should
reach the impressionable sailors from one border of the ocean to the
other, and formed part of their occasional riotous debates. Any one who
has had the privilege of listening to the fiery arguments set forth by
sailors on the Bradlaugh or any other topic of absorbing interest must
ever cherish it as a memorable experience. There is seldom any regard
for moderation in such conflicts, and the extraordinary confusion of
ideas makes them fascinating. I have a vivid recollection of my
attention being attracted to the clamour of about half a dozen
weather-beaten nautical stagers that were seated outside a dram-shop
which was known to fame as "Jack the Blaster's." It will be readily
recognized that the name was given to it by a north-countryman. I
stopped, asked for a chair, and saw the whole thing through.
Occasionally, while the controversy was travelling along its more
turbulent stages, I was asked to intervene in some way or other, but I
had to act with studied impartiality, so adopted a neutral course.

"They tell me," said burly Captain Harvey, "that he's the best speaker
in England."

"Who's the best speaker in England?" asked Skipper Cowan; "do you mean
that fellow that's givin' members of Parliament so much trouble just
now?"

"I mean Bradlaugh," said Mr Harvey.

"Well then," said Mr Cowan, "you're decidedly in the wrong. I heard a
Methodist parson beat him to fits at Blyth. Bradlaugh lost his temper,
and after that the parson wiped the boards with him. They called the
parson Harrison,[2] and the atheists were all frightened of him after
that."

[2] The same Mr Harrison is now a clergyman of the Church of
England, and is pastor of St Thomas's, Newcastle.

"I never heard that before," said Harvey.

"Very well," retorted his friend, "you hear it now. I'm telling you;
and another thing, instead of making him a member of Parliament I'd put
the fellow in gaol and stop him going about the country destroying
religion and making people infidels. Lord Randolph is a grand chap; he
won't have any of his affirmin'. No, no, Sir Randolph doesn't believe
in that sort of cattle, and he means what he says. Randy's all their
daddies [Randy is cleverer than they]. Look what he did when Bradlaugh
kept running up to the bar of the House of Commons to kiss the book.
What did Randolph do, you say? Why he jumped after him every time,
seized him by the coat tails, and said, 'Bradlaugh, stand back!' That's
pluck,