“Bark.—‘The surf bark from the Nor’ard;’ or, as was otherwise said to me, ‘The sea aint lost his woice from the Nor’ard yet,’—a sign, by the way, that the wind is to come from that quarter. A poetical word such as those whose business is with the sea are apt to use. Listening one night to the sea some way inland, a sailor said to me, ‘Yes, sir, the sea roar for the loss of the wind;’ which a landsman properly interpreted as meaning only that the sea made itself heard when the wind had subsided.”

“Brustle.—A compound of Bustle and Rustle, I suppose. ‘Why, the old girl brustle along like a Hedge-sparrow!’—said of a round-bowed vessel spuffling through the water. I am told that, comparing little with great, the figure is not out of the way. Otherwise,

what should these ignorant seamen know of Hedge-sparrows? Some of them do, however; fond of birds, as of other pets—Children, cats, small dogs—anything in short considerably under the size of—a Bullock—and accustomed to birds-nesting over your cliff and about your lanes from childhood. A little while ago a party of Beechmen must needs have a day’s frolic at the old sport; marched bodily into a neighbouring farmer’s domain, ransacked the hedges, climbed the trees, coming down pretty figures, I was told, (in plainer language) with guernsey and breeches torn fore and aft; the farmer after them in a tearing rage, calling for his gun—‘They were Pirates—They were the Press-gang!’ and the boys in Blue going on with their game laughing. When they had got their fill of it, they adjourned to Oulton Boar for ‘Half a pint’; by-and-by in came the raging farmer for a like purpose; at first growling aloof; then warming towards the good fellows, till—he joined their company, and—insisted on paying their shot.”

“Cards.—Though often carried on board to pass away the time at All-fours, Don, or Sir-wiser (q.v.), nevertheless regarded with some suspicion when business does not go right. A friend of mine vowed that, if his ill-luck continued, over the cards should go; and

over they went. Opinions differ as to swearing. One Captain strictly forbade it on board his lugger; but he, also continuing to get no fish, called out, ‘Swear away, lads, and see what that’ll do.’ Perhaps he only meant as Ménage’s French Bishop did; who going one day to Court, his carriage stuck fast in a slough. The Coachman swore; the Bishop, putting his head out of the window, bid him not do that; the Coachman declared that unless he did, his horses would never get the carriage out of the mud. ‘Well then, says the Bishop, just for this once then.’”

“Egg-bound.—Probably an inland word; but it was only from one of the beach I heard it. He had a pair of—what does the reader think?—Turtle-doves in his net-loft, looking down so drolly—the delicate creatures—from their wicker cage on the rough work below, that I wondered what business they had there. But this truculent Salwager assured me seriously that he had ‘doated on them,’ and promised me the first pair they should hatch. For a long while they had no family, so long ‘neutral’ indeed as to cause grave doubts whether they were a pair at all. But at last one of them began to show signs of cradle-making, picking at some hay stuffed into the wicker-bars to encourage them; and I was told that she was manifestly ‘egg-bound.’”

“New Moon.—When first seen, be sure to turn your money over in your pocket by way of making it grow there; provided always that you see her face to face, not through a glass (window)—for, in that case, the charm works the wrong way. ‘I see the little dear this evening, and give my money a twister; there wasn’t much, but I roused her about.’ Where ‘her’ means the Money, not the Moon. Every one knows of what gender all that is amiable becomes in the Sailor’s eyes: his Ship, of course—the ‘Old Dear’—the ‘Old Girl’—the ‘Old Beauty,’ &c. I don’t think the Sea is so familiarly addrest; she is almost too strong-minded, capricious, and terrible a Virago, and—he is wedded to her for better or worse. Yet I have heard the Weather (to whose instigation so much of that Sea’s ill-humours are due) spoken of by one coming up the hatchway, ‘Let’s see how she look now.’ The Moon is, of course, a Woman too; and as with the German, and, I believe, the ancient Oriental people, ‘the blessed Sun himself a fair hot Wench in a flame-colour’d taffeta,’ and so she rises, she sets, and she crosses the Line. So the Timepiece that measures the hours of day and night. A Friend’s Watch going wrong of late, I advised Regulating; but was gravely answer’d that ‘She was a foreigner, and he did not like meddling with her.’ The same poor

ignorant was looking with me one evening at your fine old church [Lowestoft] which sadly wanted regulating too: lying all along indeed like a huge stranded Ship, with one whole side battered open to the ribs, through which ‘the Sea-wind sang shrill, chill’; and he ‘did not like seeing her so distress’d’; remembering boyish days, and her good old Vicar (of course I mean the former one: pious, charitable, venerable Francis Cunningham), and looking to lie under her walls, among his own people—‘if not,’ as he said, ‘somewhere else.’ Some months after, seeing the Church with her southern side restored to the sun, the same speaker cried, ‘Well done, Old Girl! Up, and crow again!’”

* * * * *

FitzGerald’s hesitancy about Major Moor’s book was typical of the man. I am assured by Mr John Loder of Woodbridge, who knew him well, that it was inordinately difficult to get him to do anything. First he would be delighted with the idea, and next he would raise up a hundred objections; then, maybe, he would again, and finally he wouldn’t. The wonder then is, not that he published so little, but that he published so much; and to whom the credit thereof was largely due is indicated in this passage from a letter of Mr W. B. Donne’s, of date 25th March 1876.