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love to Dortje Deypester. He take a ship, and kill all on board but me and young child, that I slave to; then he bring us bote to a shore, where he hide all his plunder, and stab us, and tell a ghosts to watch it. A young child he live, and found on a river bank, and so called by it name-Louis Hudson, it yourself !-but I die, and wan'er about a treasure-grave till a captain come back, or another take my place, or a right owner come for his own. All that happen to-night, and I soon at liberty for ever !-You hear a money-digger say he look to a pirates' spoil hereafter, and be sure he never quit a creek again, dough he never find a gold any more. This treasure here, belong to a father, who killed in ship; it now all your own; take him, but take a nothing more ;-use him well, and you be fifty times so rich as Deypester, and hab a blessing beside.-Hark! a bell strike twelve !-my time most up now, and dere come a captain!'”
“ Ivory, you ’tarnal tonguey imp!” again interrupted the American, “ doos you mean to keep on all night about that precious wordy black preaching in the creek? Now I'll show you how to finish it all right slick away at once, I will.—You see, then, the captain comes trampoosing up from the river with a spade and a lanthorn, to dig for the treasure ; and, as soon as he gets in, he cries out, " Plunder and prizemoney! this is a desp’ut ugly awful dark berth.— Is there anybody on watch, I wonder ?' Upon which that dreadful big black comes up and says, “Yes, I calkilate I'm awake here; and now, as I've kept the treasures of the bold buccaneers till you 've come back, if you admire we'll go off together.'— Bear a smart hand, then, with the plunder into the boat below, afore the tide falls,' says Hornigold. * Clouds and midnight! how dark it is, and the gale blows stiffer than ever !-Seas and billows! why, the tide's coming up the creek ten fathom strong !—That's all as was ever heard of the captain or the nigger, I guess; for what between the water as came roaring up, and the rain as came pouring down, they were carried off to sea with all their plunder, and nobody never saw or heard of them sarpents again !”
“ A most astonishing and mysterious providence, truly," said Downwithit, “and worthy of being recorded with the narratives of Baxter, Reynolds, Janeway, and Mather.—But what became of the others ?"
• Why," said Mr. Pokehorn, “ as for Louis, he turned out to be some awful great man or other, and considerable rich. He showed ould Deypester a thousand dollars next morning, and married Dortje afore night.
But Keekenkettel went mad outright, because he couldn't never fix the treasure again, and found that he'd filled his pouches with shells and stones, as looked mighty like dollars and doubloons in the moonshine. Folk say he was only dreaming, and that there never warn't no such treasure for him to find; though they guessed that young Hudson got his money by the storm having washed it up out of the ground. But it's a true fact, it is, that the domine always arter, kept camfoozling about the Pirates Plunder Creek as long as he lived, as he bargained to do; and whenever there's a mighty smart storm in the night, with a blink of moonlight, the say is, that he's to be seen there still."
It was a wild and gloomy dream : to think upon
AUTHORS AND ACTORS;
A Dramatic Sketch.
peace at all.
Scene- The Manager's Room. The Manager discovered.
Manager.—Well ! my theatre is built at last, and I have now only to think about opening it. My walls are so dry that they cannot throw a damp upon my prospects. My stage is all ready for starting; and every one, I am happy to say, seems inclined to take the box-seat. Everything now must go as smooth as a rail-road. I have always heard that a manager must lead a devil of a life; but I am in hopes I shall be an exception to the rule, and that management to me will be a delightful pastime.
Fitz-Growl (without).—But I must see him.
(Enter a Servant.) Servant.—If you please, sir, here's a person wants to speak
Manager.—I 'm busy about the opening of the theatre; tell him
you can't get near me. Servant.—But he says he's an author, sir, and has called about his piece.
Manager.—His piece! why, these authors let me have no
Servant.—He would come up, sir, though I told him you wouldn't suffer any one behind the scenes.
Manager.–And particularly an author ; for he makes people suffer enough before them. Servant. Here he is, sir; he would force his way up. (Erit Servant.
Enter Fitz-Growl.) Manager.—My servant says you would force your way up.
Fitz-Growl.-And isn't it natural an author should wish to do so ?
Manager.- Well; but, sir, it is not usual in theatres for the manager to see any one.
Fitz-Growl.—Not usual to see any one! It must be a very poor look-out.
Manager.-Well, sir, as you are here, may I ask your business?
