his chair. My name is Sawbridge, sir, and I am the first-lieutenant of the Harpy. Now, sir, you have your answer." Mr Sawbridge, who imagined that the name of the first-lieutenant would strike terror to a culprit midshipman, threw himself back in the chair and assumed an air of importance. 'Really, sir,' replied Jack, 'what may be your exact situation on board, my ignorance of the service will not allow me to guess, but if I may judge from your behaviour, you have no small opinion of yourself.' 'Look ye, young man, you may not know what a firstlieutenant is, and I take it for granted that you do not, by your behaviour; but depend upon it, I'll let you know very soon. In the meantime, sir, I insist upon it, that you go immediately on board.' 'I'm sorry that I cannot comply with your very moderate request,' replied Jack, coolly. 'I shall go on board when it suits my convenience, and I beg that you will give yourself no further trouble on my account.' Jack then rang the bell; the waiter, who had been listening outside, immediately entered, and before Mr Sawbridge, who was dumb with astonishment at Jack's impertinence, could have time to reply 'Waiter,' said Jack, 'show this gentleman downstairs.' 'By the god of war!' exclaimed the first-lieutenant, 'but I'll soon show you down to the boat, my young bantam; and when once I get you safe on board, I'll make you know the difference between a midshipman and a first-lieutenant.' 'I can only admit of equality, sir,' replied Jack; ‘we are all born equal-I trust you'll allow that.' 'Equality damn it, I suppose you'll take the command of the ship. However, sir, your ignorance will be a little enlightened by-and-by. I shall now go and report your conduct to Captain Wilson; and I tell you plainly that, if you are not on board this evening, tomorrow morning, at daylight, I shall send a sergeant and a file of marines to fetch you.' 'You may depend upon it, sir,' replied Jack, 'that I also shall not fail to mention to Captain Wilson that I consider you a very quarrelsome, impertinent fellow, and recommend him not to allow you to remain on board. It will be quite uncomfortable to be in the same ship with such an ungentlemanly bear.' 'He must be mad-quite mad,' exclaimed Sawbridge, whose astonishment even mastered his indignation. 'Mad as a March hare-by God!' 'No, sir,' replied Jack, 'I am not mad, but I am a philosopher.' ་ 'A what?' exclaimed Sawbridge. 'Damme, what next? Well, my joker, all the better for you; I shall put your philosophy to the proof.' 'It is for that very reason, sir,' replied Jack, 'that I have decided upon going to sea and if you do remain on board, I hope to argue the point with you, and make you a convert to the truth of equality and the rights of man.' 'By the Lord that made us both, I'll soon make you a convert to the thirty-six articles of war-that is, if you remain on board; but I shall now go to the captain and report your conduct, sir, and leave you to your dinner with what appetite you may.' 'Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you; but you need not be afraid of my appetite; I am only sorry, as you happen to belong to the same ship, that I cannot, in justice to the gentlemanly young men whom I expect, ask you to join them. I wish you a very good morning, sir.' 'Twenty years have I been in the service,' roared Sawbridge, and, damme, but he's mad-down right, stark, staring mad.' And the first-lieutenant bounced out of the room. Jack was a little astonished himself. Had Mr Sawbridge made his appearance in uniform it might have been different, but that a plain-looking man, with black whiskers, shaggy hair, and old blue frock-coat and yellow casimere waistcoat, should venture to address him in such a manner was quite incomprehensible. He calls me mad,' thought Jack; 'I shall tell Captain Wilson what is my opinion about his lieutenant.' Shortly afterwards the company arrived, and Jack soon forgot all about it. In the meantime Sawbridge called at the captain's lodgings, and found him at home: he made a very faithful report of all that had happened, and concluded his request by demanding, in great wrath, either an instant dismissal or a court-martial on our hero, Jack. (From Mr Midshipman Easy.) Cheeks and his Captain. 'Well, Mr Cheeks, what are the carpenters about?' 'Weston and Smallbridge are going on with the chairs -the whole of them will be finished to-morrow.' 'Well?'-'Smith is about the chest of drawers, to match the one in my Lady Capperbar's bedroom.' 