spread itself out in soft, porous, red excrescences, to such an
extent as to make it really deserving of considerable attention.
No stranger ever passed Captain Cuttwater in the streets of
Devonport without asking who he was, or, at any rate, specially
noticing him.

It must, of course, be admitted that a too strongly pronounced
partiality for alcoholic drink had produced these defects in
Captain Cuttwater's nasal organ; and yet he was a most staunch
friend of temperance. No man alive or dead had ever seen Captain
Cuttwater the worse for liquor; at least so boasted the captain
himself, and there were none, at any rate in Devonport, to give
him the lie. Woe betide the midshipman whom he should see elated
with too much wine; and even to the common sailor who should be
tipsy at the wrong time, he would show no mercy. Most eloquent
were the discourses which he preached against drunkenness, and
they always ended with a reference to his own sobriety. The truth
was, that drink would hardly make Captain Cuttwater drunk. It
left his brain untouched, but punished his nose.

Mrs. Woodward had seen her uncle but once since she had become a
widow. He had then come up to London to attack the Admiralty at
close quarters, and had sojourned for three or four days at
Surbiton Cottage. This was now some ten years since, and the
girls had forgotten even what he was like. Great preparations
were made for him. Though the summer had nearly commenced, a
large fire was kept burning in his bedroom--his bed was newly
hung with new curtains; two feather beds were piled on each
other, and everything was done which five women could think
desirable to relieve the ailings of suffering age. The fact,