Fitz-Growl.—Why, being anxious for the success of your theatre, I sent you three of my pieces to begin with. Now, sir, I've had no answer.
Manager.—My dear sir, we cannot answer every body. Theatres never answer in these times. However, your pieces shall be looked out. You can believe in my assurance.
Füz-Growl.--Certainly; a manager ought to have assurance
enough for anything. But I tell you, sir, if you want to succeed, you must open with my piece.
Manager.—What is the nature of it ?
Fitz-Growl.-Nature! The beauty of my piece is, that there 's no nature at all in it; it's beautifully unnatural.
Manager.-Indeed! I hope there is some spirit in the dialogue ? Fitz-Growl.—Some spirit, sir! there is a ghost in it.
Manager.-A ghost, my dear sir! that won't do for my theatre ; 'my audience would have too much sense for a thing of that kind.
Fitz-Growl. Then you 'll never do any good, sir ; but, may I ask what sort of pieces you intend producing ? Manager.- Variety and novelty, sir, will be my
aim. Fitz-Growl.-Novelty ! then my piece is the very thing. I sink the whole stage.
Manager.—Thank you ; but I'd rather leave the task of sinking the stage to others; my aim shall be to raise it.
Fitz-Growl.—My dear sir, you know nothing of effect; if you could only cover the stage with people, and let them all down at once, it would be terrific!
Manager.-My dear sir, I don't want to cover my stage with people, and then let them down ; I'd sooner hold my performers up
than see them let down.
Fitz-Growl.—That's very fine talking ; but you must get the money, and I can assure you mine are the only pieces to do it.
Manager.-Indeed, sir; then I 'm too generous to my fellowmanagers to think of monopolising the only author whose pieces will draw.
(Enter Servant.) Servant.-A gentleman named Scowl is below.
Manager.-Oh! the gentleman I was to see respecting an engagement. Beg him to walk up. (Exit Servant.)
Fitz-Growl.-Ah! he's an old friend of mine. the devil in all my pieces.
Manager.—Plays the devil, does he ?
Fitz-Growl.-— My best friend, sir ; he has made the character I allude to his own.
Manager.—It is to be hoped, for his sake, that the character you allude to will not return the conipliment.
(Enter Scowl.) Fitz-Growl.-Ah! my dear Scowl, how are you?
Scowl.—So, so; I swallowed a quantity of the smoke last night in your new piece. Manager.-Did the audience swallow it too? Scowl.-Sir?
Manager. I beg your pardon, sir ; I believe you wish to lead the business at my theatre ?
Filz-Growl.-He's the very man for it.
Scowl.—Why, I don't mind the heavy business ; but I pre fer the demons, or the singing scoundrels.
Manager.—But I don't think I shall do that sort of thing.
Scowl.—More fool you. If you want your theatre to pay, you must stick to the melodrama : the people are sure to come if you can only frighten them away.
Fitz-Growl.—Yes, I find it so with my pieces ; they draw the same people over and over again, because they are forced to come several times before they can venture to sit them out.
Manager.But I sha'n't aim at that.
Scowl.—More fool you. But if I can be of any service to you in the combat way,–I can fight with a sword in each band, a dagger in my mouth, and a bayonet in my eye. What do you think of that?
Scowl.-My friend Mr. Fitz-Growl has written me an excellent new part.
Manager.—What 's that about ?
Fitz-Growl.-Oh! nothing particular. I write down a few horrors, make a list of the murders, and my friend Scowl knows what to be
to. Manager.-Really, gentlemen, I don't see that we can come to terms.
Fitz-Growl.—Don't see !—what ! you don't want my pieces ?
Fitz-Growl.—Then I'll go home and write a melodrama, called the “ Doomed Manager," and you shall be the hero.
Manager. - What! you represent me? That's too cruel But I must wish you good morning.
Scowl.-Farewell ! remember me ! Fitz-Growl.—And me too. I say, sir, remember me ! (Exeunt Scowl and Fitz-Growl with melodramatic eye-rollings.)
Manager.—Well, I hope all the applications won't be like this, or I shall never get a company.
(Enter a Bill-sticker.) Manager.— Well, my good fellow, who are you?
Bill-slicker.—Why, I'm one of your best friends ; I'm the bill-sticker. Nobody sticks up for you like I do.
Manager.-Well, but what do you want ?
Bill-sticker.—Why, sir, I'm sorry to say that as fast as I put your bills up, somebody else comes and pulls them down.
Manuger.-How is that