laugh half-forced. 'Take care what you are
about, or, by Jove, I'll inform against you.'

'What for?'

'Why, for preaching without a license.—
Besides, you were once as bad as you pretend
I am.'

'I own it with sorrow; but I was warned
in time by the wretched end of poor James
Barber—-'

'Of whom?' asked the elder brother, starting
back as he pushed his glass along the table.
'You don't mean Jovial Jemmy, as we used
to call him; once my messmate in the brig
"Rollock."'

'Yes, I do.'

'What! dead?'

'Yes.'

'Why, it was one of our great delights, when
in harbour and on shore, to "go the rounds,"
—as he called it—with Jovial Jemmy. He
understood life from stem to stern—from
truck to keel. He knew everybody, from the
First Lord downwards. I have seen him
recognised by the Duke one minute, and the next
pick up with a strolling player, and familiarly
treat him at a tavern. He once took me to a
quadrille party at the Duchess of Durrington's,
where he seemed to know and be known to
everybody present, and then adjourned to the
Cider Cellars, where he was equally intimate
with all sorts of queer characters. Though a
favourite among the aristocracy, he was equally
welcome in less exclusive societies. He was
"Brother," "Past Master," "Warden," "Noble
Grand," or "President" of all sorts of Lodges
and Fraternities. Uncommonly knowing was
Jemmy in all sorts of club and fashionable
gossip. He knew who gave the best dinners,
and was always invited to the best balls.
He was a capital judge of champagne, and
when he betted upon a horse-race everybody
backed him. He could hum all the fashionable
songs, and was the fourth man who could
dance the polka when it was first imported.
Then he was as profound in bottled stout,
Welsh rabbits, Burton ale, devilled kidneys,
and bowls of Bishop, as he was in Roman
punch, French cookery, and Italian singers.
Afloat, he was the soul of fun:—he got
up all our private theatricals, told all the
best stories, and sung comic songs that made
even the Purser laugh.'

'An extent and variety of knowledge and
accomplishments,' said Lieutenant Fid, 'which
had the precise effect of blasting his prospects
in life. He was, as you remember, at last
dismissed the service for intemperance and
incompetence.'

'When did you see him last?'

'What, alive?' inquired Ferdinand Fid,
changing countenance.

'Of course! Surely you do not mean to
insinuate that you have seen his ghost!'

The lieutenant was silent; and the midshipman
took a deep draught of his favourite
mixture—equal portions of rum and water—
and hinted to his younger brother, the
lieutenant, the expediency of immediately
confiding the story to the Marines; for he declined
to credit it. He then ventured another
recommendation, which was, that Ferdinand
should throw the impotent temperance tipple
he was then imbibing 'over the side of the
Ship'—which meant the tavern of that name
in Greenwich, at the open bow-window of
which they were then sitting—and clear his
intellects by something stronger.

'I can afford to be laughed at,' said the
younger Fid, 'because I have gained
immeasurably by the delusion, if it be one; but
if ever there was a ghost, I have seen the
ghost of James Barber. I, like yourself and
he, was nearly ruined by love of amusement
and intemperance, when he—or whatever
else it might have been—came to my aid.'

'Let us hear. I see I am "in" for a ghost
story.'

'Well; it was eighteen forty-one when I
came home in the "Arrow" with despatches
from the coast of Africa: you were lying in
the Tagus in the "Bobstay." Ours, you know,
was rather a thirsty station; a man inclined
for it comes home from the Slaving Coasts
with a determination to make up his lee way.
I did mine with a vengeance. As usual, I
looked up "Jovial Jemmy."'

‘ 'Twas easy to find him if you knew where
to go.'

'I did know, and went. He had by that
time got tired of his more aristocratic friends.
Respectability was too "slow" for him, so I
found him presiding over the "Philanthropic
Raspers," at the "Union Jack." He received
me with open arms, and took me, as you say,
the "rounds." I can't recal that week's
dissipation without a shudder. We rushed about
from ball to tavern, from theatre to supper-
room, from club to gin-palace, as if our lives
depended on losing not a moment. We had
not time to walk, so we galloped about in cabs.
On the fourth night, when I was beginning to
feel knocked up, and tired of the same songs,
the same quadrilles, the bad whiskey, the
suffocating tobacco smoke, and the morning's
certain and desperate penalties, I remarked
to Jemmy, that it was a miracle how he had
managed to weather it for so many years.
"What a hardship you would deem it," I
added, "if you were obliged to go the same
weary round from one year's end to another."'

'What did he say to that?' asked Philip.

'Why, I never saw him so taken aback.
He looked quite fiercely at me, and replied,
"I am obliged!"'

'How did he make that out?'

'Why, he had tippled and dissipated his
constitution into such a state that use had
become second nature. Excitement was his
natural condition, and he dared not become
quite sober for fear of a total collapse—or
dropping down like a shot in the water.'

The midshipman had his glass in his hand,
but forebore to taste it.—'Well, what then?'

'The "rounds" lasted two nights longer.