cargo.

"You are unfortunate," said Mr Thompson, when the captain paused; "but
there are hundreds in nearly the same predicament. Many of the
fine-looking vessels you see in the harbour have lain helplessly there
for months, the crews having taken French leave, and gone off to the
diggings."

"It's awkward," said the captain, with a troubled expression, as he
slowly raised a square lump of pork to his mouth; "what would you advise
me to do?"

"Sell off the remnant of the cargo, and set up a floating
boarding-house."

The square lump of pork disappeared, as the captain thrust it into his
cheek in order to say, "What?" with a look of intense amazement.

Lizette laughed inadvertently, and, feeling that this was somewhat rude,
she, in her effort to escape, plunged deeper into misfortune by turning
to Sinton, with a blushing countenance, and asking him to take another
cup of tea--a proposal that was obviously absurd, seeing that she had a
moment before filled up his second cup.

Thus suddenly appealed to, Ned stammered, "Thank you--if you--ah!--no,
thank you, not any more."

"Set up a floating boarding establishment," reiterated the merchant, in
a tone of decision that caused them all to laugh heartily.

"It may sound strange," he continued, "but I assure you it's not a bad
speculation. The captain of an American schooner, whose crew deserted
the very day she arrived, turned his vessel into a floating
boarding-house, about two months ago, and I believe he's making a
fortune."

"Indeed," ejaculated the captain, helping himself to another mass of
pork, and accepting Lizette's proffer of a third cup of tea.

"You have no idea," continued the merchant, as he handed the bread to
Ned, and pressed him to eat--"you have no idea of the strange state of
things here just now, and the odd ways in which men make money. Owing
to the rush of immigrants everything is enormously dear, and house-room
is not to be had for love or money, so that if you were to fit up your
ship for the purpose you could fill it at once. At the various hotels
in the city an ordinary meal at the _table d'hote_ costs from two to
three dollars--eight and twelve shillings of our money--and there are
some articles that bear fabulous prices. It's a fact that eggs at this
moment sell at a shilling each, and onions and potatoes at the same
price; but then wages are enormously high. How long this state of
things will last no one can tell; in the meantim