.

To look at him one might fancy that Neptune having found a deserted
ship, had clambered upon deck and sat him down to take a complacent view
of his wide domains, and enjoy a morning pipe.

It is early morning, and the other inhabitants of that floating house
are asleep below.

The "Coal-Coffin," albeit an unseaworthy vessel, is a picturesque
object. Its dirty sails are of a fine rich colour, because of their
very dirtiness. Its weather-worn and filthy spars, and hull and
rigging, possess a harmony of _tone_ which can only be acquired by age.
Its cordage being rotten and very limp, hangs, on that account, all the
more gracefully in waving lines of beauty and elegant festoons; the reef
points hang quite straight, and patter softly on the sails--in short,
the _tout ensemble_ of the little craft is eminently picturesque--
draped, as it were, with the mellowness of antiquity; and the whole--
hull, spars, sails, cordage, and reef points,--clearly and sharply
reflected in the depths below.

"Wot a splendid mornin'!" said Stephen Gaff, putting his head and
shoulders out of the after hatchway, and yawning violently.

"So 'tis, shipmet," responded the skipper, "a'most too butiful for this
world."

Both men spoke in subdued tones, as if unwilling to disturb the
delightful stillness of nature. Gaff, having slowly raised himself out
of the hole in the deck which served as a door to the bandbox, termed,
out of courtesy, the cabin, looked up at the mast-head to see if the
vane indicated any wind; then he gazed slowly round the horizon.
Meeting with nothing particular there to arrest his eyes, he let them
fall on Haco, who was gazing dreamily at the bowl of his German pipe.

"Dead calm," said Gaff.

"Won't last long," said Haco.

"Won't it?"

"No. Glass fallin' fast."

This seemed to be as much mental food as Gaff could comfortably digest
at that time, for he made no rejoinder, but, drawing a short black pipe
from his vest-pocket, sat down beside his friend, and filled and smoked
it in silence.

"How's the Roosians?" he inquired, after a long pause.

"All square," said the skipper, who was addicted somewhat to figurative
language and hyperbole in the form of slang, "another week in the
doctor's hands, an' the grub of the London Home, will set 'em up taught
an' trim as ever."

"Goin' to blow hard, think 'ee?" asked Gaff.

"Great guns," said Haco, puffing a cloud of smoke from his mouth, which
was at that time