'Very good. And what is Hilton about?'-'He has finished the spare leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second-lieutenant.' A job for the second-lieutenant, sir! How often have I told you, Mr Cheeks, that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship's duty, without my special permission !'-' His standing bed-place is broken, sir; he is only getting out a chock or two.' 'Mr Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. By the bye, sir, I understand you were not sober last night. Please your honour,' replied the carpenter, 'I wasn't drunk-I was only a little fresh.' 'Take you care, Mr Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about?'-'Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jib-boom; I've saved the heel to return.' 'Very well; but there won't be enough, will there?' 'No, sir; it will take a hand-mast to finish the whole.' 'Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top-mast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now let me see-oh, the painters must go on shore to finish the attics.' 'Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jeal owsees to he painted vermilion; she says it will look more rural.'' Mrs Capperbar ought to know enough about ship's stores by this time to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can't afford it. What are the rest of the men about?'-' Repairing the second cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.' 'By the bye-that puts me in mind of it-have you expended any boat's masts?'-' Only the one carried away, sir.' 'Then you must expend two more. Mrs C. has just sent me off a list of a few things that she wishes made while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for clotheslines. Saw off the sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles-you know how I mean?' 'Yes, sir. What am I to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capperbar says that she must have it, and I haven't glass enough. They grumbled at the yard last time.'-' Mrs C. must wait a little. What are the armourers about?' They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad condition. The first-lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.' 'Who dares say that?'-' The first-lieutenant, sir.' 'Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and we'll get the forge up.' 'The armourer has made six rakes and six hoes, and the two little hoes for the children; but he says that he can't make a spade.' 'Then I'll take his warrant away, by heavens ! since he does not know his duty. That will do, Mr Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor this time; but take care. Send the boatswain to me.' William Nugent Glascock (1787-1847) served with credit in the navy from 1800 till the year of his death, with long intervals of half-pay, during which he produced many good pictures of maritime life and adventures, based largely on his varied experiences afloat in the Baltic and the Mediterranean, off Portugal, Newfoundland, and the West Indies. The Naval Sketch-Book (1826), Sailors and Saints (1829), Tales of a Tar (1836), Land Sharks and Sea Gulls (1838), are all genuine tales of the sea, and display a hearty comic humour, a rich phraseology, and a cordial contempt for regularity of plot. Captain Glascock's Naval Service, or Officer's Manual, passed through several editions, and translated was used in the French, Russian, Swedish, and Turkish services. Edward Howard, a naval lieutenant who died still a comparatively young man in 1841, was a shipmate of Marryat's, and his sub-editor on the Metropolitan Magazine; and was the author of Rattlin the Reefer (1836), a capital sea-story sometimes published with Marryat's works, and wrongly attributed to Marryat, who was said to have edited it. It was very well received, and was followed by Outward Bound, Jack Ashore, Sir Henry Morgan the Buccaneer, and other stories. Several of these are better managed as to fable, particularly Outward Bound, but have not the same breadth of humour as Captain Glascock's novels. He ventured also on a poem, The Centiad (1841). Tom Hood, on whose staff in the New Monthly he served, spoke warmly of his work, and said Howard 'had just felt the true use of his powers when he was called to resign them.' Frederick Chamier (1796-1870) served in the navy from 1809 till 1827, and then produced, in imitation of Marryat, The Life of a Sailor (1832), Ben Brace, The Arethusa, Jack Adams, and Tom Bowling (1841), stories