The Sun.
London, England, 1863-09-02 00:00:00

images, and feelings, come crowding all sail on his soul, ►
till, as he says, " nothing but Nancy." Living a life
that is passed in a fluctuating world of change, he tries to
be true to Nancy. Amid the trials and temptations of
foreign ports how hard he strives to be constant, and he
fails, why it is only because Nancy or Poll will assume so
many shapes:--
Some with faces like charcoal, and others like chalk,
All ready one's heart to o'er-haul;
" Don't you go to love me, my good girl," says I " walk;
I've sworn to be constant to Poll."
From far away his heart will be running home like a
very Gulf-stream, brightening and enriching some little
green spot where he hopes to set foot and empty a lot of
shiners into Poll's lap, dart into her arms like the ball from
an Armstrong, get married and launch a young navy to
repay the sea and country for his own desertion!
It is in a lower range, however, that Dibdin shows his
greatest force of portraying the British tar. His most suc-
cessful painting is done by very broad handling, a thick
brush and a coarse touch. His delight is the jolly Jack
Tar, who will stick like pitch to friend or sweetheart, and,
come weal, come woe, come friend or foe, it's all one to
Jack, He goes at everything broadside on, with heart
sailing too fast even for his generous h .nd,
making his head swim to keep his heart from sinking,
pushing the grog about from year's eni to year's end, too
fond of sounding the bowl, making the can go round, and
relying on grog aboard and girls ashore as the sailor's
sheet-anchor. This now is a neat and lively picture of
Dibdin's sailor-life: -
We sing a little, we laugh a little,
And work a little, and swear a little,
And fiddle a little, and foot it a little,
And swig the flawing can.
The worst of it is that Dibdin's sailor cannot be thus mo-
derate. Why, in the one article of loyalty alone, he is rich
enough to ruin himself. He will drink so many healths to
Majesty that he quite forgets his own. Dibdin is true enough
to the sailor-nature in its love of fair-play, a stand-up fight,
a clear deck, and no favour; its desire to make mincemeat
of an enemy, and its gentleness in binding him up again
with a sert of motherly c are and tenderness; its equal
readiness to savo as well as to damn ; its fair, open front,
and broad, honest back never turned on danger. True,
likewise, to the national habit of brag, which show.s our de-
scent from the great worshippers of the god Brags, every
lad in the land that has played one to three at "English
and French" will understand this image of Nelson fighting
the foe with only one arm :
Thus with one of his precious limbs shot away,
Bold Nelson know'd well how to nick 'em ;
So as for the French, 'tis as much as to say,
We can tie up one hand, and then lick 'em.
Dibden has also given us the philosophy of the sailor's
frank fearlessness and his rough-and ready welcome to
whatsoever lot may befall. This is how he can look at life
and death :
Why now, if they go for to talk about living,
My eyes—way a little will serve:
Let each a small part of his pittance be giving,
And who in the nation can starve?
Con'ent's all the thing—rough or calm be the weather
The wind on the beam or the bow.
So if honestly he can splice both ends together,
Why then, damme if Jack cares how I
And then for a bring -up, d'ye see, about dying,
On which such a racket they keep,
What argufies if in a churchyard you're lying,
Or find out your grave in the deep ?
Of one thing we're certain, whatever our calling,
Death will brio g us all up—and what then ?
So his conscience's tackle will bear overhauling,
Why then, damme if Jack cares when.
These things Dibdin has done, done well, once and for
ever.