SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF EDWARD LASCELI ES, GENT. CHAPTERS XXIV. AND XXV. WHICH of our readers is not familiar with the name of Edward Lascelles ?which of them does not feel his heart glow at the very mention of scenes from his life? Many a page even of the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE has been made livelier by his light and playful descriptions. Many an hour has passed swiftly away, as the reader skimmed over his cheery narrative; none of us have forgotten the vivacity of his pleasant page. We have followed him from the day when he put on the princess's brown wig, and was whipped for calling Queen Charlotte an ugly old woman, through all his varied wanderings; we remember him at St. Helena, and we have not, like himself, forgotten the fair Sophia. We love the good Captain Morley, and hate, most cordially do we hate, the monster heartlessness of Settler; but we need not recount over again scenes which are surely still familiar to our readers. But at last the scenes have drawn to a close, and our page is no more enlivened by the pleasant tales of sea and land which were stored among the recollections of the sailor. We cannot complain that it is so, though much do we regret it. Long and well has Edward Lascelles done his duty by us and our readers, and if he quits us now he leaves with our editorial blessing, and we know he is goodhearted enough to prize it. The little book that first saw the light with us; that has been trained under our care-our child-our first-born-is gone forth upon a world where many evil books abound, and our blessing will be hallowed and prized, like a parent's blessing to the son that leaves the home of happiness and innocence, and goes to buffet his way through a cold and a heartless world. Gentle reader, of course you understand us. The scenes that have been scattered lightly and pleasantly through our pages, have now been collected in a book, and we, as in duty bound, desire to bestow upon that book an editorial benediction. And, in good truth, of many that have from time to time enriched our pages by tales connected in series, Edward Lascelles best deserves our benediction. His steadiness and constancy in supplying us with his recollections, might put many of our contributors to the blush. Regularly, as each revolving moon brought round the stated day, so regularly came the pacquet, neatly sealed, and roundly written, from our sailor friend. No excuses, no disappointment to the readers that were looking anxiously for his next chapter; but, sure as they looked for it, the next chapter came. Many a one whom we have admitted to the high honour of contributing to our pages, had better profit by his example, or our editorial wrath may be made to do a deed that the negligent may long repent. Why has Harry Lorrequer permitted Louis Philippe to interfere with his first duty and allegiance to us, his lawful sovereign? We have directed an indictment to be prepared against the said Harry Lorrequer, and we have communicated our high displeasure to Louis Philippe for his attempt to seduce our liege from his prior fealty. Then there is Edward Stevenson O'Brien, whom, we half suspect of being little better than a melancholy madman, who dreams old tales of his college days-strange mixture of truth and fiction-and believes his dreams all real; why this gentleman has put us to more annoyance than ever we fancied we could submit to with any tolerable patience. At best his chapters were "like angels visits." But what has he done lately but stopped short in the very middle of a story, which we conscientiously believe he never intended to finish-why or wherefore is best known to himself-while heaps of letters daily invade the quiet of our repose, demanding to have from us the reason of his delay, as if we were bound to answer for the doings of every mad or flighty person with whom we may have dealings, and all that we can learn of him is, that he is wandering over the mountains of Kerry, and, for aught we know, perhaps domiciled with Daniel O'Connell at Derrynane. Then there is William Carleton-we will have done; but we give our solemn caution to one and all of these gentlemen, to beware how they, but a little more trifle with us and with the impatience of the public; and woe to the man, among our lieges, who suffers Louis Philippe, or Daniel O'Connell, or any other bishop, priest or potentate, to withdraw him one instant from his fealty to ourselves. Edward Lascelles, the best-the most regular of our contributors, has collected his chapters and printed them in a book; and we can only give him our best blessing-he does not need our commendation. He has, however, wound up in two chapters, of which he has cheated us, and, as we are in no mood of submitting to a fraud, even from him, we will give them to our readers, and so complete the scenes in the pages of the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. Our readers will see in the concluding chapter, a hope held out that Edward Lascelles has not yet laid down his pen, and at no distant day we trust to present in our pages all that he has "to tell of the glowing islands of the West, the nabobs and bashas of the East, the bleak Canada, the golden Dorado, and the sunny Peru." Meanwhile, we bid him, we trust a short farewell, and, as in duty bound, we offer to our readers the chapters in which he takes his farewell of them. CHAP. XXIV. A PIC-NIC AT MALTA. "Steer to that shore!" they sail. "Do this!" 