follows it slowly, clad in the blue Jersey
frock, which he persists in wearing night
and day—in the heat of noon as in the cool
of evening.  He cannot be prevailed upon to
give any reason for his violent attachment to
this garment—only wagging his head and
smiling mysteriously when we ask why,
sleeping or waking, he never parts with it.
Well, being up, the next thing is to make the
toilette. We keep our fresh water, for
minor ablutions, in an old wine cask from
Bristol. The colour of the liquid is a tawny
yellow; it is, in fact, weak sherry and water.
For the major ablutions, we have the ship's
bucket and the sea, and a good stock of
rough towels to finish with. The next thing
is breakfast on deck. When we can catch
fish (which is very seldom, though we are
well provided with lines and bait) we fall
upon the spoil immediately. At other times
we range through our sea stores, eating
anything we like, cooked anyhow we like.
After breakfast we have two words to say to
our box of peaches, nectarines, and grapes,
from the hospitable country-house. Then
the bedding is brought up to air; the deck
is cleaned; the breakfast things are taken
away; the pipes, cigars, and French novels
are produced from the cabin; Mr. Migott
coils himself up in a corner of the cockpit,
and I perch upon the taffrail; and the
studies of the morning begin. They end
invariably in small-talk, beer, and sleep.  So
the time slips away cosily till it is necessary
to think about dinner.

Now all is activity on board the Tomtit.
Except the man at the helm, everyone is
occupied with preparations for the banquet
of the day. The potatoes, onions, and
celery form one department; the fire and
solid cookery another; the washing of
plates and dishes, knives and forks, a third;
the laying of the cloth on deck a fourth;
the concoction of sauces and production of
bottles from the cellar a fifth. No man has
any particular department assigned to him:
the most active republican of the community
for the time being, plunges into the most
active work, and the others follow as they
please.  The exercise we get is principally
at this period of the day, and consists in
incessant dropping down from the deck to the
cabin, and incessant scrambling up from the
cabin to the deck. The dinner is a long
business; but what do we care for that?
We have no appointments to keep, no
visitors to interrupt us, and nothing in the
world to do but to tickle our palates, wet
our whistles, and amuse ourselves in any way
we please. Dinner at last over, it is superfluous
to say, that the pipes become visible
again, and that the taking of forty winks is
only a prohibited operation on the part of
the man at the helm.

As for tea-time, it is entirely regulated by
the wants and wakefulnees of Mr. Migott,
who, since the death of Doctor Johnson, is
the most desperate drinker of tea in all
England.  When the cups and saucers are cleared
away, a conversazione is held in the cockpit.
Sam Dobbs is the best listener of the
company; Dick Dobbs, who has been a yachtsman,
is the jester; Bob Dobbs, the merchant
sailor, is the teller of adventures; and my
friend and I keep the ball going smartly in all
sorts of ways, till it gets dark, and a great
drought falls upon the members of the
conversazione.  Then, if the mermaids are
anywhere near us, they may smell the fragrant
fumes which tell of sacrifice to Bacchus, and
may hear, shortly afterwards, the muse of
song invoked by cheerful topers.  Thus the
dark hours roll on jovial till the soft
influences of sleep descend upon the tuneful
choir, and the cabin receives its lodgers for
the night.

This is the general rule of life on board
the Tomtit.  Exceptional incidents of all
kinds—saving sea-sickness, to which nobody
on board is liable—are never wanting to vary
it pleasantly from day to day.  Sometimes
Mr. Migott gets on from taking a nap to
having a dream, and records the fact by a
screech of terror, which rings through the
vessel and wakes the sleeper himself, who
always asks,  "What's that, eh?"—never
believes that the screech has not come from
somebody else—never knows what he has
been dreaming of—and never fails to go to
sleep again before the rest of the ship's
company have half done expostulating with him.
Sometimes a little interesting indigestion
appears among us, by way of change.  Dick
Dobbs, for example (who is as bilious as an
Indian nabob) is seen to turn yellow at the
helm, and to steer with a glazed eye; is
asked what is the matter—replies that he
has "the boil terrible bad on his stomach;" is
instantly treated by Jollins (M.D.) as follows:
Two tea spoonsful of essence of ginger, two
dessert spoonsful of brown brandy, two
table spoonsful of strong tea.  Pour down
patient's throat very hot and smack his
back smartly to promote the operation of
the draught.  What follows?  The cure of
Dick.  How simple is medicine when
reduced to its first principles!

Another source of amusement is provided
by the ships we meet with.  Whenever we
get near enough, we hail the largest
merchant-men in the most peremptory manner,
as coolly as if we had three decks under us
and an admiral on board. The large ships,
for the most part paralysed by our audacity,
reply meekly. Sometimes we meet with a
foreigner, and get answered by inarticulate
yelling or disrespectful grins. But this is a
rare case; the general rule is, that we maintain
our dignity unimpaired all down the
Channel. Then, again, when no ships are
near, there is the constant excitement of
consulting our charts and wondering where
we are.  Every man of us has a different
theory on this subject every time he looks at