al man. In that
case there may be money. But nowadays none of the professions pay.
And their connexions are most undesirable.'"

"Now _I_ should call that a brig." Thus Bradshaw, pursuing the great
controversy. But Fenwick knows better, or thinks he does. She's a
brigantine, and there are sprits'ls on both masts, and only one square
sail on the foremast. He may be right, for anything we know. Anyhow,
her sheets are white in the sun, as she tacks down channel against the
west or south-west wind, which has freshened. And she is a glorious
sight as she comes in quite close to the pier-head, and goes into
stays--(is that right?)--and her great sails flap and swing, and a
person to whom caution is unknown, and who cares for nothing in heaven
or earth, sits unconcerned on a string underneath her bowsprit, and
gets wet through every time she plunges, doing something nautical in
connexion with her foresail overhead. And then she leans over in the
breeze, and the white sheets catch it full--so near you can hear the
boom click as it swings, and the rattle of the cordage as it runs
through the blocks--and then she gets her way on her, and shoots off
through a diamond-drench of broken seas, and we who can borrow the
coastguard's telescope can know that she is the Mary of Penzance, but
are none the wiser. And a man stripped to the waist, who is washing
radishes on the poop, continues washing radishes unmoved, and ignores
all things else.

"As far as the young man himself goes, I believe there is nothing to
be said. But the mother is quite unpresentable, perfectly impossible.
And the eldest sister is married to a Dissenting clergyman--a very
worthy man, no doubt, but not exactly. And the girls are loud, etc.,
etc., etc." Miss Arkwright's mamma ripples on, even as persons of
condition ripple; and Tishy, whose views in this direction have
undergone expansion, manages to forget how she has done the same
herself--not long ago, neither!--and decides that the woman is
detestable.

Not so her daughter, who, with Sally as guardian and dolly as ward,
is awaiting the arrival of the party at the galvanic battery. She is
yearning for the great event; not for a promised land of jerks and
spasms for herself, but for her putative offspring. She encourages
the latter, telling her not to be pitened and kye. Dolly doesn't seem
apprehensive--shows great self-command, in fact.

But this detestable mother of a lovable daughter and an untempting
gra