hearty laugh for every joke, he
did not take the jokes of others at the time that they were made. His
ideas seemed to have the slow and silent flow ascribed to the stream of
lava (without its fire): and the consequence was, that although he
eventually laughed at a good thing, it was never at the same time with
other people; but in about a quarter or half a minute afterwards
(according to the difficulty of the analysis), when the cause had been
dismissed for other topics, he would burst out in a hearty Ha, ha, ha!

Mr Hilton was the owner of the sloop: he was a tall, corpulent man, who
for many years had charge of a similar vessel, until by "doing a little
contraband," he had pocketed a sufficient sum to enable him to purchase
one for himself. But the profits being more than sufficient for his
wants, he had for some time remained on shore, old Thompson having
charge of the vessel. He was a good-tempered, jolly fellow, very fond
of his pipe and his pot, and much more fond of his sloop, by the
employment of which he was supplied with all his comforts. He passed
most of the day sitting at the door of his house, which looked upon the
anchorage, exchanging a few words with every one that passed by, but
invariably upon one and the same topic--his sloop. If she was at
anchor--"There she is," he would say, pointing to her with the stem of
his pipe. If she was away, she had sailed on such a day;--he expected
her back at such a time. It was a fair wind--it was a foul wind for his
sloop. All his ideas were engrossed by this one darling object, and it
was no easy task to divert him from it.

I ought to have mentioned that Mr Dragwell, the curate, was invariably
accompanied by Mr Spinney, the clerk of the parish, a little spare man,
with a few white hairs straggling on each side of a bald pate. He
always took his tune whether in or out of church from his superior,
ejecting a small treble "He, he, he!" in response to the loud Ha, ha,
ha! of the curate.

"Peace be unto this house!" observed the curate as he crossed the
threshold, for Mrs Forster's character was notorious; then laughing at
his own wit with a Ha, ha, ha!

"He, he, he!"

"Good morning, Mr Forster, how is your good lady?"

"She's safe moored at last," interrupted Mr Hilton.

"Who?" demanded the curate, with surprise.

"Why, the sloop, to be sure."

"Oh! I thought you meant the lady--Ha, ha, ha!"

"He, he, he!"

"Won't you sit down, gentlemen?" said