which for a time were very popular, and were mostly reprinted as recently as 1881-90. Count Königsmark (1845) was a historical romance. Captain Chamier continued James's Naval History, recorded his experiences of the French Revolution of 1848, and published in 1855 a painfully facetious book of travels in France, Switzerland, and Italy. Charles Wentworth Dilke (1789-1864), editor of the Athenæum, served twenty years in the Navy Pay-Office, and on retiring with a pension devoted himself wholly to literary occupations. He had long been a zealous student of literature, had in 1814-16 edited a continuation of Dodsley's 'old plays,' and had contributed much to the magazines and reviews, especially to the Retrospective. In 1829 he became part-proprietor of the Athenæum (founded by Silk Buckingham in 1828, and owned for a few months by John Sterling and others), and speedily became its supreme and highly effective editor. He soon had Charles Lamb, Tom Hood, Leigh Hunt, Allan Cunningham, Barry Cornwall, Chorley, and George Darley on his staff or amongst his contributors, and from abroad-an innovation in English journalism-he enlisted the services of Sainte-Beuve and Jules Janin. To ensure perfect impartiality, the editor withdrew from general society, saw as little as possible of authors and publishers, and so long as he edited the paper did not himself contribute to its columns. He resigned the editorial charge in 1846, for three years edited the Daily News, and now began to contribute to the Athenæum the famous articles on Junius, Pope Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Burke, Wilkes, and Peter Pindar, which were published as The Papers of a Critic by Dilke's grandson, Sir Charles, in 1875. Dr Carruthers, who did not wholly agree with him, said that the personal history of Pope was never properly understood till it was taken up by Mr Dilke;' and his views were substantially adopted by Mr Elwin and Mr Courthope in the magistral edition. Dilke's contribution to the Junius controversy, mainly destructive of current theories, was the most important that had been made. Thomas Keightley (1789-1872), born in Dublin and educated at Trinity College, settled in London in 1824 as a writer of books, and published a series of histories of Greece, Rome, and England, long used as school manuals; books on the Greek War of Independence and on the Crusades; notes to Virgil and Horace; a Life of Milton and an edition of his works. His Fairy Mythology (1850) is, however, by far his most important work, and is still useful, though, like all books of that date dealing with folklore, it must be read with a certain caution. William Maginn (1793–1842) was one of the wittiest, most accomplished, and versatile writers of his time in prose and verse, but has left little permanent memorial of his genius or acquirements. He was born at Cork, was educated at Trinity College, Dublin, assisted his father in conducting an academy in his native city, and in 1816 (not in 1819, as is usually said) was made LL.D. by his alma mater. It was in 1819 that he began to write for Blackwood's Magazine. His papers were lively, learned, often abusive, and sometimes libellous; he was a keen political partisan, a Tory of the old Orange stamp, who gave no quarter to an opponent. At the same time there was so much scholarly wit and literary power about Maginn's contributions that all parties read and admired him. For nine years he was one of the most constant writers in Blackwood, and his Odoherty papers (prose and verse) were eagerly welcomed. He had removed to London in 1823, and adopted literature as a profession. In 1824 John Murray the publisher commenced a daily newspaper, The Representative; and Maginn was engaged as Paris correspondent. His residence in France was short; the Representative soon collapsed, and Maginn returned to London to 'spin his daily bread out of his brains.' He was associated with Dr Stanley Lees Giffard in conducting the Standard newspaper, and when Fraser's Magazine was established in 1830, he became one of its chief literary supporters, contributing thereto the famous 'Gallery of Literary Characters,' illustrated by Maclise; probably neither Thackeray nor Carlyle did as much for the popularity of Fraser as Maginn did. One article in this periodical (1836), a review of the poor novel of Berkeley Castle, led to a hostile meeting between Maginn and its author, the Hon. Grantley Berkeley. Mr Berkeley had brutally assaulted Fraser, the publisher