ballast last night, and lost my head;
this morning I've found it again, with a pig of ballast in it I believe.
All owing to my good nature."

"How is that, Cockle?"

"Why, that Jack Piper was here last night; and rather than he should
drink all the grog and not find his way home, I drank some myself--he'd
been in a bad way if I had not, poor fellow!--and now, you see, I'm
suffering all from good nature. Easiness of disposition has been my
ruin, and has rounded me into this ball, by wearing away all my sharp
edges, Bob."

"It certainly was very considerate and very kind of you, Cockle,
especially when we know how much you must have acted at variance with
your inclinations."

"Yes, Bob, yes; I am the milk punch of human kindness; I often cry--when
the chimney smokes; and sometimes when I laugh too much. You see, I not
only give my money, as others will do, but, as last night, I even give
my head to assist a fellow-creature. I could, however, dispense with it
for an hour or two this morning."

"Nay, don't say that; for although you might dispense with the upper
part, you could not well get on without your mouth, Cockle."

"Very true, Bob; a chap without a mouth would be like a ship without a
companion hatch;--talking about that, the combings of my mouth are
rather dry--what do you say, Bob, shall we call Moonshine?"

"Why it's rather broad daylight for Moonshine."

"He's but an eclipse--a total eclipse, I may say. The fact is, my head
is so heavy, that it rolls about on my shoulders; and I must have a
stiffener down my throat to prop it up. So, Moonshine, shine out, you
black-faced rascal!"

The negro was outside, cleaning his knives:--he answered, but continued
at his work.

"How me shine, Massa Cockle, when you neber gib me _shiner_?"

"No: but I'll give you a _shinner_ on your lower limb, that shall make
you feel planet-struck, if you don't show your ugly face," replied
Cockle.

"Massa Cockle, you full of dictionary dis marning."

"Come here, sir!"

"Why you so parsonal dis marning, sar," replied Moonshine, rubbing away
at the knife-board--"my face no shine more dan your white skull widout
hair."

"I pulled one out, you scoundrel, every time you stole my grog, and now
they are all gone--Hairs! what should I do with heirs when I've nothing
to leave," continued Cockle, addressing me--"hairs are like rats, that
quit a ship as soon as she gets old. Now, Bob, I wonder how long that
rascal will make us wa