e, who had been in a fit of musing, with his eyes cast upon the
forests of masts which we had passed below London Bridge, and which were
now some way astern of us, of a sudden exclaimed, in a loud voice,
"_Parce precor! Periculosum est_!"

The lighter, swinging short round to her anchor, had surprised the
Dominie with the rapid motion of the panorama, and he thought we had
fallen in with one of the whirlpools mentioned by Tom. "What has
happened, good Dux? tell me," cried the Dominie to old Tom, with alarm
in his countenance.

"Why, master, I'll tell you after my own fashion," replied old Tom,
smiling; and then singing, as he held the Dominie by the button of his
spencer--

"Now to her berth the craft draws nigh,
With slacken'd sail, she feels the tide;
`Stand clear the cable!' is the cry--
The anchor's gone, we safely ride.

"And now, master, we'll bail out the lobscouse. We sha'n't weigh anchor
again until to-morrow morning; the wind's right in our teeth, and it
will blow fresh, I'm sartain. Look how the scud's flying; so now we'll
have a jolly time of it, and you shall have your allowance of grog on
board before you turn in."

"I have before heard of that potation," replied the Dominie, sitting
down on the coaming of the hatchway, "and fain would taste it."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

IS A CHAPTER OF TALES IN A DOUBLE SENSE--THE DOMINIE, FROM THE NATURAL
EFFECTS OF HIS SINGLE-HEARTEDNESS, BEGINS TO SEE DOUBLE--A NEW
DEFINITION OF PHILOSOPHY, WITH AN EPISODE ON JEALOUSY.

We now took our seats on the deck, round the saucepan, for we did not
trouble ourselves with dishes, and the Dominie appeared to enjoy the
lobscouse very much. In the course of half-an-hour all was over; that
is to say, we had eaten as much as we wished; and the Newfoundland dog,
who, during our repast, lay close by young Tom, flapping the deck with
his tail, and sniffing the savoury smell of the compound, had just
licked all our plates quite clean, and was now finishing with his head
in the saucepan; while Tom was busy carrying the crockery into the
cabin, and bringing out the bottle and tin pannikins, ready for the
promised carouse.

"There, now, master, there's a glass o' grog for you that would float a
marline-spike. See if that don't warm the _cockles_ of your old heart."

"Ay," added Tom, "and set all your _muscles_ as taut as weather
backstays."

"Master Tom, with your leave, I'll mix your grog for you myself. Hand
me