"Do, Mr. Slaverlick, what is necessary and proper."

"Does any one of the boat's crew know the rights of this ridiculous business?" roared out the now terribly incensed first lieutenant. This was too open a beating-up for evidence to be mistaken even by the veriest dunce. So, thereupon, a lank-haired noodle who pulled one of the larboard oars, and mightily wished to creep into Mr. Slaverlick's good graces, stepped forward, and said, " as how he warn't by some ship's lengths within hail, when the a'm'ral said as Mr. Slaverlick was a fool, and thereby he couldn't say as how he said that 'ere; but he did hear sommat in explification."—" No other insult, I hope ?"—" No, sir, by no manners of ways. Lord love your honnor! it wasn't any thing like what Mr. Rattlin, begging his pardon, said—it was only"

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Only what?" said the eager lieutenant.

"Mr. Rattlin," said Sir Hominy Bloodyer, with solemn gravity, "you are in jeopardy. If you have reported falsely, you leave my ship."

"Only what?" repeated Mr. Slaverlick, his ugliness brightening into

hope.

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Why, sir, as the a'm'ral was bousing up his topping lifts, and making sail upon his hannimal, he says, says he, to the skipper alongside on him, The man who ordered these 'ere tarpaulins to be triced up on that 'ere wall, must be a more infernal ass than this 'ere beast that I'm a straddle on ;-nothing more than that, your honnor." "You may go down," said the mortified luff.

"Very singular conduct in the commander-in-chief," muttered Sir Hominy. "It cannot be necessary"-but before he had got to the word proper, he had withdrawn his presence from the longing eyes of his officers, and was undergoing the laborious process in his cabin of endeavouring to think. I presume enough of Sir Hominy's character is already understood to make it apparent that he possessed an excessive share of self-love, and that that self-love was sorely wounded by the slighting manner that his first lieutenant and prime sycophant had been treated by Sir Edward. He consequently sent for Mr. Slaverlick, and the result of their conference was, to send another midshipman on shore to take charge of the canvass, and poor Ralph himself on board the Caledonia, with a letter to the admiral, requesting to know if the said Ralph had not misunderstood, or wilfully misrepresented the message.

The poor midshipman was, merely as a foretaste of what was to come, ordered to the mast-head with his glass to watch the motions of the admiral, and report immediately when he was on the point of returning on board.

All this was duly performed; and, in the mean time, Sir Hominy, with the assistance of the chaplain, indited a polite, non-official note to Sir Edward, and made Rattlin the unwilling bearer.

With awe and trembling the poor little middy stood upon the vast quarterdeck of the Caledonia. The admiral was also there, in all the majesty of command. Ralph handed the document to the mate of the watch, who touched his hat, and handed it to the lieutenant, who lifted up his hat and handed it to the flag-captain, who took off his hat, and handed it to the commander-in-chief, who fell back from his circle of

officers with a slight bow, and broke the seal. All this etiquette would have infinitely delighted Sir Hominy.

Sir Edward read the letter, smiled, and, casting his eyes upon the rather uncomfortable Ralph Rattlin, beckoned to him, and walked into the cabin. This was a distinction for Ralph, that made him, for the moment, the envied of many. When the admiral had written his note, and had very kindly asked him after the health of Sir Hominy, Ralph felt so much reassured, that he was determined to put in a word for himself; and modestly, with a little hesitation, thus began:

"If you please, Sir Edward, I hope you will speak a word for me." How, my young friend?"

Why, Sir Edward, to stand between me and Mr. Slaverlick-because-because-when I took off your message, Sir Edward, I didn't

laugh."

"You didn't laugh, eh?" Then, patting me kindly on the head, he continued, "You were a good boy for not laughing;" and he then actually broke open his note, added a few words, and then dismissed me, with a most favourable impression of the goodness of his heart.

Ralph returned on board in much lighter spirits. He was ordered into Sir Hominy's cabin, with the admiral's answer, and Mr. Slaverlick was sent for. The captain read the letter three times in silence, and his round countenance looked a very labyrinth of puzzles. At length he

broke forth:

"Mr. Slaverlick, the commander-in-chief is jocular. You know, sir, I never joke-I never could understand a joke-a funny story now -but that's neither here nor there, Mr. Slaverlick. If the commanderin-chief is inclined to be jocular, no doubt it is very proper and necessary, because-because-he is commander-in-chief. He says in his letter to me--a kind and friendly letter-that he is inclined to believe that the tarpaulings will be found missing without leave before they are dry; but that he is inclined to interfere no further in the business-that -um! um !-if they should be found missing, the value must be stopped out of your pay, Mr. Slaverlick, which is quite proper and necessaryand-ah-that he likes-this lad-and that-good-to him-and that -so, Mr. Slaverlick, I shall take Rattlin under my especial protection -and you will be good enough never to punish him without consulting me; and, Rattlin, when you want to go on shore, ask me."

