"Ay, Tom, now you're on the right tack—a good song, and a jovial friend, and let the marines blubber about love and lullaby, it'll never do for the sailors. As we are overhauling old friends, do you remember Charley Capstan, the coxswain's mate of the Leander V "Shiver my timbers, but I do; and a bit of tough yarn he was, too: hard as old junk without, and soft as captain's coop meat within. Wasn't I one of the crew that convoyed him up this very street when returning from a cruise off the Straits, we heard that Charley's old uncle had slipt his cable, and left him cash enough to buy out and build a ship of his own? That was a gala, messmate! There was Charley, a little fat porpoise, as round as a nine-pounder, mounted on an eighteen gallon cask of the real Jamaica, lashed to a couple of oars, and riding astride, on his messmates' shoulders, up to the Point. Then such a jolly boat's crew attended him, rigged out with bran new slops, and shiners on their topmasts, with the Leander painted in front, and half a dozen fiddlers scraping away 'Jack's alive,' and all the girls decked out in their dancing dresses, with streamers flying about their top-gallants, and loose nettings over their breastworks—that was a gala, messmate! And didn't Charley treat all Point to the play that night, and engage the whole of the gallery cabin for his own friends' accommodation; and when the reefers in the hold turned saucy, didn't you and two or three more drop down upon 'em, and having shook the wind out of their sails, run up the main haliards again, without working round by the gangway?" "Right, Tom, right; and don't you remember the illumination, when we stuck up ten pound of lighted candles round the rim of the gallery before the play began, and when Jane Shore was in the midst of her grief, Charley gave the signal, and away they went, like a file of marines from a double broadside, right and left, tumbling about the ears of the reefers and land lubbers in the chicken coops below? Those were the days of glory, messmate, when old Jack Junk, who had never seen a play before, took it all for right down arnest matter o' fact; and when poor Mrs. Shore came to ask charity of that false-hearted friend of hers, what was jealous of her, and fell down at the door, overcome by grief and hunger, poor Jack couldn't stand it no longer; so after suffering the brine to burst through the floodgates of his heart, till he was as blind as our chaplain to sin, he jumped up all at once, and made for the offing, blubbering as he went, 'May I be blistered, if ever I come to see such cruel stuff as this again!' Then didn't Stephen Collins, and Kelly, and Maxfield, the three managers, come upon deck, and drink success to the Leander's crew, out of a bucket of grog we had up for the purpose, and the ould mare of Portsmouth sent his compliments to us, begging us not to break our own necks or set fire to the playhouse? Another glass, Jem, to the crew of the Leander: don't you remember the ducking ould Mother Macguire, the bum-boat woman, received, for bringing paw-paw articles on board, when we came in to refit?" "May I never want 'bacca, if I shall ever forget that old she crocodile! Wasn't it her that brought that sea-dragon, Bet Bluff, on board, and persuaded me to be spliced to her? shiver her timbers for it!" "Avast there! messmate," said Tom: "when you can't skuttle an enemy, it's best to sail right away from her hulk before she blows up and disables her conqueror. May I never get groggy, if I shall ever forget the joke between you and the old Sheenie, when you threatened to throw him overboard for selling you a dumb time-keeper. 'Blesh ma heart,' said the Jew, while his under works shook like a cutter's foresail going about, 'how could you expect de vatch to go well, ven de ship vas all in confushion?' an excuse that saved him from sailing ashore in a skuttle-bucket." "Have you weathered Gosport lately?" inquired Jem: "there used to be a little matter of joviality going forward there upon the beach in war time, but I suppose it's all calm enough now." "All ruined by the peace; and all that glorious collection of the kings and queens of England, and her admirals and heroes, which used to swing to and fro in the wind, when every house upon the beach was a grog-shop, are past, vanished, or hanging like pirates in tatters; the sound of a fiddle never reaches their ears; and the parlour-floors, where we used to dance and sing till all was blue, are now as smooth and as clean as the decks of Lord Nelson's flag ship, the Victory, which lies moored in our harbour, like a Greenwich pensioner, anchored in quiet, to drop to pieces with old age. You may fire a nine-pounder up the principal street at noon-day now and not hurt any body; and if the peace lasts much longer, horses may graze in their roads, and persons receive pensions for inhabiting the vacant houses." The period within which I had promised to join Horace Eglantine had now elapsed. It was no easy task to separate myself from my nautical friends, and the amusement they had afforded me demanded some acknowledgment in return; calling, therefore, for a full bowl of punch, we drank success to the British navy, toasted wives and sweethearts, honoured our gracious king, shook hands at parting, like old friends, and having promised to renew my acquaintance before I left Portsmouth, I bade adieu to jolly Jem Buntline and what remained of his noble messmate, the lion-hearted Tom Tackle.

EVENING, AND IN HIGH SPIRITS.

A SCENE AT LONG'S HOTEL.