of the offensive criticism, when Maginn wrote to him, declaring that he was the authorhence the challenge and the duel. The parties exchanged shots thrice, Maginn being slightly wounded. Maginn's life, literary and personal, became very irregular; intemperance gained upon him; the indisputable original of Thackeray's 'Captain Shandon,' he was often arrested and in jail; but his good-humour seems never to have forsaken him. His burlesque review of Southey's Doctor was called 'a farrago of Rabelaisian wit and learning'-a description that applies to a good Ideal of his work. He wrote a series of really admirable Shakespeare papers for Blackwood in 1837, and in the following year he commenced a series of sixteen Homeric ballads. In 1842 he was again in prison, and his health gave way. One of his friends wrote to Sir Robert Peel, describing the lamentable condition of the decayed wit, and the minister sent him £100, which Maginn did not live to receive. He died a discharged but insolvent debtor at Walton-on-Thames. The esteem in which he was held by his contemporaries may be gathered from the so-called epitaph on him by Lockhart-or, rather, the genial elegy: Here, early to bed, lies kind WILLIAM MAGINN, For your Tories his fine Irish brains he would spin, Persaeus ex Northumbria Vovebat dîs iratis, Venare inter dies tres In montibus Cheviatis, Contemtis forti Douglaso Et omnibus cognatis. Byron and Campbell are treated only less contemptuously in several articles than are Keats and Shelley, as types of the Cockney school; the Thus kindly I scatter Thy globe o'er the street, In a not unjustified protest against the acceptance of Irish songs manufactured for the English market, he comments on the rhyming of 'girls' and 'bells: ' 'The rhyme here marks this brute [the author] to be a bestial Cockney.' The Berkeley Castle review not merely calls the novel 'in conception the most impertinent, in execution about the stupidest it has ever been our misfortune to read,' and comments on its 'horribly vulgar and ungrammatical writing;' but on the moral side speaks of 'looseness and dirt' and 'these bestialities towards the ladies of England;' asks (by name) the peer to whose wife the novel was dedicated if he could not borrow a horsewhip to avenge such an insult; and to emphasise the bad taste of the author's family pride in naming the novel, dwells on the fact that the author's mother lived with his father as his mistress before she was married to him. From 'Bob Burke's Duel.' The day of that hunt was the very day that led to my duel with Brady. He was a long, straddling, waddlemouthed chap, who had no more notion of riding a hunt than a rhinoceros. He was mounted on a showyenough-looking mare, which had been nerved by Rodolphus Bootiman, the horse-doctor, and though "a good 'un to look at, was a rum 'un to go;" and before she was nerved, all the work had been taken out of her by long Lanty Philpot, who sold her to Brady after dinner for fifty pounds, she being not worth twenty in her best day, and Brady giving his bill at three months for the fifty. My friend the ensign was no judge of a horse, and the event showed that my cousin Lanty was no judge of a bill-not a cross of the fifty having been paid from that day to this, and it is out of the question now, it being long past the statute of limitations, to say nothing of Brady having since twice taken the benefit of the Act. So both parties jockeyed one another, having that pleasure, which must do them instead of profit. 'She was a bay chestnut, and nothing would do Brady but he must run her at a little gap which Miss Dosy was going to clear, in order to show his gallantry and agility; and certainly I must do him the credit to say that he did get his mare on the gap, which was no small feat, but there she broke down, and off went Brady, neck and crop, into as fine a pool of stagnant green mud as you would ever wish to see. He was ducked regularly in it, and he came out, if not in the jacket, yet in the colours, of the Rifle Brigade, looking rueful enough at his misfortune, as you may suppose. But he had not much time to think of the figure he cut, for before he could well get up, who should come right slap over him but Miss Dosy herself upon Tom the Devil, having cleared the gap and a yard beyond the pool in fine style. Brady ducked, and escaped the horse, a little fresh daubing being of less consequence than the knocking out of his brains, if he had any; but he did not escape a smart rap from