk about people’s insides, and their ailments, and all that sort of thing. So he began to descant upon the superior advantages of the climate of India, which, but for certain little drawbacks in the nature of hot seasons, sand-storms, liver complaints, &c., &c., constituted, in Mr. McD.’s opinion, an earthly Paradise, in which he would have loved to disport himself throughout the whole of his earthly career. The night, however, fell deeper on the great heaving Atlantic as they were conversing, and the time had come when the children must be put to bed, and then the passengers were to have their tea, and there was to be a little card-playing, and certain interviews with the steward connected with the subject of slight stimulants; and then the lights would be put out by authority, and the Asia would cut her way past Cape St. Vincent, and abreast of Lisbon, and so from Finisterre to Ushant; and then, in a few hours more, to the Isle of Wight, and the Southampton Water, and all old familiar faces, and sights, and sounds.
The real business was to get Mr. Trimmer on his legs, and fairly in motion.
“Hallo! you sailor—lend me a hand.”
That was the first stop, but the point—as cricketers would say—didn’t always come clean off the bat, for it would occasionally happen that the blue-jacket whose aid was invoked would give such a pull as would have materially aided in getting up the ship’s anchor. Then Mr. Trimmer would be shot unduly forwards, and would have to be brought to his bearings. When this was accomplished, he would stand for a few moments, smiling placidly, like an athlete who had just accomplished a serious gymnastic feat. Then he had to be set in motion, and persuaded to trust himself to the perils of the “companion”—and at this point mistakes would occur, if he was encountered on his downward passage by an ascending deputy-steward with a tray. Altogether, it was not a trifling matter to get Mr. Trimmer transferred from his couch on deck to the couch below, on which he was to resume his commercial calculations.
All this labour fell mainly upon Mrs. Trimmer’s shoulders, and very daintily and carefully she accomplished it—throwing round her vast husband a sort of placid halo of invalidism, and by the mere tenderness of her watchful eye checking any undue tendency to hilarity amongst the bystanders. Most of them were quite prepared for any practical joke upon the hard-thinking Indigo Planter, but no one would have dared to be guilty of disrespect to him in the presence of his wife. This evening, Mr. Trimmer’s transfer to the regions below was effected without further accident than a stoppage on the companion, which terminated in a dead lock between that gentleman and a certain Mrs. Duncan Mulligat, and in the signal discomfiture of the lady named.
So Mr. Trimmer was at length landed on his couch, and then his wife turned her attention to the two little children who were duly prepared under her own inspection for their night’s rest, and instructed by her to offer up their prayers for the big planter, and for sister Lucy, who was now waiting for them on the shores of England. An hour or two more passed away and there was silence in the chief saloon—broken only by the snore of an uncomfortable sleeper—and the Asia kept proudly on her way past St. Vincent towards the English coast.
How bright the night is in those southern seas—and how solemnly the great moon seems to hang just over one’s head; and when the evening dews have fallen, how warm the air is, as one paces the deck, with the sound of the rushing waters falling fitfully on the ear. Far as the eye can reach around, nothing but water—water—everywhere reflecting the myriad stars with which the firmament is studded. The Asia held steadily on her way, and below were the sleepers dreaming of their English homes.
The night was so fair, and the sea so calm, that with the exception of the helmsmen, who at long intervals relieved each other at the wheel, the duties of the vessel seemed to be carried on drowsily enough. All that was necessary was to let the Asia have her own way, and she would take the shortest cut to the Southampton Water.
All things were proceeding so quietly as this, and it might have been two hours past midnight, when a small puff of smoke ascended from the fore-part of the Asia. What could it be? The smoke became a jet, but still the occurrence did not seem to attract any attention—until, at last, the smoke caught the eye of the officer of the watch, who ran forward, and commanding silence, rushed below to see what was amiss. Before he returned many startled figures made their appearance on deck in the forward part of the vessel, and a cry was raised of—"Fire! Fire!”
The Asia was on fire—she was far out at sea—and not a sail was in sight.
Little Lucy Trimmer just then was fast asleep in her white nest at Mountchauncey House, and her hand was under the pillow resting on the letter with the Bombay post-mark. Gamma
(To be continued.)
ANA.
At a period when the Shaksperian drama was in vogue among the play-going classes, it became necessary to withdraw King Lear from the stage. The unhappy condition to which the then Sovereign of this country was reduced, made it objectionable to present upon the boards a British king in a state of mental aberration. The play was set aside. Upon one occasion, when the Prince Regent was likely to visit Covent Garden, there was a discussion in the manager’s room as to the performance the Prince would like. Hook was present. “He leaves it to yourself,” said Theodore.—“How do you mean?”—“Why, the Court has given you a congé de Lear.”
