called the Hamilton, attached to the United States' revenue
service. We ran down the coast as far as Portsmouth, and on our return
passed a night within the snugly enclosed harbour of Marblehead; into
which a couple of our cruisers chased an American frigate during the
last war, and threatened to fetch her out again, but thought better of
it, after putting the natives to a great deal of inconvenience through
their anxiety to provide a suitable welcome for the strangers.

Here we landed, and looked about the place: the air was somewhat fishy,
but, judging by the ruddy complexions of the people, must be
exceedingly salubrious. It is not unlike some of the French
fishing-towns on the coast of Normandy, and has an old look that pleased
me much. The place is said to have been originally settled by a colony
of fishers from Guernsey, whose descendants are found still to retain
many of the customs of the islands, and some words of the _patois_ in
use there.

The population is famous for industry, and for the summary mode with
which they dispense justice amongst themselves on points of local polity
affecting the general weal. One instance was fresh enough in memory to
be talked of still. A townsman, returning from the Banks with a cargo,
passed a vessel in a sinking state, turning a blind eye to their
repeated anxious signals. Contrary to all expectation, the crippled
bark, after being given up as lost, reached the harbour, and the conduct
of the hard-hearted skipper was made public. He was seized _instanter_,
triced up, served out with a dozen or two well told, covered with tar,
clothed in feathers, and in this plight was carted about the boundaries
of the township, having a label hung about his neck that described his
crime and sentence in good set rhymes, which ran as follows:

"This here's old John Hort,
That for his hard heart
Is tar-ed and feather-ed,
And carry-ed in this cart."

This occurs to me as being the best practicable illustration of
"poetical justice" I ever heard of, and an example not likely to be lost
upon a maritime people.

It was about dusk when we landed; and I was at first greatly surprised
by the numbers of pretty and neatly-dressed women we encountered
strolling about, or chatting together in groups, wholly unattended by
the other sex. I was quickly reminded, however, that at this season of
the year the husbands, lovers, and sons of the community are mostly
absent in their