it so mournfully in the blessed sunshine, Jack only could account for:

Why, then, one day, all as I was a-going
Rolling all along the meadows so gay,

I chanced for to meet a fair young lady,
And thus unto me she began for to say."

"Vast, there, 'vast!" sang out another broad-shouldered fellow. "I say, 'vast, man, the downhawl upon that snivelling tune. There's no gumption in it; sounds like the bagpipes with the belly-ache."

"Well, if so be, shipmate, as how you doesn't like my song, why whistle......"

What more this most worthy of coxswains would have said, we must leave to the very wise to conjecture; for, at this moment, Mr. Rubasore turned the corner of the stone-raised boundary that divided the beach from the meadow, and stood confessed before the barge's crew, certainly the admiration of all eyes. Seeing eleven huge fellows on the shingle, and two more close at hand in the barge, every

man of them having lots of wicked fun upon his hard-featured visage, Mr. Rubasore, notwithstanding his wish to acquire news, hesitated to advance. No better quizzer, or more cruel, existed than Mr. Rubasore himself; but he was masterly in the art, only in a cool, quiet manner, and must have gentlemanly subjects to work upon. He despised, whilst he much feared, the men before him.

"what a

"Cox'un," said one of the crew, spindleshanked land lubber! My eyes! he waddles like a duck crossing the main gratings."

But Mr. Rubasore had a generous advocate. "Now, Bill," said one Oakley, rolling about like a Dutch schuyt on the Doggerbank, as he tramped to and fro on the shingles, "don't be disparaging, man. He can't walk like we-for why-it's his misfortune, man; how can you 'xpect him to walk properly when he was never at sea? Poor wretch! I pities him.”

Oakley said this loudly, on purpose that

Mr. Rubasore might hear him, and actually expected from the gentleman he had so chivalrously advocated, if not a shilling, at least thanks. The gentleman was deficient in gratitude: he advanced.

"True enough, Oakley,” said another; “but sce, he's picking his way here, like a hen in silk stockings walking through a pigsty."

"Come, come," said the coxswain; "d'ye see, my boys, it's our skipper's orders, that we should always be civil to the thingumbobs that we may pick up along shore.”

"Well, well; but he does look like a poor ignorant land-fish, sartain-ly.”

"There it is again," said the coxswain, patronisingly. "So, if so be that he should make a fool of himself in his speechification, you grinning dog, have a care you don't laugh; for how could he have got any eddication?"

"Couldn't-seeing as how he never crossed

the line."

Mr. Rubasore heard these comments upon

himself, comments so full of honest commiseration, with none of that thankfulness of feeling which they deserved. Throwing himself into his most magnificent attitude, he went down to them boldly, and, standing among them, took snuff with great dignity. Most of the seamen touched their hats; but the grimaces they made to each other but little corresponded with this token of respect. Mr. Rubasore wished to be gracious, but he made a terrible mistake at the very commencement of his address.

"Common sailor," said he, turning to the burly coxswain, "pray to whom does this shallop belong?"

This was almost too much for the coxswain, the more especially as the rest of the boat's crew began to laugh more than ever.

"Don't grin, ye dogs, but touch your hats to him. Here, Oakley, take away this stretcher, or I shall sartainly be knocking the gentleman down with it."

Having relieved himself of this temptation,

turning to Mr. Rubasore, he continued: "Common sailor, sir! Did you say common sailor? Frizzle my wig, sir, what d'ye mean?" Then, turning to his shipmates, " But, poor thing, it's all along of his ignorance." Then again to the astounded landsman, with an enforced respect, again touching his hat, "Please your honour, sir, there's no such thing as a common sailor in the British navy. We are all uncommon dogs, very uncommon dogs indeed! D'ye see this boat's crew-thirteen of us? Well, set six-andtwenty upon us-French, Dutch, Danes, Spanish, all one to Jack-and if we give a Flemish account of them, I'll undertake to be uncommonly well d-d! Common sailor! There's a rig!"

A little startled by this burst of indignation, Rubasore attempted sternness, and said, "What do you mean, man, by putting yourself in a passion before me ?"

"Common sailor! Why there's not a foremast man in the channel fleet who won't be