but three other chambers: the Corner Room, the Cupboard Room, and
the Garden Room. My old friend, Jack Governor, "slung his
hammock," as he called it, in the Corner Room. I have always
regarded Jack as the finest-looking sailor that ever sailed. He is
gray now, but as handsome as he was a quarter of a century ago--
nay, handsomer. A portly, cheery, well-built figure of a broad-
shouldered man, with a frank smile, a brilliant dark eye, and a
rich dark eyebrow. I remember those under darker hair, and they
look all the better for their silver setting. He has been wherever
his Union namesake flies, has Jack, and I have met old shipmates of
his, away in the Mediterranean and on the other side of the
Atlantic, who have beamed and brightened at the casual mention of
his name, and have cried, "You know Jack Governor? Then you know a
prince of men!" That he is! And so unmistakably a naval officer,
that if you were to meet him coming out of an Esquimaux snow-hut in
seal's skin, you would be vaguely persuaded he was in full naval
uniform.

Jack once had that bright clear eye of his on my sister; but, it
fell out that he married another lady and took her to South
America, where she died. This was a dozen years ago or more. He
brought down with him to our haunted house a little cask of salt
beef; for, he is always convinced that all salt beef not of his own
pickling, is mere carrion, and invariably, when he goes to London,
packs a piece in his portmanteau. He had also volunteered to bring
with him one "Nat Beaver," an old comrade of his, captain of a
merchantman. Mr. Beaver, with a thick-set wooden face and figure,
and apparently as hard as a block all over, proved to be an
intelligent man, with a world of watery experiences in him, and
great practical knowledge. At times, there was a curious