days. I thought as I gazed on that splendid
ship that, had I my choice, nothing would suit me better than to go to
sea in her.

A month has passed; it is the 4th of July, in the year of grace 1878,
and my wish is likely to be consummated, for I find myself on this
morning, with several hundreds of others, taking a short trip across the
harbour to the "Iron Duke," for so is she named, corrupted by irreverent
mariners into the "Irish Duke."

We skip lightly up the side, or through the ports, bundling boxes, bags,
and hats unceremoniously through anywhere; and find ourselves, though
not without sundry knocks and manifold bruises, standing on the
quarter-deck.

With a few exceptions we are all West-countrymen, undoubted "dumplings"
and "duff-eaters"--at least, so say our East-country friends, though
experience has taught me, and probably many of my readers too, that at
demolishing a plum pudding the east is not a whit behind the west; in
that particular we all betray a common English origin.

Though our ship's company is, seemingly, young, very young, the men are
growing, and lusty and strong: and bid fair, ere the end of our
commission, to develope into the ideal British sailor. A stranger,
perhaps, would be struck with their youthful appearance; for strangers,
especially if they be midland men, have an idea that a sailor is a hairy
monster, but once removed from a gorilla or a baboon; and if we accept
the relationship to these candated gentry, I don't think his ideas would
be far out--say a dozen years since. But these terrible monsters are all
now enjoying their well-earned pensions in rural quiet, leaving to the
youngsters of this generation the duty of supplying their places in
that great fighting machine--the navy.

The sailor of to-day possesses, at least, one decided advantage over his
brother of the past. In the olden days--not so very olden either--if one
man in a ship's company could read and write a letter he was considered
a genius; now a sailor is, comparatively, an educated man: and if one is
to be found who cannot read and write well, and accomplish far more
abstruse things with his head, he is dubbed--a donkey. He is not now the
debauched ignoramus which has made the English sailor a proverb all over
the world. Education is of little value if it is not capable of changing
a man's habits for the better. There is, however, much room for
improvement in certain national traits; _apropos_ of this, the "Mail