The Selector;

OR,

CHOICE EXTRACTS FROM NEW WORKS.

ANECDOTES OF THE BRITISH NAVY.

DEATH OF NELSON.

NELSON, in the early part of the day, was in high spirits, and expressed great pleasure at the prospect of giving a fatal blow to the naval power of France and Spain. Confident of victory, he declared he would not be satisfied with capturing less than twenty sail of the line. It is singular, that he had often predicted the 21st of October would be the day; "It was," he said, "the happiest day in year among his family."

the

Before the action began, he retired to his cabin, and composed that remarkable prayer, which having been granted in its fullest extent, has so much endeared his memory to the British nation.

66

May the great God, whom I worship, grant to my country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after the victory be the predominant fea ture in the British fleet. For myself individually, I commit my life to Him that made me; and may His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully; to Him I resign myself and the just cause which is intrusted to me to defend. Amen, amen,

About half-past one, the Admiral was standing on the middle of the quarterdeck, and had just turned to walk aft, when a musket-ball, from the mizen-top of the French ship, struck him on the left shoulder, passed through the strap of the epaulette, and grazing the collar-bone, entered his chest, and lodged in one of the dorsal vertebræ. The lamented chief fell with his face upon the deck. Sergeant-Major Secker, of the Royal Marines, and two seamen, flew to his assistance, and were raising him up, when Captain Hardy, who was on the larboard side, turned round and saw that the Admiral was wounded. In answer to the anxious inquiries of the Captain, the gallant chief replied, "They have done for me at last, Hardy," "I hope not," said Hardy. "Yes," answered the dying hero, "my back-bone is shot through.' From the situation whence the shot was fired, Dr. Beatty calculates the distance to have been about fifteen yards; the

mizen-top of the Redoubtable being just abaft, and below the Victory's mainyard. The spot where he fell is now marked with a dark piece of wood, about an inch square, inlaid in the deck.*

While the attendants conveyed the wounded Admiral to the cock-pit, the hero was still mindful of the great duty he had to perform, and not regardless of minor cares, even in the agonies of death. As he passed the gun-room he saw that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away early in the action, were not replaced, and commanded that it should be instantly done; and having delivered this order, he covered his face with his pocket handkerchief, that he might not be noticed by his crew. The cockpit was fast filling with the dead and the dying. Lieutenant Ram and Mr. Whipple, the captain's clerk, had just expired, when the surgeon, turning from them, was called to the Admiral. Mr. Burke and Dr. Beatty received the feeble fainting frame of their beloved chief from the arms of those who had conveyed him to the cockpit, and placed him in one of the midshipmen's births. The Admiral observed to the doctor, "You can do nothing for me; I have but a short time to live, my back-bone is shot through." The surgeon soon discovered that the hero was indeed mortally wounded, but except from the captain and one or two surrounding friends, cautiously concealed the mournful secret until the day was decided. Nelson, now in the agonies of death, constantly and impatiently called for Hardy; but it was long before the captain could quit the deck, the duty of the Commander-in-chief, during the action, having devolved upon him by the rules of the service. At length Hardy came, and Nelson inquired, "How the day went ?" "Very well, my Lord," replied the captain, "we have got twelve or fourteen of the enemy's ships in our possession; but their van has tacked and shows an intention of bearing down on the Victory; I have therefore called two or three of our best ships about us, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." The symptoms of approaching dissolution crept on with resistless power, as the hero lay surrounded by many brave officers and men, similarly situated. The surgeon could do no more, and quitted him to afford his professional aid to less desperate cases. In fifty minutes after ais first visit to the cockpit, Hardy returned, and congratulated the Admiral on

The Victory now in Portsmouth harbour, on the spot where Nelson fell, is marked by a medal of the hero within a fram and a brass cover.---ED.

the capture of fourteen or fifteen sail of the line. "That is well," said Nelson, "but I bargained for twenty ;" and then he earnestly exclaimed, "Anchor, Hardy, anchor." To this Hardy replied, " I suppose, my Lord, Admiral Collingwood will now take upon himself the direction of affairs." "Not while I live, I hope,' said Nelson, as he ineffectually endeavoured to raise himself from his bed: "No, Hardy, do you anchor," "Shall I make the signal, Sir ?" said Hardy. "Yes," answered Nelson, "for if I live, I will anchor." Shortly after this interesting dialogue, the captain returned to the quarter-deck, and Nelson, with his last breath, thanked God he had done his duty, and expired in the cockpit of the Victory, at thirty-five minutes past four o'clock in the afternoon.-Brenton' Naval History.