a stone which one of Tom's heels flung back with such unlucky accuracy as to hit Brady right in the mouth, knocking out one of his eye-teeth (which I do not recollect). Brady clapped his hand to his mouth, and bawled, as any man might do in such a case, so loud that Miss Dosy checked Tom for a minute, to turn round, and there she saw him making the most horrid faces in the world, his mouth streaming blood, and himself painted green from head to foot with as pretty a coat of shining slime as was to be found in the province of Munster. "That's the gentleman you just leapt over, Miss Dosy," said I, for I had joined her, "and he seems to be in some confusion.” “I am sorry," said she, “Bob, that I should have in any way offended him or any other gentleman by leaping over him, but I can't wait now. Take him my compliments, and tell him I should be happy to see him at tea at six o'clock this evening, in a different suit." Off she went, and I rode back with her message (by which means I was thrown out), and, would you believe it, he had the ill manners to say "the h;" but I shall not repeat what he said. It was impolite to the last degree, not to say profane, but perhaps he may be somewhat excused under his peculiar circumstances. There is no knowing what even Job himself might have said immediately after having been thrown off his horse into a green pool, with his eye-tooth knocked out, his mouth full of mud and blood, on being asked to a tea-party. 'He-Brady, not Job-went, nevertheless-for, on our return to Miss Dosy's lodgings we found a triangular note, beautifully perfumed, expressing his gratitude for her kind invitation, and telling her not to think of the slight accident which had occurred. How it happened, he added, he could not conceive, his mare never having broken down with him before-which was true enough, as that was the first day he ever mounted her-and she having been bought by himself at a sale of the Earl of Darlington's horses last year, for two hundred guineas. She was a great favourite, he went on to say, with the Earl, who often rode her, and ran at Doncaster by the name of Miss Russell. All this latter part of the note was not quite so true, but then it must be admitted that when we talk about horses we are not tied down to be exact to a letter. If we were, God help Tattersal's! To tea, accordingly, the ensign came at six, wiped clean, and in a different set-out altogether from what he appeared in on emerging from the ditch. He was, to make use of a phrase introduced from the ancient Latin into the modern Greek, togged up in the most approved style of his Majesty's Forty-eighth foot. Bright was the scarlet of his coat-deep the blue of his facings.' 'I beg your pardon,' said Antony Harrison, here interrupting the speaker; the Forty-eighth are not royals, and you ought to know that no regiment but those which are royal sport blue facings. I remember, once upon a time, in a coffee-shop, detecting a very smart fellow, who wrote some clever things in a Magazine published in Edinburgh by one Blackwood, under the character of a military man, not to be anything of the kind, by his talking about ensigns in the fusileers-all the world knowing that in the fusileers there are no ensigns, but in their place second lieutenants. Let me set you right there, Bob; the facings your friend Brady exhibited to the wondering gaze of the Mallow tea-table must have been buff-pale buff.' 'Buff, black, blue, brown, yellow, Pompadour, brickdust, no matter what they were,' continued Burke, in no wise pleased by the interruption, they were as bright as they could be made, and so was all the lace, and other traps which I shall not specify more minutely, as I am in presence of so sharp a critic. He was, in fact, in full dress-as you know is done in country quarters—and being not a bad plan and elevation of a man, looked well enough. Miss Dosy, I perceived, had not been perfectly ignorant of the rank and condition of the gentleman over whom she had leaped, for she was dressed in her purple satin body and white skirt, which she always put on when she wished to be irresistible, and her hair was suffered to flow in long ringlets down her fair neck--and, by Jupiter! it was fair as a swan's, and as majestic too-and no mistake. Yes! Dosy Macnamara looked divine that evening. 