'tis done. As the time fixed for our departure Our party there on this occasion was At an early hour in the evening my caleche was announced, and I rose reluctantly to take my leave. "Adieu!" said the old gentleman, shaking me cordially by the hand; Adieu! et le bon Dieu vous garde!" "Farewell!" said Rodolphe; "and do not forget the stag-hound pup you promised me. Remember, too, that he must answer to the name of Lascelles." "Farewell!" said Annette; "we shall expect the long letter you promised us, speedily." "Farewell!" said Annette; " and be sure you let us hear from you the moment you get married. Take care, too, to tell us whether the lady be a blonde or a brunette." I promised to attend faithfully to their several injunctions, returned warmly their kind adieus, and expressed, as I best could, my sense of all the attentions I had received at their hands. "It is rare," said I, "to meet with so much kindness from total strangers." "It is rarer still," said Annette, her long silken eyelash drooping over her The Corsair. dark eye; "it is rarer still to meet with a stranger, who, if he has received kindness, has also the good feeling to acknowledge it!" The whole party accompanied me to the door; and as I looked back before the turn of the avenue hid them from my sight, I caught the last glimpse of hands and handkerchiefs still waving me adieu. Early next morning we sailed for Malta. We had a prosperous and speedy passage; and it was not long till the steeps of the "honey-distilling island" hove in sight. Without the occurrence of anything worthy of notice, we soon found ourselves once more in our old quarters, beneath the Fort of St. Angelo. The meeting with our former Malta acquaintances was cordial on both sides; and the officers of the regiment gave a grand entertainment in honour of our arrival. A large party dined in the mess-room; and, in the evening, we adjourned to the house of a gentleman in La Valetta, where a splendid ball and supper awaited us. In a word, good-fellowship and goodhumour were the order of the day; and, our time passed delightfully in the mutual interchange of all those little civilities, and kindnesses, and marks of attention, which form, after all, the main staple of social intercourse. Our only rivalry was, who should contribute most to the harmony and kindly feeling which universally prevailed. Dining, one evening, with a gentleman in La Valetta, I expressed a wish to make a short excursion into the interior of the island, in order to visit a few of its most remarkable curiosities. "In other words," said my host, "I suppose you mean, in the most modest manner possible, to ask myself and some others of our friends to escort you on such a trip. Well! for my own part I have no objections; and I think a day may be spent very pleasantly in the manner you propose. But we can do nothing in the matter without the concurrence of the ladies. What say you, Harriet?" he continued, addressing himself to his eldest daughter, a remarkably elegant young woman of about eighteen; "what say you? Mr. Lascelles proposes a pic-nic; will you honour him with your presence on the occasion? Come, Rosa ; what say you?" "I shall have much pleasure," replied the lively Harriet, her eyes sparkling with delight at the prospect of what promised to be so agreeable an excursion. "I shall certainly have much pleasure in making one of your party, papa; and I have no doubt I shall be able to prevail upon some of my friends to join me." "And I," said Rosa, "if Mr. Lascelles will invite me, shall also be happy to add one to your number.” A party was made up on the spot; our route determined; and a day fixed. With merry hearts, and fully beut upon enjoyment, the different individuals who were to compose the cortege assembled at an early hour on the morning of the preconcerted day, at the house of our kind entertainer. A caleche, with a couple of servants, and a plentiful supply of materials, suitable for an al fresco collation, had previously been dispatched; with directions to await our arrival at an appointed spot on the shore, to the northward side of the island. After an excellent déjeûné, which was partaken of amid such deafeuing peals of laughter, as evinced the exuberant spirits we all were in, we started on horseback; a party of nine, including four ladies. At the request of one of my shipmates, who was a great collector of natural curiosities, I had slung a rifle over my shoulder, in the hope of being able to bring him home some "specimens" for his cabinet. Away we went, at a brisk hand-canter, along the somewhat indifferent road VOL. X. that leads to casal Itard; too much occupied