eading of my carronade screw shine and
grin again, like a set of false teeth in an eager heiress-hunter's
mouth.

Still another mode of passing time, was arraying yourself in your best
"_togs_" and promenading up and down the gun-deck, admiring the shore
scenery from the port-holes, which, in an amphitheatrical bay like
Rio--belted about by the most varied and charming scenery of hill,
dale, moss, meadow, court, castle, tower, grove, vine, vineyard,
aqueduct, palace, square, island, fort--is very much like lounging
round a circular cosmorama, and ever and anon lazily peeping through
the glasses here and there. Oh! there is something worth living for,
even in our man-of-war world; and one glimpse of a bower of grapes,
though a cable's length off, is almost satisfaction for dining off a
shank-bone salted down.

This promenading was chiefly patronised by the marines, and
particularly by Colbrook, a remarkably handsome and very gentlemanly
corporal among them. He was a complete lady's man; with fine black
eyes, bright red cheeks, glossy jet whiskers, and a refined
organisation of the whole man. He used to array himself in his
regimentals, and saunter about like an officer of the Coldstream
Guards, strolling down to his club in St. James's. Every time he passed
me, he would heave a sentimental sigh, and hum to himself "_The girl I
left behind me_." This fine corporal afterward became a representative
in the Legislature of the State of New Jersey; for I saw his name
returned about a year after my return home.

But, after all, there was not much room, while in port, for
promenading, at least on the gun-deck, for the whole larboard side is
kept clear for the benefit of the officers, who appreciate the
advantages of having a clear stroll fore and aft; and they well know
that the sailors had much better be crowded together on the other side
than that the set of their own coat-tails should be impaired by
brushing against their tarry trowsers.

One other way of killing time while in port is playing checkers; that
is, when it is permitted; for it is not every navy captain who will
allow such a scandalous proceeding, But, as for Captain Claret, though
he _did_ like his glass of Madeira uncommonly well, and was an
undoubted descendant from the hero of the Battle of the Brandywine, and
though he sometimes showed a suspiciously flushed face when
superintending in person the flogging of a sailor for getting
intoxicated against his