nchor-man. The sad taste of this old tar, in admiring such
vulgar stuff, was much denounced by Rose-water, whose own predilections
were of a more elegant nature, as evinced by his exalted opinion of the
literary merits of the "_Loves of the Angels_."

I was by no means the only reader of books on board the Neversink.
Several other sailors were diligent readers, though their studies did
not lie in the way of belles-lettres. Their favourite authors were such
as you may find at the book-stalls around Fulton Market; they were
slightly physiological in their nature. My book experiences on board of
the frigate proved an example of a fact which every book-lover must
have experienced before me, namely, that though public libraries have
an imposing air, and doubtless contain invaluable volumes, yet,
somehow, the books that prove most agreeable, grateful, and
companionable, are those we pick up by chance here and there; those
which seem put into our hands by Providence; those which pretend to
little, but abound in much.

CHAPTER XLII.

KILLING TIME IN A MAN-OF-WAR IN HARBOUR.

Reading was by no means the only method adopted by my shipmates in
whiling away the long, tedious hours in harbour. In truth, many of them
could not have read, had they wanted to ever so much; in early youth
their primers had been sadly neglected. Still, they had other pursuits;
some were experts at the needle, and employed their time in making
elaborate shirts, stitching picturesque eagles, and anchors, and all
the stars of the federated states in the collars thereof; so that when
they at last completed and put on these shirts, they may be said to
have hoisted the American colors.

Others excelled in _tattooing_ or _pricking_, as it is called in a
man-of-war. Of these prickers, two had long been celebrated, in their
way, as consummate masters of the art. Each had a small box full of
tools and colouring matter; and they charged so high for their
services, that at the end of the cruise they were supposed to have
cleared upward of four hundred dollars. They would _prick_ you to order
a palm-tree, or an anchor, a crucifix, a lady, a lion, an eagle, or
anything else you might want.

The Roman Catholic sailors on board had at least the crucifix pricked
on their arms, and for this reason: If they chanced to die in a
Catholic land, they would be sure of a decent burial in consecrated
ground, as the priest would be sure to observe the symbol of Mothe