Magazine for December, 1827, sketched with fidelity and in that
rich vein of humour by which stories of the service are usually
distinguished. It exhibits the character of his royal highness in all
the glowing generosity of buoyant youth, and proves him to possess a
warm-hearted sympathy for the sufferings of his fellow-creatures--

THE ROYAL REEFER AND BOB CLEWLINES.

It was on one of those December days, when the wind, blowing from
the northward, acts almost like a razor on the surface of the skin,
and when, accompanied by small sharp rain, a mixture of damp and
cold produce a chilling effect upon the frame and spirits, that a
_ci-devant_ midshipman, his hands in his pockets, and

"Whistling as he went for want of thought,"

crossed London-bridge, which at that time was an asylum to the
footsore, the pauper, and the weary of heart. The day had fallen, and
every thing looked dull and dreary; the foot-path was encumbered by
mud, and porters carrying weights, as well as other busy passengers,
were jostling each other to obtain a footing on the dirty pavement:
a fellow heavy laden came in contact with the _royal reefer_[6] so
powerfully, that he took a lee-lurch, and got foul of one of the seats
in the arches. "Avast there; luff up, you lubberly rigged son of a
gun," cried middy; "couldn't you hail ship before you were aboard of
us?" The fellow, however, waddled on; but the middy had to turn about
in order to regain his course, when suddenly he beheld a middle-aged
figure, perishing with cold, a red night-cap on, an old jacket and
trousers, a pair of shoes in rags attached to his legs with a rope's
end, no shirt, no stockings, nor any other attire; the face was