All who fell into my clutches were doomed to pace a protruded plank!
Yet the desperate demon of those days is now a Churchwarden mild,
Holding the bag at Collections--and all through a golden-haired
child!"

[_Here the_ Mate _suppresses a groan, and is understood to
remark that he "knows that golden-haired child;" the_ Stout
Lady _sighs, and inwardly reflects that you can never go by
appearances; the_ Chirpy Man _becomes solemn and attentive._

_The Ex-Pirate_ (_who meanwhile has sighted an East-Indiaman, and
given chase_).
"Well, soon as we'd overhauled her, our 'Jolly Roger' we flew,
We opened our dummy deadlights, and the guns gleamed grinning
through.
And, panther-like, we were crouching--"

[_Here he attempts to suit the action to the word; the boat
heels over--and the Pirate's crouch becomes a sprawl._

I--I _beg_ your pardon.--(_Picking himself up._)

"Under the Indiaman's side;
When--a baby-face from her bulwarks, looked down on us open-eyed:
I can see him now--with his fluttering curls, and his cheeks so
chubby and round,
Which a cherub might have been proud of, in snowiest linen bound!
Then--he hailed us, in infant accents, so innocent, fresh, and
blithe--
That our nest of human snakes was stirred to a conscience-stricken