with each other's society to bestow any great attention on the beauties or deformities of the surrounding scenery. The day was remarkably bright and fine; and the air was certainly the most balmy I ever breathed; being perfectly laden with the delicious aroma of the numerous odoriferous plants with which Malta teems in all directions. As we kept on at a rapid pace, casal Itard was soon left in the rear; and it was not long till we stood beneath the venerable walls of the City Notable. Here we baited our panting steeds, and proceeded, as in duty bound, to examine the antiquities and curiosities of which this ancient place exhibits so many. The Cathedral, and the Banca dei Giurati, were duly visited and commented on. We descended, too, to the Catacombs, the wonders of which have been the subject of so many minute descriptions; wandering through their labyrinth of corridors, which present on either side sepulchral niches for the dead of all ages, from the infant to the grown man, and which are of such extraordinary extent as to procure for the place the name of the Subterranean City. Had I been alone, I doubt not I might have found food for serious meditation while traversing the haunted halls of this vast Habitation of the Dead; where moulder the bones of so many generations, and where the dust of the haughty Greek, the brave Roman, and the wily Phoenician, mingle together in one common heap. As it was, however, the lively Harriet hung upon my arm; and I was too much occupied with the living to trouble myself much about the dead. A visit to the Grotto of St. Paul completed our tour in search of the antique; and when we returned to the city we found our horses quite fresh. and ready for another start. After a pleasant ride of about a couple of miles farther, we arrived at the Emptalhep Gardens, where we found one of the servants in attendance to take charge of the horses; there not being even a bridle-road from thence to the coast beneath, where our refreshments awaited us. The walk, however, was by no means a very arduous one. A hill or two to surmount, a steep ravine to clamber down, and we found ourselves within hail of the dazzling white cloth on which our careful attendant had spread our repast. The place he had fixed upon for this H purpose was well selected. It was a small, but beautifully verdant spot, of rich enamelled turf, extending in front close down to the sea-beach, but inclosed on every other side by high hills and abrupt precipices. A small lively stream of crystal water brawled over its shingly bed at our feet; and the dark low-browed rocks which bound the coast in ever direction hung beetling over the ocean. Here, then, we were a merry party, assembled in a little green and sheltered nook of the iron-bound coast of Malta; rocks and hills on every side; a bright Mediterranean sky above, and the bright Mediterranean ocean, smooth and mirrory before us. Everything, save the gentle rippling of the water and the sound of our own voices, which were reverberated among the surrounding rocks, was still and motionless. One vessel only was within sight.She was a large-sized galley, having her canvass cut in a very peculiar fa shion; and it was evident, from the skilful manner in which she managed to catch every breath of air that was stirring, that she had at least one good seaman on board. She was going gently along under French colours, within about a mile from the coast; so near, indeed, that we would have concluded she meant to put into Goza, had she not been shaping her course more out to sea, as if she were steering for Palermo, or some one of the other Sicilian ports. "I should like to know who that is," said Neville to me; "and if our own craft had been within hail, I think she would have asked her the question." "From her colours," said a gentleman of the party, "I take her to be a French galley engaged in merchandise. Vessels of her description are frequently seen in those seas, trafficking along the coasts of Greece and Sicily." "She may be so," replied Neville; "but does not the cut of her cauvass, Lascelles, appear somewhat of the strangest ?" "I am little acquainted with the rig of galleys hereabouts," I replied; “but I certainly think she has something about her appearance altogether rather rakish." "I thought it odd at first," rejoined Neville, "that she should be upon the tack she is, so close in shore. But I observe she is now bearing up, and she may be some merchant craft after all." She accordingly did bear up, and seemed to make for the port of Melecca. On this new tack, she was in a few ininutes hid from our view behind the intervening rocks. We now set earnestly to work with our luncheon ; and the cheer provided for us was so excellent, and our appetites so sharp, that we made sad havoc among the cold fowls, pasties, and other eatables. A few glasses of champaign, washed down by some genuine La Fitte, added, if possible, to the exuberance of our spirits. The jest, the tale, the song went round; and the rocks on either side resounded, from time to time, to the loud peals