HUMANITY.

AFTER the action of Trafalgar, the Donegal, Captain Malcolm, was at anchor off Cadiz in a violent gale of wind, with upwards of 600 prisoners then on deck. An unfortunate Spaniard fell overboard. Notwithstanding the sea was then running so high that they had not ventured a boat out for twelve hours before, two seamen jumped on the gangway "Suppose he is a Spaniard, (cried one, it's no reason the poor should be drowned!" and they instantly dashed overboard to his rescue, while the admiring Spaniards were lost in astonishment at so daring an act. The poor man, however, sunk, and was drowned just as one of the English seamen, Joe Thompson, was about to lay hold of him. A boat was immediately hoisted out, and fortunately the two gallant fellows got safe on board.

A TRUE BRITISH TAR.

THE English frigate Minerve, commanded by Captain Brenton, unfortunately run ashore near Cherbourg. A sailor who had both his legs shot off while endeavouring to heave her into deep water, was carried to the cockpit. Waiting for his turn to be dressed, he heard the cheers of the crew on deck, and eagerly demanded what they meant. Being told that the ship was off the shoal, and would soon be clear of the forts, "Then dthe legs," exclaimed the poor fellow; and taking his knife from his pocket,. he cut the remaining muscles which attached them to him, and joined in the cheers with the rest of his comrades. When the ship was taken, he was placed in the boat to be conveyed to the hospital; but, determined not to outlive the loss of

MRS. SIDDONS.

IN 1775, Mrs. Siddons appeared at Drury Lane Theatre, in Mrs. Cowley's insipid comedy, the Runaway; but, although she displayed talents, the piece did not succeed.

It was still confidently asserted, that she needed only to be brought forward in parts equal to her genius, to shine forth a theatrical star of the first magnitude; and her friends lamented the selfish policy of Garrick, who avoided bringing her forward, from a fear that she would divide the public attention with him. As his jealousy even of female performers was well known, the truth of this assertion was never doubted; and one anecdote in particular was circulated, that on occasion of a dispute with Miss Younge, who had begun, as well as other actresses, to show a refractory temper, he had said, "I tell you, you had better not give yourself airs, for there is a woman in the house, who, if I choose to bring her forward, would eclipse you all in youth, beauty, and talent."

These mysterious expressions were considered by Yates, Younge, and Abington, the three reigning female favourites, as merely an empty boast; but much mirth was excited by the idea of Garrick's "Green-room goddess," for such was the name she obtained in consequence of the praises he had bestowed on her. Her attraction, however, was not sufficient to enable her to obtain a renewed engagement at the end of the season. A few years after Richard Brinsley Sheridan, Esq. had succeeded to the direction of the theatre, the elder Mr. Sheridan, while at Bath for his health, was strongly solicited to go to the play, to witness the performance of a young actress, who was said to distance all competition in tragedy. Though in general he had a dislike to provincial exhibitions, Mr. Sheridan was induced, by the warm commendations bestowed upon this young performer, to depart from his usual practice, and go to the theatre to see her. He found, to his astonishment, that it was the lady who had made so little impression on him some years before in the Runaway; but who, as Garrick had secretly declared, was possessed of tragic powers sufficient to delight and electrify an audience. There prevailed at that time, and long afterwards, a very disagreeable clause in the articles of the Bath company, by which they were obliged to perform also at Bristol; and in consequence, by some

journeys, the stage clothes of this admired actress were not arrived on the night Mr. Sheridan saw her, and she was obliged to perform in one of the dresses she usually wore in private life. But no disadvantage of dress could conceal her transcendent merit from an eye so penetrating as that of Mr. Sheridan; and after the play was over he went behind the scenes, to get introduced to her, in order to compliment her in the highest terms upon her performance. Such a distinction, from a judge of his acknowledged merit, could not fail of being highly flattering. Mr. Sheridan said, "I am surprised, Madam, that with such talents you should confine yourself to the country; talents that would be sure of commanding, in London, fame and suc

cess."