Exceedingly pleased with this, Ralph bowed himself out of the august presence.

Now, Mr. Slaverlick was immeasurably annoyed, and did not know how to act. He could not conceive of any accident happening to his darling tarpaulings, but he did not like the idea of paying for them in the event of their being lost; so he chose a middle course, not wishing to pronounce himself a fool by re-embarking the canvass at once; and yet afraid to leave it on shore all night, as he had previously intended to do; so he went down to dinner, resolving to send for them at dusk.

But dusk was too late. Whilst he was getting down his dinner, the wind was getting up-the hurricane came down from the mountains, howled round the corners of the monastery and amongst the desolate buildings of the village, and made the old Oaktub strain again as she rode with two cables on end.

"

It was utterly impossible that any boat could have lived through the surf that immediately got up on the beach. The tarpaulings, the boat's crew, and the marines, were left to shift for themselves during the night, which dreadfully annoyed Sir Hominy, who declared emphatically that it was neither necessary nor proper.

At length it became nearly dark; the captain, Mr. Slaverlick, and most of the officers, were standing on the poop, all anxiously looking towards the shore, which was no longer visible. The storm blew off from the land, trending a little along the coast; when all at once a heavy dark cloud seemed to descend from the rest of the flying host of vapours, and to come directly down upon the old Oaktub.

"What can this be, in the name of all that is dreadful?" cries one. "It is a water-spout," cries another.

It was nothing but about one thousand yards of blackened canvass, that the storm had whirled from off the walls of the convent, and which storm was kindly endeavouring to put on board the Oaktub without a boat. They missed the ship, however, and were never after heard of, but as making a dreadful large deduction in Mr. Slaverlick's pay.

"Well," said an antique quartermaster, hitching up his tarry trousers, "I have lived to see summut extraordinary-I have lived to see the old Oaktub riding out a gale of wind at single anchor, under a cloud of canvass, yet with never a sail set!"

The Old Admiral was right.

LINES TO MISS BLANCHE BURY.

BY MRS. C. B. WILSON.

THINE is a face of peerless loveliness!

A brow, once gaz'd on, ne'er to be forgot.

In the rich waving of each silken tress,

Lurk ambush'd cupids; scheming many a plot

T' entrap the heedless gazer with their wiles

Within Love's magic web, woven of sighs and smiles.

Thine is a form of matchless gracefulness!
Like the fair swan, walking the water's wide,
Calm, pure, and beautiful;-whom all confess

The next in port to loveliness allied;

Whose curved neck, and white unruffled wing,
Show like some sculptur'd form, of art's imagining.

Thine is a mind of maiden artlessness!
Unstain'd, undarken'd, by the dross of earth;
A soul, that thro' thine eyes' bright beams express
Thy nature e'en as noble as thy birth;

Whose ev'ry glance reflects the gem enshrin'd,
Worthy a form so fair ;-the diamond of the mind!

Lady! but once I've look'd upon thy face

In the world's crowd;-nor may behold it more:
Once seen, thy smile of innocence and grace
Must live in mem'ry, till its light is o'er;
And to my waking sense 'twill ever seem,

Like some fair seraph form, that haunts a poet's dream.
Jan.-VOL. LV. NO. CCXVII.

EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL KEPT DURING A RESIDENCE AT LITTLE PEDLINGTON.

YAWKINS'S SPLENDID ANNUAL.

July 16th.-WENT to Yawkins's, the eminent publisher and circulating-library-keeper, to purchase some pens and paper, tooth-brushes, and shaving-soap. Mr. Yawkins having attended to three customers, who had precedence of me, (serving one with a copy of his last new publication, the "Life and Times of Nix," another with a pot of pomatum, and a third with a volume of the latest new fashionable novel, entitled "Percy de Fitz-Belcourville; or, Champagne and Pine-apples,") he obligingly supplied my wants.

"Happy to say we shall be out to-morrow, sir," said Yawkins, whilst occupied in making up my purchases into a neat little packet.

"Out? Out of what? Paper, or tooth-brushes, or"

"Beg pardon, sir," said the great bibliopole, interrupting me; "you misunderstand me; not out of, but out with. To-morrow we shall be

out with our splendid Annual for the next year.

