Having gone thus far, I cannot omit a notice of Mr. Benjamin Sears' impersonation of the aged schoolmaster, Cedar. The dignity and simplicity of the character combined, was rendered by him in such a manner as almost to bring back those forgotten tears, drawn forth in olden times by that masterpiece of acting of Harry Placide's, in Grandfather Whitehead.
"Our Ladies," who required so much practice "to look modest," had become perfect in that requisite before the upraising of the curtain; and the young gentlemen cast in those characters sustained them with much tact, and knowledge of the demeanor of well-bred ladies: so much so, indeed, that after they had got through their parts, they were added, still in character, to the galaxy of "decorations before the curtain;" and the only faux pas I noticed was by "Marion," who, in being led to her seat in the dress circle, was about to take an unladylike step ever an obstruction, which her (?) innate modesty checked with the impulse.
After the performance, all the characters attended a fancy dress ball in their stage costume; and the pseudo ladies found partners in every dance, and won many hearts by their grace and beauty.
Had also a performance in the "Reach," by the crew of H. B. M. steamer Salamander. The larboard side of the forecastle was allotted to them; and they gave a drama "adapted to their stage," by one of their number called the "Smuggler," which they produced with good effect. The performance was, as they gave out, "under the distinguished patronage of the American and Her Majesty's officers."
But in spite of all these distractions, our delay was barely supportable; and watching the course of the muddy river, the following lament was penned:
Oh! swiftly flows thy dusky tide,
Dark river, onward to the sea;
And little doth thy current bide
The thousand things that float on thee!
From off thy shore a weed is cast—
Swiftly, in thy resistless sway,
In eddying currents, sweeping past,
'Tis borne, unheeded, far away.
Like thine, the sweeping tide of Time,
Rolls onward ever to the shore
Of that uncertain, unknown clime,
From which it may return no more;
And on its flow, my brittle life
Drops down, uncared for, to that sea,
Where, 'midst the dark waves' stormy strife,
It soon shall sink, and cease to be.