Chapter LI: Act 3 (2)

[106] Its German name is Frakmont, from the Latin words "Mons fractus,"
an appellation naturally bestowed upon its broken and
irregular summit.

[107] Eusebius, in his "_Histoire Ecclesiastique_," (liv. ii. chap. 7,) relates that, about forty years after the birth of Christ, and under the reign of Caligula, Pontius Pilate was recalled from the government of Judea to Rome, and, fearing the consequences with which his conduct was threatened, he committed suicide; but he does not say where this fact occurred. Naucler tells us that Pilate, having been banished to Lyons by the emperor, there died by his own sword; and other authors, among whom is Otho of Frisinguen, assert that, being exiled by Caligula, he threw himself into the Rhone at Vienne in Dauphiny, and was drowned. He adds, that, according to the statement of the inhabitants of that neighbourhood, the river has ever since that period, at certain intervals, been extremely difficult and dangerous to navigate.--(Vide _Pa Chronique_, liv. iii. chap. 13. )

[108] This mountain lake is situated in the centre of a small forest of dark and time-worn pines, and is surrounded by bogs and marshes. In form it is nearly elliptical, being one hundred and fifty-four feet long, and seventy-eight broad, and it is in no part more than four feet deep. In the year 1560 it was measured by Cisat, and, according to his account of its dimensions, was at that time just one-third less than it is know known to be now; but whether his admeasurement was defective, or whether the body of water has actually increased since that period, may be matter of doubt.

[109] Treatise on Exorcisms, entitled "Malleus Maleficarum," (a Hammer for Sorcerers,) by Felix Hemmerlein, Provost of Soleure; printed at Frankfort, in 1582.

[110] Vadian's Commentaries, published at Vienna in 1518.

[111] Conservateur Suisse, vol. iv.

GLORVINA, THE MAID OF MEATH.
BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

Ireland has had her heroines. Glorvina, the daughter of Malachi, king of Meath, was the joy and pride of her father, yet at the same time his anxious, never-resting care; for the Dane was in the land. The rovers were led by Turgesius, a voluptuous prince, though advanced in years. Turgesius approached the gate of Malachi with the smile of peace upon his countenance, but with the thoughts of rapine in his heart. He was hospitably received; the banquet was spread for him; and when he was weary with feasting and hilarity, he was conducted to the richest, softest couch.

He had not yet seen Glorvina, but he had heard of her surpassing beauty; and one day he requested of the king that his daughter should sit at the feast. A shade came over the brow of Malachi; but he bowed his head, and it was gone. With a timid, yet stately step, the virgin entered the hall. Thick and clustering, and reaching far below her tapering waist, hung her auburn hair; her eyes were cast down; her fair skin mantled and faded, as her colour came and went; and she spake not as she sank in modest, graceful obeisance, to the salutation of Turgesius.

The Dane had no appetite for the banquet that day. He seemed to be conscious of nothing but the presence of Glorvina. Alarm and ire were painted in the countenance of the king, but Turgesius noted it not. He never removed his eyes from the royal maid; they wandered incessantly over her features and her form, and followed the movements of her white, roundly-moulded arms, as she accepted or returned the cup or the viands which were proffered for her use. Haughty for the first time was the fair brow of Glorvina: the bold stare of man was a stranger to her. Again and again she offered to retire, but was withheld by the dissuasions of Turgesius, seconded by the admonishing glances of her father. At last, however, in spite of all opposition, she withdrew.

The Dane sat abstracted with a clouded brow; deep sighs came thick and strugglingly from his breast. Malachi tried to rouse his guest, and succeeded at last, with the aid of the cup. Turgesius waxed wildly joyous; he spoke of love, and of the idol before which the passion bows; and he asked for the strain that was in unison with the tone of his soul; the song of desire was awakened at his call; and as it flowed, swelling and sinking with the mood of the fitful theme, the rover's cheek flushed more and more, and his eyes more wildly flamed.

Turgesius did not sleep at the castle that night. He was summoned on a sudden to a distance: oppression had produced reaction. In the place of the slave, the man had started up; and the air all at once was thick with weapons, where for months the glare of brass or of steel had not been seen, except in the hand of the foreigner. Outposts had been driven in; large bands were retracing steps which they had no right to take; the sway of the freebooter was tottering. His presence saved it, and the native again bowed sullenly to resume the yoke.

After the lapse of a few weeks, Turgesius once more drew near the gate of Malachi. Loudly the blast of his herald demanded the customed admission, and with impatience the Dane awaited the reply to his summons. It came; but there was wailing in the voice of welcome, and the visitor felt that he grew cold. The mourner received him in the hall:--Glorvina was no more! Turgesius turned his face away from the house of death, and departed for his own stronghold, where with alternate sports and revels he endeavoured to assuage disappointment and obliterate recollection.

Dusk fell. Silent and gloomy was the aisle of the royal chapel. Before a monument, newly erected, stood a lonely figure gazing upon the name of Glorvina, which was carved upon the stone. The figure was that of a youth, tall, and of matchless symmetry. His arms were folded, his head drooped, he uttered no sound; his soul was with the inmate of the narrow house. He heard not the step of the bard who was approaching, and who presently stood by his side unnoted by him.

Long did the reverend man gaze upon the youth without attempting to accost him. More and more he wondered who it could be whom sorrow so enchained in abstraction. At length the lips of the figure moved, and a sigh, deep-drawn, ushered forth the name of Glorvina. No stranger to the bard was the voice that fell upon his ear. "Niall!" he exclaimed. The youth started and turned; it _was_ Niall. He threw himself upon the neck of the bard. The flood of the eyes began to flow: he sobbed forth aloud and incontinently the name of Glorvina!

"Niall," said the bard, as soon as the paroxysm of grief had a little subsided,--"Niall, you are changed in form, your stature has shot up, your shoulders have spread, and your chest has rounded. Your features, too, I can see by this spare light, have received from manhood a stamp which they did not bear before; but your heart, my son, is the same. Niall in his affections has come back what he went. The Saxon has not changed him, nor the Saxon's daughter; her golden hair has waved before his eyes, her skin of pearl has shone upon them, the silver harp of her voice has streamed upon his ear; but his heart hath been still with Glorvina!"

"To what end?" passionately burst forth the youth. "Glorvina is in the tomb!" The tears gushed again; the bard was silent.

"Where is your prophetic Psalter?" resumed Niall; "where is it? Who will give credence to it now? Did you not say that Glorvina was the fair maid of Meath by whom it foretold that the land was to be rescued from the Dane; and that I was that son of my house who should be joined with her in perilous, yet happy wedlock? This did you not say and repeat a thousand times?--Then why do I look upon that tomb?"

"Niall," said the bard, "have faith, though you look upon the tomb of Glorvina!" The youth shook his head.--"Have you yet seen the king?" inquired the bard. Niall replied in the negative. "Come, then, young man, and look upon a father's grief!"

The bard led the way towards the closet of the king. The light of the taper streamed from the half-open door: and as Niall, by the side of the bard, stood in the comparative darkness of the ante-chamber, he stared upon the face of Malachi, bright with a smile at a false move at chess which a person with whom the king was playing had just that moment made. Niall could scarce believe his vision.--"Where is the grief of the father?" whispered he to the bard.

"Note on!" was the old man's reply.

"He laughs!" exclaimed Niall, almost loud enough to be heard by those within.--"Yes," said the bard; "he who wins may laugh. He has got the game."

"And where is his child?" ejaculated Niall with a groan so audible that Malachi heard it and started; but the bard hurried the youth from the room.

Niall and the bard sat alone in the apartment of the latter. Sparingly the youth partook of the repast, which was presently removed. He sat silent, leaning his head upon his hand. At length he lifted his eyes to the face of the bard; it was smiling like the king's, as he played the game of chess. The young man stared; the bard smiled on.

"A strain!" cried the reverend man, and took his harp and tuned it, and tried the chords till every string had its proper tone. "Now!" he exclaimed, ready to begin. The young man watched the waking of the lay, which he expected would be in unison with the mood of his soul: but, lo! note rapidly followed note in mirthful chase, still quickening to the close; and the countenance of Niall, overcast before with grief, now lowered with anger.

"I list not strain like that!" he exclaimed, starting from his seat.

"You list no other, boy, from me," rejoined the old man; "it is your welcome home."--"My home," ejaculated Niall, "is the tomb where Glorvina sleeps the sleep of death!"

"The Psalter," said the old man solemnly, "is the promise of Destiny, and is sure to be fulfilled."

"Why, then," asked the youth sternly,--"why, then, is Glorvina no longer among the living?--Why in the place of her glowing cheek do I meet the tomb?--the silence of death, instead of her voice?"

The bard made no reply, but leaned over his harp again, and spanned its golden strings. He sang of the chase. The game was a beauteous hind; eager was the hunter, but too swift was her light foot for his wish. She distanced him like the wind, which at one moment brushes the cheek, and the next will be leagues away; and now she was safe, pressing the mossy sward in the region of the mountain and the lake, where the waters mingle and spread one silvery sheet for the fair tall heavens to look into.

Niall sat amazed!--conjecture and doubt seemed to divide his soul. He sprang towards the old man, and, throwing himself at his feet, snatched the hand that still lay upon the strings and caught it to his bosom. Yet he spake not, save by his eyes; in the intense expression of which, inquiry, and entreaty, and deprecation were mingled.

The old man rose and stood silent for a time, looking down benevolently upon Niall, who seemed scarcely to breathe, watching the lips that he felt were about to move.

"Niall," at length said the bard,--"Niall, the strength of the day is the rest of night. Fair upon the eye of the sleeper, awakening him, breaks the light of morning. Then he springs from his couch, and stretches his limbs, and braces them, eager for action; and he asks who will go with him to the field of the feat; or haply betakes him to the road to try his strength alone; and following it through hill and valley, moor and mead, suddenly shows his triumph-shining face to the far friend that looked not for him!"

The bard ceased. Both he and the youth remained motionless for several seconds, intently regarding one another. At last Niall sprang upon his feet, and threw himself upon the neck of the old man, whose arms simultaneously closed around the boy.

"You will sleep to-night, my son," said the bard, withdrawing himself at length from the embrace of Niall. "The dawn shall not come to thy casement before thou shalt hear my summons at thy door. Good-night!" They parted.

* * * * *

By the side of a bright river strayed hand in hand two young females, seemingly rustics. Rain had fallen. The thousand torrents of the mountains were in play; and the general waters, swoln beyond the capacity of their customed channel, ran hurried and ruffled.

"Who would think," remarked the younger of the two,--"who would think that this was the river we saw yesterday?"

"'Tis changed indeed," said her companion; "but the sky that was lowering yesterday, you see, is bright and serene to-day. Did you hear the storm in the night?"

"No: I would I had. It would have saved me from a dream darker than any storm."

"A dream!--Tell it me. I am a reader of dreams."

"You know," began the younger,--"you know I was brought up with the only son of a distant branch of my father's house. I know not how it was, but, from my earliest recollection, my foster-mother, and others as well as she, set me down for his wife; and, strangely enough, I fancied myself so. Yet could it be nothing more than a sister's love that I bore him. Much he used to make of me. His pastime--even his studies--were regulated by my will. Being older than I, he let me play the fool to the very height of my caprice, which cost me many a chiding,--but not from him, though he had to bear the greater portion of the consequences. You know by his father's will he was enjoined to travel the last four years preceding his majority. He set out the very day that I completed my fourteenth year. I wish it had been before. I should have felt the separation less, for indeed it cost me real agony. For months after, they would catch me weeping: they did not know the cause; but 'twas for him! Still I only loved him as a brother--but a dear one,--Oh, Myra! I cannot tell you how dear!--and absence has not abated my feelings, as you may more than guess by my dream last night."

"Look!" interrupted the other; "see you not some one through the interval of the trees descending yonder road that winds round the foot of the nearest mountain?"

"No," replied the former, after she had looked in the direction a moment or two. "But attend to my dream. I thought I was married indeed, and that he was my husband; and that we were sitting at the bridal feast, placed on each side of my father; and there were the viands, and the wine, and the company, and everything as plain as you are that are standing there before me; when, all at once----"

"I see him again!" a second time interrupted the friend. "Look! don't you catch the figure?"--"No."

"Then you'll not catch it at all now, for he has dived into the wood through which the road runs."

"Was it a single person?"--"Yes."

"Then we have nothing to care for; so don't interrupt me in my dream again."

"Go on with it," said the other.

"Well; we were sitting, as I said, at the bridal feast, when, turning to speak to my father, the fiery eyes of one I hope never to see again were glaring on me, and my father was gone; and fierce men, with gleaming weapons waving above their heads, surrounded him to whom I had just pledged my troth, and bore him, in spite of his struggles and my screams, away: leaving me to the mercy of the spoiler, who straight, methought, started up with the intent of dragging me to the couch which had been prepared for another!"

"Do you mark," interrupted the friend, "as you increase in loudness, the echoes waken? I heard the last word repeated as distinctly as you yourself uttered it. But go on. Yet beware these echoes; they may be tell-tales. What followed?"

"Oh, what harrows my soul even now! Thither, where I told you, did he try to force me, struggling with all my might to resist him. I called on my father,--I called on my bridegroom,--I called on every one I could think of; but no one came to me, and fast we approached the door, on the threshold of which to have died, I thought in my dream, would be bliss to the horror of crossing it, and there at last we stood: but it was shut. Yet soon it moved; and who think you it was that opened it? Niall!--Niall himself! and no resistance did he offer to him that forced me onward,--none, though I called to him by his name, shrieking it louder than I am speaking now, 'Niall!--Niall!' He spoke not,--he moved not; and I was within a foot of the very couch, when I awoke, my face bathed in the dew of terror. 'Niall!--Niall!' did I cry, did I shriek; and Niall was there, and I shrieked in vain--'Niall!--Niall!'----"

"Here!" cried Niall himself, springing from a copse, out of which led a path that made a short cut across an angle of the road, and throwing himself breathless at the feet of Glorvina.

The astonished maid stood motionless, gazing on the young man, who remained kneeling, until her companion, taking her hand, and calling her by her name, aroused her from the trance of astonishment.

"Come," said Myra, "let us return;" and, motioning to the young man to follow them, she led her passive companion back to the lonely retreat whither Malachi had transported his fair child.

Glorvina did not perfectly recover her self-possession till she arrived at the door. Then she stopped, and turning, bent her bright gaze full upon the wondering Niall, who moved not another step.

"Niall--if you are Niall--" said the maid. She paused, and a sigh passed, in spite of them, the lips that would have kept it in: "If you are the Niall," she resumed, "to whom I said farewell four years ago, the day and the hour are not unwelcome that bring back, in health, and strength, and happiness, the playmate of our childhood to the land of his fathers; and we bless God that he has suffered them to shine. But why comes Niall hither? Who taught him to doubt the testimony of the tomb? Who directed his steps to the solitudes of the mountains, the woods, and the lakes? Who cried, "God speed!" when his heel left the home of my father behind it? Was it the master of that home?--was it Malachi, my father?"

A thought that had not occurred to him before, seemed suddenly to cross the mind of Niall. His lips that would have spoken remained motionless, his cheek coloured, his eye fell to the feet of Glorvina; he stood confounded and abashed.

"'Tis well!" cried the stately maid. "The tongue of Niall is yet unacquainted with falsehood, though his feet may be no strangers to the steps of rashness. The repast is spread; enter and partake!" and she paused for a second or two. Niall slowly lifted his eyes till they met those of Glorvina; apprehension and supplication mingled in the gaze of the youth. At length, with a tone that spoke at once compassion and resolve, the word "Depart!" found utterance; and the maid and her companion, stepping aside, left the entrance of their lonely habitation free, as Niall mechanically passed in.

(_To be concluded in our next._)

THE ROYAL ROSE OF ENGLAND.
AN IRISH BALLAD,
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF THE PRINCESS VICTORIA,

MAY 24, 1837.

BY J. A. WADE.

Tune--"_Young Love lived once._"

I.
Within a fine ould ancient pile
(Where long may splendour
And luck attend her!)
The Royal Hope of Britain's isle
Has shed her eighteenth summer's smile!
No winter mornin'
Was at her bornin',
But with the spring she did come forth,
A flow'r of Beauty, without guile,
Perfumin' sweet the neighb'rin' earth!

II.
We've seen the blossom 'pon the stem
From early childhood--
Both in the wild-wood
And in the halls where many a gem
Did sparkle from the diadem,
But always bloomin',
Without presumin'
On the rich cradle of her birth;
Her eyes beam'd softly--while from them
All _others_ gather'd love and mirth!

III.
Dear offspring of a royal race,
In this dominion
(It's my opinion)
There's not a soul that sees your face,
But prays for it sweet Heaven's grace.
May every birth-day
Be found a mirth-day,--
No clouds or tears e'er frown or weep,
But Pleasure's smile where'er you pace
Bless you for ever 'wake or 'sleep!

NIGHTS AT SEA:
_Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War._
BY THE OLD SAILOR.

No. III.

WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

THE CHASE.--THE FORECASTLE YARN.

"Not a cloud is before her
To dim her pure light;
Not a shadow comes o'er her,
Her beauty to blight:
But she glows in soft lustre--
One star by her side--
From her throne in the azure,
Earth's beautiful bride."

A cheerless and disheartening spectacle is a dismasted ship, with all her mass of wreck still clinging to the hull, that it once bore proudly over the billows! 'Tis like the unfortunate abandoned by his friends, who, however, continue to hang around him, though more to impede his way than to retrieve his fortunes! And there lay the Spankaway, with her long line of taper spars reversed, their heads in the water, and their heels uppermost; and, as if in mockery of the mishap, the beautiful bright moon showed their diminished shadows on the again smooth surface of the ocean. The squall had passed far away to leeward, and was dwindling to a mere speck of silvery vapour, whilst all besides was still, and calm, and passionless.

Now it was no pleasant sight to Lord Eustace Dash and his officers to witness the dismantling of the craft they loved; and, as the chief, it may be naturally supposed that the chagrin of his lordship far exceeded that of his subs: but there was one amongst them almost affected to tears, and that was old Will Parallel, the master.

"Smack smooth to the lower caps, by ----!" said his lordship, as he surveyed the havoc made in his dashing frigate; "not a rope-yarn above the lower mast-heads, and--"

"Not a bit of canvass abroad big enough to make a clout for a babby," chimed in the old master; "spanker, jib, topsels all gone to the devil, as 'll have no more manner o' use for 'em than a serjeant of jollies has for a hand-bible."

"Where's Mr. ----?" shouted his lordship, and the master's mate who had had charge of the deck stood before him. "How came all this, sir?"

"It was a white squall, my lord," returned the young man addressed; "not a soul saw it till it caught the ship, and the topmasts went over the side immediately."

"I shall inquire into the fact presently, sir," rejoined his lordship, excessively vexed and mortified. "Turn the hands up--clear the wreck!"

"Hands up--clear the wreck!" shouted the first lieutenant.

"Hands up--clear the wreck!" repeated the master's mate.

"Boatswain's mate, pipe 'Clear the wreck!'" reiterated the midshipmen. "Twhit! twhit!" went the call; and, "Clear wreck, a-hoy!" vociferated Jack Sheavehole, in a voice resembling the roar of the bellows of an anchor-forge. The summons, however, was hardly necessary, as every soul had _tumbled_ up at the moment the frigate righted; and all turned to with a hearty goodwill to repair damages, every officer and man using his best exertions.

"The squall spoilt our fun, master," said the first lieutenant to old Parallel, as the latter was superintending the preparations for unrigging the old, and rigging the new spare topmasts.

"Ay! ay! 'twas an onfortunate _blow_ to the harmony of the evening; but it will do for an incident for Nugent," responded the veteran. "Where's his fine lady curtcheying to herself in a mirror now? If he had stuck to plain matter-of-fact, mayhap the spars would have behaved better; though, arter all, it's a marcy they were so carroty, or mayhap her ladyship might have curtcheyed so low as to have gone to the bottom."

That night was a night of arduous but light-hearted toil; no man shrunk from his task; and, when they piped to breakfast next morning, the frigate was once more all ataunt'o, with royals and studding-sails set, in chase of a large ship of warlike appearance that was seen in the north-west, running away large, apparently bound in for Toulon.

"Foretopsel-yard, there!" shouted Lord Eustace, from the quarter-deck. "What do you make of her, Mr. Nugent?"

"She's nearly end on, my lord," responded the young lieutenant, as, steadying himself by the topsail-tie, he directed his glass towards the stranger; and then, in a few minutes, added, "She spreads a broad cloth, my lord; and, from the cut of her canvass, I should most certainly say----" and he paused to take another look.

"I'd take my daffy on it, Mr. Nugent," said the look-out man, "her topsels are more hollowed out than ourn; her royals never came out of a British dock-yard; and I'd bet my six months' whack again a scupper-nail that she's a Frenchman, and a large frigate too."

"Well, what is she, Nugent?" shouted the noble captain. "Can you see down to her courses!"

"Yes, my lord," responded the lieutenant; "we shall, I hope, have her hull in sight before long, as I have no hesitation in saying--that is, my lord, I think she's an enemy frigate."

This annunciation was heard fore and aft; for, during the time of his lordship hailing, every whisper was hushed, and scarcely even a limb moved, lest the listener should lose the replies. Expectations had been raised that the vessel in sight might be a French transport, from the Egyptian coast, or perhaps a merchantman; but the chance of an enemy's frigate was indeed joyous news. Breakfast was hastily despatched; the mess-kits were speedily stowed away, and the boatswain's shrill call echoed amongst the canvass as he piped "Make sail, ahoy!" In an instant every man was at his station; every yard of cloth that could catch a breath of wind was packed upon the Spankaway, who seemed to glide along through the water just as easy as when she first started from the buttered slips. Indeed, Jack Sheavehole declared that "she wur all the better for the spree she'd had the night afore."

An exciting period is the time of chase, and it is extremely interesting to observe the anxious looks of the officers as they eye the trim of the sails, and the ready attention of the tars as they execute the most minute command, as if everything depended on their own individual exertions. The usual routine of duty frequently gives place to the all-absorbing stimulus which actuates every mind alike; and, as the seamen group themselves together, they spin their yarns of battles and captures, and calculate their share of the amount of prize-money before they engage the enemy, totally regardless of the advice in the "Cook's Oracle," viz. "First catch an eel, and then skin him." But what have they to do with the "Cook's Oracle," when every man is by rotation cook of the mess in his own natural right, and "gets the plush (overplus) of grog?"

All day the chase continued; and the Spankaway overhauled the stranger so as materially to lessen the distance between them: in fact, her hull could be plainly discerned from the deck, and there was no longer any doubt of her national character. In the afternoon permission was given to take the hammocks below, but not a man availed himself of it; they were therefore re-stowed in readiness for that engagement which all hearts were eager for, all hands itching to begin. Evening closed in, and keen eyes were employed to keep sight of the enemy. The men lay down at their quarters; some to take a nigger's sleep,--one eye shut and the other open; some to converse in good audible whispers; some leaning out at the ports, and watching the moonbeams reflected on the waters, whilst the hissing and chattering noise made by the progress of the ship was sweet music to their ears.

It was a lovely night for contemplation,--but what did Jack want with contemplation whilst an enemy's frigate was in sight? The breeze was light enough to please a lady,--it would have scarcely vibrated the cords of an Æolian lyre: but this was not the breeze for our honest tars; they wanted to hear the gale thrilling through the harpstrings of the standing rigging, with a running accompaniment of deep bass from the ocean, as their counter, set in sea, trebled the piping noise of the wind. Yet there was one satisfaction; the Frenchman had no more than themselves, and they carried every fresh capful along with them before it reached the chase. The full round moon tried her best endeavour to make her borrowed radiance equally as luminous as that of the glorious orb which so generously granted the loan, with only one provision, that a certain rate of interest should be paid to the earth; but the old girl on this night tried to sport the principal. The waters were lucidly clear, and the mimic waves on its surface would scarcely have been a rough sea to that model of a Dutch dogger--a walnut-shell. Yet the Spankaway was stealing along some seven knots an hour, and the sails just slept a dreamer's sleep.

On the forecastle--that post of honour to a seaman, where the tallest and the best of Britain's pride are always to be found--men who can take the weather-wheel, heave the lead, splice a cable, or furl a foresail,--the A. B.'s of the royal navy,--on the forecastle, just in amidships, before the mast, sat our old friend, Jack Sheavehole, Sam Slick, the ship's tailor, Joe Nighthead, Mungo Pearl, a negro captain of the sweepers, Jemmy Ducks, the poulterer, Bob Martingal, a forecastleman, and several others, who were stationed at the foremost guns.

"I just tell you what it is, Jack," said Bob Martingal, continuing a dispute that had arisen, "I tell you what it is; some on you is as onbelieving as that 'ere Jew as they've legged down so much again, and who, they say, is working a traverse all over the world to this very hour, with a billy-goat's beard afore him as long as a chafing mat. But, take care, my boyo, you arn't conwincetecated some o' these here odd times, when you least expects it."

"Onbelieving about what, Bob?" responded the boatswain's mate. "Onbelieving 'cause we don't hoist in all your precious tough yarns as 'ud raise a fellow's hair on eend, and make his head look a mainshroud dead-eye stuck round with marlin'-spikes?"

"Or a cushionful of pins," chimed in Sam Slick.

"Or a duck with his tail up," added the poulterer.

"Hould your precious tongues, you lubbers!--what should you know about the build and rig of a devil's own craft? retorted Bob, addressing the two officials. "My messmate here, and that's ould Jack, has got a good and nat'ral right to calculate the jometry of the thing, seeing as he has sarved his life to the ocean, man and boy, and knows an eyelet-hole from a goose's gun-room, which, I take it, is more nor both on you together can diskiver either in the twist of a button-catcher or the drawing of a pullet. But I'm saying, Jack, you are onbelieving,--else why do you misdoubt the woracity of my reckoning."

"'Cause you pitches it too strong, Bob," answered the boatswain's mate; "your reck'ning is summut like ould Blowhard's, as keeps the Duncan's Head at Castle-rag,--chalks two for one. Spin your yarns to the marines, Bob; they'll always believe you. Cause why?--they expects you'll just hould on by their monkey-tails in return."

"Monkey-tails or no monkey-tails arn't the question," returned Bob with some warmth; "it's the devil's tail as I'm veering away upon, and----"

"I'm blessed if it won't bring you up all standing with a roundturn round your neck some o' these here days," uttered Jack, interrupting him.

"Never mind that," returned Bob with a knowing shake of the head; "I shall uncoil it again, if he arn't got the king's broad arrow on the end on it. But mayhap, then, you won't believe as there is such a justice o' peace as ould Davy?"

"Do I believe my catechiz as I forgot long ago?" responded old Jack. "Why, yes, messmate, I wooll believe that there is a consarn o' the kind; but not such a justice o' peace as you'd make of him, rigged out in one o' your 'long-shore clargy's sky-scraper shovel-nosed trucks, leather breeches, and top-boots! I tell you it won't do, Bob, in the regard o' the jography o' the matter. Why, where the h--is he to coil away his outrigger in a pair of tight leather rudder casings over his starn? Ax the tailor there whether it arn't onpossible. And how could he keep top-boots on to his d--d onprincipled shanks, as are no better in the fashion of their cut than a couple of cow's trotters? And what single truck would fit two mast-heads at once, seeing as he al'ays carries a pair of horns as big as a bull's. No, no, Bob; you wants to make a gentleman of the picarooning wagabone, when everybody as knows anything about him knows he's a thundering blagguard, as my ould captain, Sir Joseph Y--ke, used to say in one of his beautiful sarmons, 'he goes cruising about seeking to devour a roaring lion,' and that's no child's play anyhow! But, howsomever, a yarn's a yarn, ould chap; so lather-away with your oak stick: I'll hoist in all I can, just to confar a favour on you; and, as for the rest, why I'll let it go by the run."

"I must crave permission to put in a word, since I have been professionally appealed to," said Sam Slick with becoming gravity, and smoothing down the nap of his sleeping-jacket. "With respect to the breeches,--wash-leather, after they have been worn for some time, will give and stretch, and----"

"Come, none o' your stretching, Sam," chimed in Jemmy Ducks. "What you've got to show is, whether you can stow a cable in a hen-coop."

"Not exactly," returned Sam; "for I'm sure Mister Sheavehole must allow that the capacity and capability of a pair of leather breeches----"

"I shan't never allow no such consarns as them 'ere!" exclaimed Jack. "Do, Bob, get on with your yarn, and clap a stopper on the lubber's jawing-gear."

"Well, since you've put me upon it by misdoubting my woracity," said Bob, "why, I'll up and tell you a thing or two. Which on you has ever been down to Baltimore?"

"I have," returned a forecastleman, impatient to wedge in a word or two. "I was there onest in a ship transport, and our jolly-boat broke adrift in the night, and went ashore without leave; and so, next morning, we sees her lying on the beach all alone, as if she'd been a liberty-boy hard up in the regard o' the whiskey. And so the second mate and a party goes to launch her: but some wild Ingines, only they warn't quite black, came down, and wouldn't let us lay a finger on her till we'd paid summut for hauling her up, which was all nat'ral in course; but the second mate hadn't never got not a single copper whatsomever about him, and so he orders us to launch her whether or no, Tom Collins; and, my eyes! but they did kick up a shindy, jabbering in a lingo like double Dutch coiled again the sun; and says one on 'em, seeing as we were man-handling the boat, says he, 'Arrah, Tim, call to de boys to bring down de shticks---- '"

"You means Baltimore in Ireland," uttered Bob, with some degree of contempt, "and I means Baltimore in the United States o' Maryland, where the river runs along about three leagues out of Chesapeake Bay,--and a pretty place it is too of a Saturday night for a bit of a John Canooing, and a bite of pigtail, letting alone the grog and the gals----"

"Which you never did, Bob, I'll be sworn," said Jack laughing.

"Never did what, Jack?" asked the other, apparently surprised at the positive assertion.

"Why, let the grog and the gals alone, God A'mighty bless both on 'em!" replied the boatswain's mate; "but heave a-head, my hearty."

Bob gave a self-satisfied grin, and proceeded. "Why, d'ye mind, I'd been fool enough to grease my heels from a hooker,--no matter whatsomever her name might be or where she sailed from, seeing as she carried a coach-whip at her main-truck and a rogue's yarn in her standing and running gear. But I was young and foolish, and my brains hadn't come to their proper growth; and one o' your land-sharks had got a grip o' me; and there I was a-capering ashore, and jumping about like a ring-tail monkey over a hot plantain; and so I brings up at the sign of the General Washingtub, and there used to be a lot of outrageous tarnation swankers meet there for a night's spree,--fellows as carried bright marlin'-spikes in their pockets for toothpicks, and what not, and sported Spanish dollars on their jackets for buttons. They belonged to a craft as laid in the harbour,--a reg'lar clipper, all legs and wings: she had a white cherry-bum for a figure-head; ounly there was a couple o' grease-horns sprouting out on the forehead, and she was as pretty a piece of timber upon the water as ever was modelled by the hand of the devil."

"Why, how do you know who moulded her frame, Bob?" inquired Jack provokingly. "It might have been some honest man's son, instead of the ould chap as you mentions. But if any one sees a beautiful hooker that's more beautifuller nor another, then she's logged down as the devil's own build, and rigged by the captain of the sweepers."

"Wharra you mean by dat, Massa Jack?" exclaimed Mungo Pearl, who held that honourable station, and felt his dignity offended by the allusion; "wharra you mean by dat, eh?"

"Just shut your black-hole," answered Jack with a knowing look; "don't the ould witches ride upon birch-brooms, and sweep through the air,--and arn't the devil their commander-in-chief? Well, then, in course he is captain o' the sweepers. But go along, Bob. I'll lay my allowance o' grog to-morrow she was painted black."

"Well, so she was, Jack," responded Martingal, "all but a narrow fiery red ribbon round her sides, as looked for all the world like a flash o' lightning darting out of a thunder-cloud; and her name was the In-fun-oh (Infernaux), but I'm d--d if there was any fun in the consarn arter all. Well, d'ye see, the hands were a jolly jovial set, with dollars as plentiful as boys' dumps, and they pitched 'em away at the lucky, and made all sneer again. The skipper was a civil-spoken gentleman, with a goodish-sized ugly figure-head of his own, one eye kivered over with a black patch, and the other summut like a stale mackerel's; but it never laid still, and was al'ays sluing round and round, 'cause it had to do double duty. Still he was a pleasantish sort of a chap, and had such a 'ticing way with him, that when he axed me to ship in the craft, I'm blow'd if I could say 'No,' though I felt summut dubersome about the consarn; and the more in regard of an ould tar telling me the black patch was all a sham, but he was obliged to kiver the eye up, 'cause it was a ball o' fire as looked like a glowing cinder in a fresh breeze. He'd sailed with him a voyage or two, and he swore that he had often seen the skipper clap his cigar under the false port and light it by his eye; and one night in a gale o' wind, when the binnacle-lamp couldn't be kept burning, he steered the ship a straight course by the compass from the brightness of his eye upon the card. Howsomever, I didn't much heed to all that 'ere, seeing as I knowed how to spin a tough yarn myself: and then there was the grog and the shiners, a sweet ship and civil dealing; and I'll just ax what's the use o' being nice about owners, as long as you do what's right and ship-shape? 'Still, messmate,' thinks I to myself, 'it's best not to be too much in a hurry;' so I backs and fills, just dropping with the tide of inclination, and now and then letting go the kedge o' contradiction to swing off from the shore; and at last I tould him 'I'd let him know next day.' Well, I goes to the ould tar as I mentioned afore, and I tells him all about it. 'Don't go for to sign articles in no such a craft as that 'ere,' says he in a moloncholy way.--'Why not?' says I, quite gleesome and careless, though there was a summut that comothered me all over when he spoke.--'I mustn't tell you,' says he; 'but take my advice, and never set foot on board a craft that arn't got no 'sponsible owners,' says he.--'You must tell me more nor that,' says I, 'or you may as well tell me nothing. You've been to sea in her, and are safe enough; why shouldn't I?'--'I advise you for your good,' says he again, all fatherlike and gently; 'you can do as you please. You talk of my safety,' and he looked cautiously round him; 'but it's the parsen as has done it for me.'--'Oh! I see how the land lies,' says I; 'you're a bit of a methodish, and so strained the yarns o' your conscience, 'cause you made a trip to the coast o' Guinea for black wool.'--He shook his head: 'Black wool, indeed,' says he; 'but no man as knows what I knows would ever lay hand to sheet home a topsel for a commander who----' and he brought up his speech all standing.--'Who what?' axes I; but he wouldn't answer: and so, being a little hopstropulous in my mind, and willing to try the hooker, 'It's no matter,' says I, 'I'll have a shy at her if I loses my beaver. No man can expect to have the devil's luck and his own too.'--'That's it!' says he, starting out like a dogvane in a sudden puff.--'That's what?' axes I.--'The devil's luck!' says he: 'don't go for to ship in that craft. She's handsome to look at; but, like a painted scullerpar, or sea-poll-ker, or some such name, she's full o' dead men's bones.'--'Gammon!' says I boldly with my tongue, though I must own, shipmates, there was summut of a flusteration in my heart as made me rather timbersome; 'Gammon!' says I, 'what 'ud they do with such a cargo even in a slaver?'--'I sees you're wilful,' says he angrily; 'but log this down in your memory: if you do ship in that 'ere craft, you'll be d--d!'--'Then I'll be d--d if I don't:' says I, 'and so, ould crusty-gripes, here goes;' and away I started down to one of the keys just to take a look at her afore I entered woluntary; and there she lay snoozing as quiet as a cat on a hearth-rug, or a mouse in the caulker's oakum. Below, she was as black as the ace o' spades, and almost as sharp in the nose; but, aloft, her white tapering spars showed like a delicate lady's fingers in silk-net gloves----"

"Or holding a skein of silk," chimed in Sam Slick.

"Well, shipmates," continued Bob; "whilst I was taking a pretty long eye-drift over her hull and rigging, and casting my thoughts about the skipper, somebody taps me on the arm, and when I slued round, there he was himself, _in properer personnee_; and, 'Think o' the devil,' says I, 'and he's over your shoulder, saving your honour's presence, and I hopes no offence.' Well, I'm blessed but his eye--that's his onkivered one, messmates--twinkled and scaled over dark again, just for all the world like a revolving light, and 'Not no offence at all, my man,' says he; 'it's al'ays best to be plain-spoken in such consarns; we shall know one another better by-and-by. But how do you like the ship?'--'She's a sweet craft, your honour,' says I; 'and I should have no objection to a good berth on board her, provided we can come to reg'lar agreement.'--'We shall not quarrel, I dare say, my man,' says he, quite cool and insinivating; 'my people never grumble with their wages, and you see yourself they wants for nothing.'--'All well and good, your honour,' says I; 'and, to make short of the long of it, Bob Martingal's your own.' Well, his eye twinkled again, and there seemed to be such a heaving and setting just under the tails of his long togs, and a sort o' rustling down one leg of his trousers, that blow me if I could tell what to make on it; and 'I knew you'd be mine,' says he: 'we shall go to sea in the morning, so you'd better get your traps aboard as soon as possible.' Well, messmates, I bids him good morning; but, thinks I to myself, I'll just take a bit of a overhaul of the craft afore I brings my duds aboard; and so, jumping into a punt, a black fellow pulls me alongside, and away I goes on to the deck, and there the first person I seed was the skipper. How he came there was a puzzler, for d--the boat had left the key but our own since we parted a few minutes afore. 'And now, Bob,' says he, 'I suppose you are ready to sign.'--'All in good time, your honour,' says I. 'You're aboard afore me, but I'm blessed if I seed you come.'--'It warn't necessary you should,' says he; 'my boat travels quick, my man, and makes short miles.'--'All's the same for that, your honour,' says I, 'whether you man your barge or float off on the anchor-stock--it's all as one to Bob.'--'You're a 'cute lad,' says he, twinkling his eye, 'and must rise in the sarvice. Go below and visit your future shipmates.'--'Thanky, your honour,' says I, and down the hatchway I goes; and there were the messes, with fids o' roast beef and boiled yams in shining silver platters, with silver spoons, and bottles o' wine, all in grand style, as quite comflogisticated me; and 'What cheer--what cheer, shipmate?' says they; and then they axed me to take some grub with 'em, which in course I did. She'd a noble 'tween decks,--broad in the beam, with plenty o' room to swing hammocks; but, instead of finding ounly twenty hands, I'm blowed if there warn't more nor a hundred. So arter I'd had a good tuck-out, I goes on deck again and looks about me. She was a corvette, flush fore and aft, with a tier of port-holes, but ounly six guns mounted; and never even in a man-o'-war did I see everything so snug and neat. 'Well, your honour, I'm ready to sign articles,' says I.--'Very good,' says he; and down we goes into the cabin; and, my eyes! but there was a set-out,--gold candlesticks and lamps, and large silver figures, like young himps, and clear looking-glasses, and silk curtains, and handsome sofas; and there upon one on 'em sat a beautiful young creatur, with such a pair of large full eyes as blue as the sky, and white flaxen hair that hung like fleecy clouds about her forehead,--it made a fellow think of heaven and the angels: but she never smiled, shipmates,--there was a moloncholy about the lower part of her face as showed she warn't by no manner o' means happy; and whilst the skipper was getting the articles out of the locker, she motioned to me, but I couldn't make out what she meant. The skipper did, though; for he turned round in a fury, and stamped on the cabin deck as he lifted up the black patch, and a stream of light for all the world like the glow of a furnace through a chink in a dark night fell upon her. He had his back to me, so I couldn't make out where the light came from; but the poor young lady gave a skreek and fell backard on the sofa. Now, messmates, I'd obsarved that when he stamped with his foot that it warn't at all like a nat'ral human stamp, for it came down more like the hoof of a horse or a box; and thinks I to myself, 'I'm d--, Bob, but you're in for it now; the skipper must be a devil of a fellow to use such a lovely creatur arter that fashion.'--'You're right, my man,' says he, grinning like one o' them faces on the cat-head, 'he _is_ a _devil_ of a fellow.'--'I never spoke not never a word, your honour,' says I, thrown all aback by the concussion. 'No, but you thought it,' says he; 'don't trouble yourself to deny it: tell lies to everybody else, if you pleases, but it's no use selling 'em to me.'--'God forbid, your--' I was going to say 'honour,' but he stopped me with another stamp, and 'Never speak that name in my presence again,' says he; 'if you do, it ull be the worse for you. Come and sign the articles.' My eyes! shipmates, but I was in a pretty conflobergasticationment; there stood the skipper, with a bright steel pen in his hand as looked like a doctor's lanchet, and there close by his side, upon her beam-ends, laid that lovely young creatur, the sparkling jewels in her dress mocking the wretchedness of her countenance. 'Are you ready?' says he; and his onkivered eye rolled round and round, and seemed to send out sparks through the friction. 'Not exactly, your honour,' says I, 'for I carn't write, in regard o' my having sprained both ankles, and got a twist in my knee-joint when I warn't much higher than a quart pot.'--'That's a lie, Bob,' says he; and so it was, messmates, for I thought I must make some excuse to save time. 'Howsomever,' says he, 'you can make your mark.'--Thinks I so myself, 'I would pretty soon, my tight un, if I had you ashore.'--'I know it,' says he; 'but you're aboard now, and so you may either sign or not, just as it suits your fancy, my man; ounly understand this--if you don't sign, you shall be clapped in irons, and fed upon iron hoops and scupper-nails for the next six months, and I wish you a good disgestion.'--'Thanky, your honour,' says I; 'and what if I do sign?'--'Why then,' says he, 'you shall live like a fighting-cock, and have as much suction as the Prince of Whales.' Well, shipmates, I was just like the Yankee's schooner when she got jammed atwixt two winds, and so I thought there could be no very great damage in making a scratch or two upon a bit o' parchment; and 'All right, your honour,' says I; 'hand us over the pen: but your honour hasn't got not never an inkstand.'--'That's none o' your business,' says he; 'if you are resolved to sign, I'll find materials.'--'Very good,' says I; 'I'll just make my mark.'--'Hould up!' says he to the young lady; and she scringed all together in a heap, and shut her large blue eyes as she held up a beautiful white round arm, bare up to the shoulder: it looked as solid and as firm as a piece of marble stationery."

"Statuary, you mean," said Sam Slick, interrupting the narrative. "But I say, Bob, do you expect us to believe all this?"

"I believes every word on it," asserted Jemmy Ducks, who had been attentively listening, with his mouth wide open to catch all that was uttered: "what can you find onnat'ral or dubersome about it? The skipper was no doubt a black-hearted nigger."

"Nigger yousef, Massa Jemmy Ducks," exclaimed Mungo Pearl; "d--you black heart for twist 'em poultry neck."

"Silence there in amidships," said Mr. Parallel: "you make so much noise that I can't keep my glass steady. Spin your yarns, Mr. Pearl, with your mouth shut, like an oyster;" and then, addressing the captain, "We rise her fast, my lord, and the breeze freshens: the ould beauty knows she's got some work cut out for her; she begins to smell garlic, and walks along like an ostrich on the stretch--legs and wings, and all in full play."

"What distance are we from Toulon?" inquired Lord Eustace, as he carefully and anxiously scanned the stranger through his glass.