other morning, while I was enjoying his
hospitality, he broke out with— "Popples! we
have seen the British seaman, my boy, afloat
— in the Sailor's Home— and agitating. Let
us now see the worthy fellow on his beam-
ends; let us inspect him as he contends with
salts instead of salt-water. Let us visit the
'Dreadnought.' It is an excellent institution,
and"— added Pipp, with a leer in his eye—
"the whitebait season is coming to a close!"
Of course, I agreed to accompany him.

The "Matrimony" jogged down the river
at a lively enough pace. As we sighted
Blackwall, the chequered sides of the old
craft dawned on our vision, and a steamer
that was passing her looked like a pigmy.
We landed at the pier, took a boat, and
bobbed quietly alongside. "That's the way
up," said the waterman, pointing to what,
in the service, we call the "accommodation
ladder." "Thank you," said Pipp, with
ironical dryness— "we know!" Perhaps,
nobody is so peculiarly susceptible respecting
any implied "greenness" about his own line
of business as a nautical man! We mounted
the ladder with a firm step (to borrow a well-
known newspaper phrase); the great, high
black-and-white sides seemed so familiar once
more. The ports were open; but we missed
the grim black gun-muzzles which protrude
so calmly from your active-service vessels,
and which usually, with their brilliant polish,
and their ornate "tompions" corking them
neatly, look as if they were meant only for
ornament. One's first sensation on reaching
the deck was of a white bareness— it seemed
so odd to be in a ship without rigging; but
glancing round, we observed what a clear,
broad promenade it made— how clean and
orderly everything was. The first hospital
feature presented itself, in two or three
"convalescents;" white caps covering them, and
the inevitable pipe soothing their returning
vigour.— We moved first aft, and visited the
office where the ship's books are kept. There
a curiosity of historical interest was shown to
us— a piece of glass from a cabin skylight of
the "Dreadnought" of old days, scrawled
over with the names of those officers who
were in her at Trafalgar. A curious thing to
reflect on! This quiet old "Dreadnought,"
whose fighting days are all over— sans guns,
sans shot, sans shells, sans everything— did
fight at Trafalgar, under Captain Conne— did
figure as one of the hindmost ships in the lee
column, which Colliugwood led— went into
action about two in the afternoon, and
captured the "San Juan" in fifteen minutes.

"Smart work," says Pipp, who told us all
this as glibly as possible, the moment the
piece of glass was shown to us. The
courteous official smiled (they have something
else to do in the "Dreadnought," now-a-days,
besides musing over her old fighting times),
but reminded us that Collingwood had her
for some time. Pipp went off at a tangent
again. Meanwhile I suggested, "Let us go
below, and see where he lived. To pass over
Collingwood's old dwelling-place without
mention, would be unpardonable."We
descended the hatchway; and we learned
the modern arrangement of the decks. The
"Dreadnought" (a ninety-eight, according to
rate) is a three-decker. The main-deck (a
first, namely, under the upper ditto) is used
as a chapel; and on it the "convalescents"
sleep in hammocks. The middle is now the
surgical, the lower the medical, deck; and the
orlop is reserved for minor cases of illness.

On the main deck are the cabins for the
surgeons resident on board, and these were
old Collingwood's quarters ("dear Coll.," as
Nelson calls him). Collingwood hoisted his
Vice-Admiral's flag on board, for about a
year, from the autumn of 1804 to that
of 1805. Turning to his delightful letters,
we find the old gentleman dating,
"Dreadnought," off Rochefort, November 4, 1804:
"I am really almost worn out with
incessant fatigue and anxiety of mind." And
he calls the "Dreadnought" a "fine strong
ship." A few months afterwards, he writes
again about his daughter's education. On
August the 9th, 1805, he is blockading Cadiz
with this harmless old vessel of ours, and
becomes quite, what one may call, jolly.
For—

"I am ... in great expectation that we
shall have a rattling day soon. The Spaniards
are completely ready here. It is a state like
this that raises the spirits."

Sleeping on a gun-side, glad to get a bunch
of grapes from a Portuguese boat, taking
advantage of a fine day to hang his seedy old
coats out of the cabin windows to air, (as a
friend of mine saw him do)— the
"Dreadnought" was the scene of these phases in the
old man's career. This heavy old craft— she
was a very dull sailer in her day— dodged
many a weary day off Cadiz. Looking out of
the ports at the peaceful shore here, in the
Thames, one can fancy the dull monotonous
ripple that broke on the admiral's ear as
she floated heavily along. Perhaps not a
fever-longing in any of her decks now, has
more weary burning earnestness than his
longing in those days for the enemy's fleet.
It was Collingwood's close blockade whick
forced Villeuenve to sea to try his luck.
Collingwood left the "Dreadnought," for the
"Royal Sovereign," ten days before Trafalgar
— the "Royal Sovereign" being a better
sailer— leaving the "Dreadnought," too, with
the capacity of "firing three broadsides
in three minutes and a half." This very
prompt style of business must have come in
very handily for Nelson's fleet just about
two o'clock in the afternoon. The
"Dreadnought" had seven killed and twenty-six
wounded, and the maintop-sail yard shot
away with a crash that one can imagine!

Pipp grows enthusiastic, wonders what has
become of all the fellows who were in the
"Dreadnought" that day, and speaks tenderly