ad, for many years, held the situation of harbour-master at Port Royal,
but had then retired on a pension, and occupied a small house at Ryde,
in the Isle of Wight. His name was Cockle, but he had long been
addressed as Captain Cockle; and this brevet rank he retained until the
day of his death. In person he was very large and fat--not unlike a
cockle in shape: so round were his proportions, and so unwieldy, that it
appeared much easier to roll him along from one place to another, than
that he should walk. Indeed, locomotion was not to his taste: he seldom
went much farther than round the small patch of garden which was in
front of his house, and in which he had some pinks and carnations and
chrysanthemums, of which he was not a little proud. His head was quite
bald, smooth, and shining white; his face partook of a more roseate
tint, increasing in depth till it settled into an intense red at the tip
of his nose. Cockle had formerly been a master of a merchant vessel, and
from his residence in a warm climate had contracted a habit of potation,
which became confirmed during the long period of his holding his
situation at Port Royal. He had purchased Moonshine for three hundred
dollars, when he was about seven years old, and, upon his return to
England, had taken him with him.

Moonshine was very much attached to his master, very much attached to
having his own way, and was, farther, very much attached to his master's
grog bottle.

The first attachment was a virtue; the second human nature; and the
third, in the opinion of old Cockle, a crime of serious magnitude. I
very often called upon Captain Cockle, for he had a quaint humour about
him which amused; and, as he seldom went out, he was always glad to see
any of his friends. Another reason was, that I seldom went to the house
without finding some entertainment in the continual sparring between the
master and the man. I was at that time employed in the Preventive
Service, and my station was about four miles from the residence of
Cockle. One morning, I stalked in and found him, as usual, in his little
parlour on the ground floor.

"Well, Cockle, my boy, how are you?"

"Why, to tell you the truth, Bob, I'm all wrong. I'm on the stool of
repentance; to wit, on this easy chair, doing penance, as you perceive,
in a pair of duck trousers. Last night I was half seas over, and
tolerably happy; this morning, I am high and dry, and intolerably
miserable. Carried more sail than