The actress modestly replied, that she had already tried London, but without the success which had been anticipated; and that she was advised by her friends to be content with the fame and profit she obtained at Bath, particularly as her voice was deemed unequal to the extent of a London theatre.

Mr. Sheridan, who judged very differently of this actress's powers from what her modesty induced her to do herself, spoke, immediately on his return to London, to Mr. King, the acting manager of Drury Lane, strenuously recommending to him, if he had any regard to the interests of the theatre, to engage a performer of abilities so distinguished.

His zeal for the success of his protégée did not stop here, but, upon her being engaged, he directed her, with a truly kind solicitude, in the choice of a part for her first appearance. With the usual preference of young and handsome actresses for a character of pomp and show, she inclined to that of Euphrasia, in the Grecian Daughter; but the juster taste of Mr. Sheridan determined her in favour of the far more natural and affecting character of Isabella: and the judgment with which the selection was made waɛ amply confirmed by the bursts of rapturous admiration which hailed, after the long obscurity to which the jealousy of contemporary talent had condemned her exertions, the full blaze of transcendent merit in Mrs. SIDDONS! The kindness of Mr. Sheridan, which did not stop here, but showed itself in every possible way in her behalf, was gratefully acknowledged by the object of it; who, when at the height of her professional prosperity, was wont to term him "The father of my fortune and my fame !"-Memoirs of Mrs. Sheridan.

As for Zeul, I have written nothing without showing my duty to their Majesties, and some pieces are dedicated to them.

This, Madam, is the short and true state of my case. They that make their court to the ministers, and not their Majesties, succeed better. If my case deserves come consideration, and you can serve me in it, I humbly hope and believe you will: I shall therefore trouble you no farther, but beg leave to subscribe myself, with truest respect and gratitude,

Yours, &c. EDWARD YOUNG.

P.S. I have some hope that my Lord Townshend is my friend; if, therefore, soon, and before he leaves the court, you had any opportunity of mentioning me with that favour you have been so good to show, I think it would not fail of success; and if not, I shall owe you more than any.

Suffolk Papers.

The Movelist.

No. L.

MARIAN.

(For the Mirror.)

How transient and worthless are all those

feelings which look not in the first in

stance for the mental perfections of its object! it is only in virtue we desire no variety; in contemplating it, we can trace the hand of the creator, and at every glance discover some new perfection; but personal beauty, what is it ?a thing of mere opinion, and loses all its loveliness, when separated from those noble qualities which elevate the soul, and endear it to the observer: but when we can see mental and material beauty united, when we can look on a fair face merely as an index to a fine heart, oh! this is perfection! to adore it is natural, and we honour the creator, in cherishing the being, thus formed by his hands: and there was one whom I fondly thought was all this, and I choose her from all the rest, to live in my bosom, to share my pleasures, and to administer consolation in the hour of adversity.

The village of D

in the

y

county of K, has been my place of residence for nearly thirty years; it was there the ties of husband and father were formed, and it was there those ties were broken. I am alone in the world, peace of mind, and all that energy of character necessary for the success of my worldly speculations, destroyed, and deserted by her whom I imagined as fond and virtuous as she was beautiful,whose smiles should have cheered me, when all else was gloomy, and who should have sustained my drooping heart, when all beside had forsaken me. Enough of this, the smile of an all-gracious God will efface the remembrance of all earthly sorrows, and console a heart which, sometimes unguided by the dictates of religion, still clings around the sepulchre of happiness.

Returning to my solitary home, I paid my usual visit to one of my poorer neighbours: I entered the neat dwelling; my old friend, Dame Langdon, sat industriously knitting near the door, and her daughter Marian, as usual, with her pale cheek resting on her hand, and her child on her knees, whose little fingers entwined her dark glossy curls, and sometimes his attention caught by the glitter of the wedding-ring which decorated the hand which supported him; but as the lip of the mother pressed the rosy cheek of her boy, I observed her eyes looked beyond it with the