"You are early in the field, then," said I, "considering that we are now only in the middle of July."

Early, sir!" exclaimed Yawkins. "Lord bless you! The book is intended for a Christmas present, or new-year's gift, for the year to come. Early! no, no, sir; we are not positively late, and that is the best we can say of it. Flatter myself, however, I have given those scoundrels the go-by this time."

"What scoundrels?" inquired I," and what is the go-by?"

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Why, sir, the year before last, I announced that my Annual for Christmas would be published in November. What does that villain Snargate do, but publish his in October! In consequence of that, last year I was preparing to publish in September, when that rascal, Sniggerstone, gave his trumpery, would-be thing to the world in August. The vagabonds! However, I am beforehand with them this time, though" (added he, with a sigh) "it has put me to a world of extra trouble and expense to be so."

"But, if this race is to be continued, Mr. Yawkins, your rivals will, next year, publish their works in June, or May, or April; and then, what will you do?"

"Do, sir!" exclaimed Yawkins, looking absolutely ferocious, and striking the counter violently with his fist; "I'll out with my Annual twelve, nay, fifteen months before Christmas, but I'll distance all my rascally competitors, the villains! Sir, it was I who first published a thing of the kind, a pretty little book, quite good enough for its purpose, with two engravings, price only three shillings. No sooner was it found to succeed, than Snargate, in the most dishonest way, got up one a little bigger, with three plates, price half-a-crown. Of course, I could not allow such a proceeding to pass with impunity; so, next year, I came out bigger still, with four plates, and reduced my price to two shillings. Well, sir; wasn't that a hint-I may say, a very broad hint— which any respectable publisher would have taken ?"

"A hint of what, Mr. Yawkins?"

"Why, sir, that I was resolved to crush all competitors, and keep the field entirely to myself. But, no: that scoundrel Sniggerstone, in

the most dishonourable manner, in a manner the most atrocious and most iniquitous, comes out still bigger than me again, with six plates, and has the rascality to charge the public no more for his book than I for mine. Can you conceive any thing more infamous than this towards a brother publisher? However, sir, I think I have settled the business this time. My new Annual, sir, will be the largest ever seen, with twelve plates, and price only eighteen pence. No, no: I am not the man to be put down. Fair competition I have no objection to; but no one in Little Pedlington has a right to publish an Annual but me; and should those scoundrels persist in so doing, I'll ruin them or perish in the attempt."

As these last words were uttered in a tone of determination, and accompanied with a shaking of a clenched fist, the sincerity of Mr.Yawkins's intention could not be doubted.

"You will not issue your work to the public till to-morrow,” said I; "but" (this I added with hesitation and considerable diffidence)— "but might I request"

"I understand," said Yawkins (putting his forefinger to his lips, and slowly bending and again raising his head); "I understand: an early copy. But mum's the word."

Yawkins went to an inner room and instantly returned; triumphantly holding above his head a small volume (a duodecimo, I think it is called) bound in pea-green satin, and bedaubed over, that is to say, ornamented, with gold.

"What think you of this, sir?" exclaimed the publisher; at the same time turning the book about in various directions, so as to catch the light on every part of it. "There's a binding! I think I shall astonish Little Pedlington this time. Every person of any pretension to gentility must buy it, for no drawing-room can be complete without it.'

"Nor any library, I should hope?" said I, inquiringly.

What would have been Yawkins's reply, I know not; for it was prevented by a lady who came into the shop for a little bottle of lavenderwater. Having served his customer, he returned to me and resumed :

"The binding alone is worth the money, sir, to say nothing of twelve engravings, after pictures by all the first artists in the placethat is to say, Daubson; and all engraved by Scrape, the only man in the world fit to be named."

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Yet, if I recollect rightly, said I," you once told me that Mr. Scratch, who engraved for you the portrait of the late Captain Pomponius Nix, which embellishes the Life and Times' of that extraordinary man, was your finest engraver."

"Ay-true-yes-when I employed him he was; but it is all over with him; he can do nothing now fit to be looked at. He has taken to work for those fellows Sniggerstone and Snargate, and may do very well for them; but rely upon it, sir, my man Scrape is the only one."

"So much for the plates and the binding; but, to whom are you indebted for the literary portion of your work, Mr. Yawkins?"

"Sir, I am proud to say that I have enlisted under my banners all the beauty and fashion of Little Pedlington."

"And talent also?"

"Eighteen pence, if you please, sir," replied Yawkins, not evading