The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 7

have been a boon indeed, rather
than the longer endurance of that deeply agonizing state of suspense. I
can fancy my faithful dog, by his actions, had anticipated this
resolution: his joyful bark as I sprung forward into the waves, still rings
in my ear. He was a dog of prodigious size and strength: holding by his
shaggy neck with one hand, I assisted myself in swimming along by
him with the other, intending after clearing the mouth of the cove, to
make for the opening in the rocks to landward. I felt invigorated with
new life, though the chances against me were still precarious, on
account of the distance, as we went through the plashing waves with
the broad expanse of ocean again before me. The sea was now tolerably
calm along shore, for the tide was far advanced, and I had hardly swam
twenty yards from the mouth of the cove when a Landwithiel
fishing-boat came in sight almost within hail. An involuntary prayer
came to my lips; I sung out with all the energy which the hope of life
could produce; she was alongside in a trice, and in a few minutes I was
sailing for Landwithiel Pier, merrily, at the rate of eight knots an hour. I
found on detailing my adventure, which greatly surprised the fine
fellows who picked me up, that the cove was called Dawlish's Hole;
and that the apparition of the white lady on the rocks was one of flesh
and blood, not an airy vision.
"Poor Ellen Dawlish," said Sam Clovelly, my informant, "once the
pride of the parish--poor thing! her day has long since gone by; she is
always worse when the moon's full; but it's a long yarn, sir, and you'll
learn all about her and the wild skipper, as we used to call him, (that's
her husband) far better up at the "Ship-Aground" yonder, than I can tell
you."
The only consequence that resulted from the adventure thus
providentially terminated, was a wet jacket; but a brisk fire, a glass of
grog, and a warm welcome in my host's capacious settle, helped to
banish it from my recollection. My worthy friend, Sam Clovelly, was
not mistaken; my interest, which was deeply awakened, received a
strong whet from the narrative which Mr. Sheepshanks related, and
though wearied with the day's adventure, I did not go to rest till I had

heard the conclusion of his somewhat prolix story. I afterwards
happened to know more, indeed, of the circumstances alluded to; and
though the day's incident was of a frightful nature, yet I look back upon
it as the means of introducing me to the knowledge of events connected
with the history of the last surviving member of an ancient family, to
me of deep interest. I pause: the reader may hear more of the FATE OF
WALTER DAWLISH.
VYVYAN.
[3] Printed by mistake Tor-withiel, in No. II. of these Recollections: see
Mirror, vol. xv. p. 356.
* * * * *

OLD POETS.
* * * * *
MELANCHOLY.
Melancholy from the spleen begun, By passion mov'd into the veins
doth run; Which when this humour as a swelling flood, By vigour is
infused in the blood, The vital spirits doth mightily appal, And
weakeneth so the parts organical, And when the senses are disturb'd
and tir'd With what the heart incessantly desir'd, Like travellers with
labour long oppress'd Finding relief, eftsoons thy fall to rest.
DRAYTON.
* * * * *
LOVE.
Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet, When like desires and
affections meet; For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised Where
fancies are in equal balance peised.

MARLOWE.
O learn to love, the lesson is but plain, And once made perfect, never
lost again.
SHAKSPEARE.
* * * * *
BEAUTY.
Such colour had her face as when the sun Shines in a watery cloud in
pleasant spring; And even as when the summer is begun The
nightingales in boughs do sit and sing, So the blind god, whose force
can no man shun Sits in her eyes, and thence his darts doth fling;
Bathing his wings in her bright crystal streams, And sunning them in
her rare beauties beams. In these he heads his golden-headed dart, In
those he cooleth it, and tempereth so, He levels thence at good Oberto's
heart, And to the head he draws it in his bow.
SIR J. HARRINGTON.
* * * * *
SLANDER.
Against bad tongues goodness cannot defend her, Those be most free
from faults they least will spare, But prate of them whom they have
scantly known, Judging their humors to be like their own.
IBID.
* * * * *
POSTERITY.
Daughter of Time, sincere Posterity Always new born, yet no man
knows thy