no doubt would have been a willing witness in Cassio’s defence, had he been brought to the gangway for inebriety.  “I can stand well enough,” continued the representative of Cassio.  “Then, hang it! why don’t you walk the plank at once, and prove yourself sober?” vociferated a long-tailed wag, determined not to slip this opportunity of having a shot on the sly at his first lieutenant, who had only a night or two before put his perpendicularity to a similar test.

At the last scene the shouts became alarming; volleys of imprecations were hurled at his head—­his limbs—­his life.  “What!” said one of the rudest of the crew, “can the black brute cut her lifelines?  She’s a reg’lar-built angel, and as like my Bet as two peas.”—­“Ay,” said a messmate, “it all comes of being jealous, and that’s all as one as mad; but you know, if he’s as good as his word, he’s sure to be hanged,—­ that’s one comfort!” When the Moor seized her in bed by the throat, Desdemona shrieking for permission to repeat but one short prayer, and he rancorously exclaims, in attempting to strangle her, “It is too late!” the house, as it is said a French audience had done ere now, could endure no more; and the sailors rose in their places, giving the most alarming indications of angry excitement, and of a determination to mingle in the murderous scene below.  “I’m ——­, Dick, if I can stand it any longer,” said the spokesman of the gallery.  “You’re no man, if you can sit and look on quietly; hands off, you blood-thirsty niggar,” he vociferated, and threw himself over the side of the gallery in a twinkling; clambering down by a pillar into the boxes, and scrambled across the pit, over every person in his way, till he reached the noisy boatswain’s mate.  Him he “challenged to the rescue,” and exclaimed, “Now’s your time, Ned,—­Pipe the boarders away—­all hands,—! if you’re a man as loves a woman. Now, go it,” said he, and dashed furiously over all obstacles,—­fiddles, flutes, and fiddlers.  Smash went the foot-lights—­Caesar had passed the Rubicon.  The contagion of feeling became general; and his trusty legions, fired with the ambition that inspired their leader, followed, sweeping all before them, till the whole male population of the theatre crowded the stage en masse, amid shouts of encouragement, or shrieks of terror; outraging, by their mistaken humanity, all the propriety of this touching drama; and, for once, rescuing the gentle Desdemona from the deadly grasp of the murderous Moor, who fled in full costume, dagger in hand, from the house, and through the dark streets of Dock, until he reached his home in a state of inconceivable affright.  The scene of confusion which followed, it would be fruitless to attempt to describe.  All was riot and uproar.—­Sailors and Saints.

* * * * *

DEATH OF DAUBENTON.