y life, I believe the very conceit it breeds
goes halfway with women."

"It is no small prize to learn the experiences of a man like yourself on
such a theme."

"Well, I 'll not deny it," said he, with a short sigh. "I had my
share--some would say a little more than my share--of that sort of
thing. You'll not believe it, perhaps, but I was a devilish good-looking
fellow when I was--let me see--about six or eight years younger than you
are now."

"I am prepared to credit it," said Maitland, dryly.

"There was no make-up about _me_,--no lacquering, no paint, no padding;
all honest scantling from keel to taffrail. I was n't tall, it's true. I
never, with my best heels on, passed five feet seven and a half."

"The height of Julius Caesar," said Maitland, calmly.

"I know nothing about Julius Caesar; but I 'll say this, it was a good
height for a sailor in the old gun-brig days, when they never gave you
much head-room 'tween decks. It don't matter so much now if every fellow
in the ward-room was as tall as yourself. What's in this jar here?"

"Seltzer."

"And this short one,--is it gin?"

"No; it's Vichy."

"Why, what sort of stomach do you expect to have with all these
confounded slops? I never tasted any of these vile compounds but
once,--what they called Carlsbad,--and, by Jove, it was bad, and no
mistake. It took three fourths of a bottle of strong brandy to bring
back the heat into my vitals again. Why don't you tell Raikes to send
you in some sherry? That old brown sherry is very pleasant, and it must
be very wholesome, too, for the doctor here always sticks to it."

"I never drink wine, except at my dinner," was the cold and measured
reply.

"You 'll come to it later on,--you 'll come to it later on," said the
Commodore, with a chuckle, "when you 'll not be careful about the color
of your nose or the width of your waistcoat. There's a deal of vanity
wrapped up in abstemiousness, and a deal of vexation of spirit too." And
he laughed at his own drollery till his eyes ran over. "You 're saying
to yourself, Maitland, 'What a queer old cove that is!'--ain't you? Out
with it, man! I'm the best-tempered fellow that ever breathed,--with
the men I like, mind you; not with every one. No, no; old G. G., as they
used to call me on board the 'Hannibal,' is an ugly craft if you board
him on the wrong quarter. I don't know how it would be now, with all the
new-fangled tackle; but in the old days of flint-locks and wid