'Never mind! Tea was brought in by Mary Keefe, and it was just as all other teas have been and will be. Do not, however, confound it with the wafer-sliced and hot-watered abominations which are inflicted, perhaps justly, on the wretched individuals who are guilty of haunting soirées and conversaziones in this good and bad city of London. The tea was congou or souchong, or some other of these Chinese affairs, for anything I know to the contrary; for, having dined at the house, I was mixing my fifth tumbler when tea was brought in, and Mrs Macnamara begged me not to disturb myself; and she being a lady for whom I had a great respect, I complied with her desire; but there was a potato-cake, an inch thick and two feet in diameter, which Mrs Macnamara informed me in a whisper was made by Dosy after the hunt. "Poor chicken," she said, "if she had the strength, she has the willingness; but she is so delicate. saw her handling the potatoes to-day." If you "Madam," said I, looking tender and putting my hand on my heart, "I wish I was a potato!" 'I thought this was an uncommonly pathetic wish, after the manner of the Persian poet Hafiz, but it was scarcely out of my mouth when Ensign Brady, taking a cup of tea from Miss Dosy's hand, looking upon me with an air of infinite condescension, declared that I must be the happiest of men, as my wish was granted before it was made. I was preparing to answer, but Miss Dosy laughed so loud that I had not time, and my only resource was to swallow what I had just made. The ensign followed up his victory without mercy.' See the Life by R. W. Montagu, prefixed to Maginn's Miscel lanies (2 vols. 1885). The Gallery was republished in 1874 and, edited by Bates, in 1883. Francis Sylvester Mahony (1804-66), the creator of Father Prout and the Oliver Yorke of Fraser's Magazine, was, like Maginn, a native of Cork, and even more scholarly, accomplished, versatile, witty, and gifted with facile and felicitous utterance in prose and verse. He was educated at St Acheul, the Jesuit college at Amiens, and in Paris; among the Jesuits he lived, as he said, in an atmosphere of Latin, and became a first-rate Latin scholar. He was admitted to the Society, taught in an Irish college, but for extraordinarily unconventional irregularities in a seminarist (including coursing and deep drinking) was pronounced to be no longer a Jesuit in 1830, and, obtaining with some difficulty priest's orders in 1832, officiated at Cork. But erelong he quarrelled with his bishop, and, settling in London, became one of the writers in Fraser's Magazine; and during 1834-36 he contributed a series of papers, afterwards collected as The Reliques of Father Prout. From the gay tavern life of the 'Fraserians,' Mahony went abroad and travelled, 1837-41, in Hungary, Greece, and Asia Minor. He became in 1846 Roman correspondent of the Daily News, and his letters were in 1847 collected and published as Facts and Figures from Italy, by Don Jeremy Savonarola, Benedictine Monk. For the last eight years of his life-quite Bohemian, though. latterly his wit became more caustic and his ways less sociable-he lived chiefly in Paris, and was the correspondent of the Globe, his letters forming the chief attraction of that journal. He died reconciled to the Church. A volume of Final Memorials of Father Prout, published in 1876 by Blanchard Jerrold, sufficiently illustrated Mahony's wonderful facility in Latin composition, his wit, quaint sayings, genial outbursts of sentiment, pathos, absurdity and satire jumbled together, and a certain reverence for religion among all his convivialities. James Hannay said of him: 'Mahoney's fun is essentially Irish-fanciful, playful, odd, irregular, and more grotesque than Northern fun. In one of his own phrases, he is an Irish potato, seasoned with Attic salt.' Much of the fun of the Reliques arises out of Father Prout's regretful proof that the best songs of some of the most admired modern authors are the merest plagiarisms or translations from ancient Greek, mediæval Latin, or old French originals, which he solemnly produces with dates and all necessary particulars to authenticate them-the poems and the facts all alike out of his own head. And he often pursued his jest beyond the limits prescribed by piety to the dead and by good taste, and the fun evaporates in tedium or annoyance. Father Prout declares himself to have been the son of Dean Swift by Stella, to whom the Dean had been privately married; and the Dean's madness was wholly occasioned, not by the causes usually alleged, but by the kidnapping of this (purely supposititious) son by William Wood, the halfpenny hero whom Swift denounced. In the |