promising to overtake them before they reached Passage, I parted
company at the corner of the street, and rejoined the lieutenant.

Next morning we spent in looking about the town--Cork is a fine
town--contains seventy thousand inhabitants _more_ or _less_--safe in
that--and three hundred thousand pigs, driven by herdsmen, with coarse
grey greatcoats. The pigs are not so handsome as those in England,
where the legs are short, and tails curly; here the legs are long, the
flanks sharp and thin, and tails long and straight.

All classes speak with a deuced brogue, and worship graven images;
arrived at Cove to a late dinner--and here follows a great deal of
nonsense of the same kind.

By the time it was half-past ten o'clock, I was preparing to turn in,
when the master at arms called down to me,--

"Mr. Cringle, you are wanted in the gunroom."

I put on my jacket again, and immediately proceeded thither, and on my
way I noticed a group of seamen, standing on the starboard gangway,
dressed in pea-jackets, under which, by the light of a lantern, carried
by one of them, I could see they were all armed with pistols and
cutlass. They appeared in great glee, and as they made way for me, I
could hear one fellow whisper, "There goes the little beagle." When I
entered the gunroom, the first lieutenant, master, and purser, were
sitting smoking and enjoying themselves over a glass of cold grog--the
gunner taking the watch on deck--the doctor was piping anything but
mellifluously on the double flagolet, while the Spanish priest, and
aide-de-camp to the general, were playing at chess, and wrangling in