of our laughter. "Come, Harriet," said her father; "I know you did not forget to pack up your lute with the other provisions; and as most of our sides must be aching with this extravagant mirth, pray do what you can to make sensible men of us, and sing us that pretty air we admired so much last night.” The lively girl took the lute at her father's request, and sung us a native Maltese air, so plaintively touching, as to put an end for the moment to our excessive merriment. Nay, madam," said Neville; "you have really cast a spell over us. Pray do us the kindness to sing something that will recall the spirits you have so unceremoniously dispelled-something lively let it be, in mercy!" "I know few merry songs," replied Harriet; "but if you will listen to one of the sea, your own adopted element, it is very much at your service." She again took the lute; and, striking a bold and spirit-stirring symphony, she commenced the following French ballad. The words, a copy of which I afterwards requested her to give me, on account of the singular coincidence which the reader will remark in the sequel, I shall here subjoin. She had recently received them, she said, as a great favour from Paris; the author not having at the time made them public. The following chorus, in which most of us joined, was sung immediately after the symphony, and at the end of each verse Duns la galère capitane, * Victor Hugo, I believe. CHANSON DES PIRATES. On signale un couvent à terre; Près des flots, sourde à leures rumeurs, Dans la galère capitane, Dans la galère capitane, Elle pleure, supplie, appelle; Dans la galère capitane, On la vendit à sa Hautesse, Elle eut beau dire: Je me meurs ! Dans la galère capitane, Nous étions quatre-vingts rameurs. On the last repetition of the chorus, which was sung to a wild romantic air, having become accustomed to the strain, every one present joined; and the notes reverberated far and near, from the echo of the overhanging rocks. Thanks having been returned to the fair songstress in a bumper of La Fitte, a momentary, but deeply silent pause, ensued. "Did you hear nothing?" said Harriet's father; holding up his hand as if to direct our attention to some sound that had alarmed him. "Nothing" I replied, "but the scream of some sea-fowl, which I hope are directing their fight over the top of the rock. I have a single ball in my rifle," I continued, handling the gun; "and if you will allow me to rest it on your shoulder, Neville, I shall try if I can't bring one of them down for our friend's ornithological cabinet." "Father!" said Harriet, tossing her lute upon the ground, and placing her delicate hands upon her father's arm, while her lovely countenance pressed considerable anxiety-“ Father! you seem alarmed; what did you hear?" ex " Nothing, love!" replied her father. "It may have been, as Mr. Lascelles says, a sea-fowl's scream; but it struck me as resembling a note I once heard under very different circumstances." Another pause ensued; and I remained upon my knees on the grass, with the barrel of my rifle resting on Neville's shoulder; expecting presently to see a flock of sea-fowl take their flight over the top of the rock. "There it was again!" cried Harriet's father; starting to his feet, and breaking in his haste a bottle of champaign, part of which Neville was in the act of transferring to his glass. "There it was again! I cannot be mistaken!" and, as he spoke, a shrill prolonged whistle echoed among the surrounding rocks. We looked anxiously round on every side; for the echo multiplied and reverberated the sound in such a manner that we could not tell from what particular spot it originally came. Nothing was visible, nothing stirred; and the echo died gradually away. Again, however, it was repeated, louder and shriller than before; and scarcely had the echo caught the sound, when four men started into view at the top of a neighbou: ing rock, and stood out high upon its summit. Here they took up their position, motionless as statues; each bending upon one knee, and holding to his shoulder a carabine, which he directed right down upon our party.— At the same instant, three others appeared round the foot of the precipice, and strode up deliberately towards us; drawn rapiers in their hands, and pistols at their belts. There was little time to examine the general appearance of these men ; but the coarse brown jacket without sleeves, displaying their naked brawny arms, and the short trousers extending no lower than the knee, the rest of the leg being left completely bare, were peculiarities which caught my eye in an instant. Round his waist, each wore a broad belt in which his pistols were stuck. The large undressed moustache, the uncut beard, and the general expression of ferocity in their countenances, could not be mistaken; THEY WERE PIRATES! The effect which their sudden appearance produced upon our little party was quite electrical. From our recumbent or sitting position on the grass, we had all started to our feet; and a piercing shriek from the ladies reverberated among the rocks, as, com |