the air of a man, conscious of his power of
instructing you, "that when a fellow lives the
greater part of his life afloat, all land is to
him, more or less, fairy land. You see? A
certain halo, you observe, surrounds the
meanest land, 'long heath, brown furze,
anything,' as what's his name says in the Tempest.
He feels when he gets on shore, as a respectable
man would, who had been miraculously
detained a year or so in a balloon. Hence,
he can scarcely be called compos, but wanders
like an Eastern in an enchanted valley, and
requires protection!"

Pipp's period, though a long one, stuck to
me; and I found myself a few days afterwards
crossing Tower Hill as above mentioned.

Even as certain carved floating pieces of
wood informed Columbus that he must be
drawing near land, so changing aspects
informed me that I was arriving at nautical
regions. Marine stores tempted, instead of
shawls. The Eastward Jews, happily adapting
themselves as ever, sold pea-jackets and straw
hats, as those of the West sell flash waistcoats.
Some young sailor apprentices were playing
at leap-frog. Here and there, a corner shop
was presided over by a naval officer with a
quadrant, who would infallibly be removed
by night as a libel on "the profession," by
some friends of Pipp's and mine, if he dared
to show himself at Plymouth or Malta. There,
you saw extracts from acts of Parliament
about merchant seamen, stuck inside the
windows, with rope, hour-glasses, Gunter's
scales, and dog biscuits. And along the
narrowing streets, tumbling round corners
with a peculiar jerk—half suggestive of the
shooting of the Irishman's gun—and walking
along (one foot on the pavement, one on the
street) came seamen of every age and clime.
A merchant seaman in a red shirt: a sailor
boy "done brown" while still "tender;"
being, as it were, spitted on top-gallant yards,
and cooked before tropical suns: a black
negro cook, greasy and grinning, with little
ear-rings as ornamental as a ring in a pig's
snout. These were the most notable specimens.

I was amused with an ingenious puff of
some certain "patent sails" in one window.
An engraving represented a tremendous gale
of wind, with two frigates on a lee-shore. The
prudent frigate, which had supplied itself
with "our patent sails," was thrashing away
to windward, very prosperously; while the
sails of its neighbour were blown from the
bolt-ropes!

A fine air of free-and-easiness, indeed,
prevails everywhere as you travel eastward,
after passing the Tower. The rag-seller,
standing under a black ruin of rags, beside
his wretched window—where the mouldy
fragments look like bits of a disinterred
shroud, and the bottles seem only fit to
keep vipers in spirits in—looks fiercely at
you through a blood-shot eye. Even the
policeman is not the stern composed guardian
of the constitution familiar to Regent Street;
he is too often an easy dégagé man, with loose
belt and wildish air. Nay, I am not sure that a
certain division is not highly convivial;—did
my eyes deceive me when I saw a pewter pot
or two, wearing an aureole of froth round
their heads, go into a station-house?

Every now and then the Blackwall Railway
seems to cross you, as you turn from street to
street, and is highly puzzling. Once it will
lie like a huge box, or the side-wind of a
caravan, just before you; in a few minutes it
seems breaking like a thunder-cloud over your
head; and again, perhaps, turns up across a
street with a fine airy look, while an engine
flies through it like a "resonant steam-eagle,"
as Mrs. Browning calls it.

The "Sailors' Home" has quite a dignified
look as you reach Well Street, with tall
columns and steps that lead up to the porch.
There is a buzz of sailors generally about the
door; you pass through swinging portals, and
find yourself in a large airy room, with a fire
at each end. Up and down this the inmates
are walking two and two, as if they were
pacing the deck; or are sitting smoking by the
fire. One is, perhaps, a nautical dandy, with
wet curls and little ear-rings. These ear-rings
always amuse me,—and there is ground, too,
for philosophical speculation in considering
them. Among the ancients they were badges
of servitude. Plutarch gives us a very good
joke of Cicero's àpropos of that; a noisy
lawyer, of servile origin, complained
petulantly that he "could not hear" something or
other. "That is strange," said Cicero; "for
you are not without a hole in your ear!"
Now-a-days, we see, they are worn in the
States—by the freest part of a free people.

Soon after my arrival the sailors went to
dinner. Rows of tables in symmetrical order
were spread over the floor; and seated at these,
I saw my old unmistakeable friends, the "blue
jackets," discussing their beef; generally, what
a naval man would call a good set of men—
strong, quiet, self-reliant-looking men. One
feels as if one was an intruder, and comforts
oneself with thinking of one's good intentions—
but don't be alarmed, visitor! That is all your
conceit. Jack is nowise disturbed by your
presence. He cuts his beef, looks at you
casually as you pass in your inspection, and
puts you quite at your ease! I really
think that a sailor has as good manners as
you ever see any body with. There is such a
calm good-natured independence about him;
a Neptunian politeness, which carries you
along like a fine rolling wave. "Manners"
being, however, the characteristic of a man
"who feels the dignity of man, and is
conscious of his own"—as Carlyle has described
it, and as Brummell never knew it to be!

The fact is, that a sailor is generally in a
true, real position—has certain work to do—
certain people to obey. There are no false
struggles, no sham pretensions, afloat. Every
thing is determined by book and order. Jack
will love a ruffian if he is an honest ruffian, and