rom that time to this! That won't do, you know; that ain't what
I'd a right to expect. If I had stumbled on a serpent and got bit; or
stumbled on a first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed, or stumbled on a
lot of Sympathisers with inverted shirt-collars, and got made a lion of;
I might have distinguished myself, and earned some credit. As it is,
the great object of my voyage is knocked on the head. So it would be,
wherever I went. How do you feel to-night, sir?'

'Worse than ever,' said poor Martin.

'That's something,' returned Mark, 'but not enough. Nothing but being
very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever do me justice.'

'In Heaven's name, don't talk of that,' said Martin with a thrill of
terror. 'What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill!'

Mr Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark, although
it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his washing in a
brighter mood; and observed 'that his glass was arising.'

'There's one good thing in this place, sir,' said Mr Tapley, scrubbing
away at the linen, 'as disposes me to be jolly; and that is that it's
a reg'lar little United States in itself. There's two or three American
settlers left; and they coolly comes over one, even here, sir, as if it
was the wholesomest and loveliest spot in the world. But they're like
the cock that went and hid himself to save his life, and was found out
by the noise he made. They can't help crowing. They was born to do it,
and do it they must, whatever comes of it.'

Glancing from his work out at the door as he said these words, Mark's
eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw hat, with
a short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory stick studded all
over with knots, in his hand; who smoking and chewing as he came along,
and spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a train of decomposed
tobacco on the ground.

'Here's one on 'em,' cried Mark, 'Hannibal Chollop.'

'Don't let him in,' said Martin, feebly.

'He won't want any letting in,' replied Mark. 'He'll come in, sir.'
Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. His face was almost as
hard and knobby as his stick; and so were his hands. His head was like
an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with his hat on;
and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said, without removing his
pipe:

'Well, Mr Co.! and how do you git along, sir?'

It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely i