en--to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth with loitering step and slow.
_Castle of Indolence_.

Captain Oughton who commanded the Windsor Castle was an original. His
figure was short and thickset, his face broad, and deeply pitted with
the small-pox, his nose an apology for a nose, being a small tubercle
arising mid-way between his eyes and mouth, the former of which were
small, the latter wide, and displaying a magnificent row of white teeth.
On the whole, it was impossible to look in his face without being
immediately struck with his likeness to a bull-dog. His temperament and
his pursuits were also analogous; he was a great pugilist, knew the
merits of every man in the ring, and the precise date and circumstances
attending every battle which had been fought for the previous thirty
years. His conversation was at all times interlarded with the slang
terms appropriated to the science, to which he was so devoted. In other
points he was a brave and trust-worthy officer, although he valued the
practical above the theoretical branches of his profession, and was
better pleased when superintending the mousing of a stay or the
strapping of a block, than when "flooring" the sun, as he termed it, to
ascertain the latitude, or "breaking his noddle against the old
woman's," in taking a lunar observation. Newton had been strongly
recommended to him, and Captain Oughton extended his hand as to an old
acquaintance, when they met on the quarterdeck. Before they had taken a
dozen turns up and down, Captain Oughton inquired if Newton could handle
the mauleys; and on being answered in the negative, volunteered his
instruction during their passage out.

"You heard the end of it, I suppose?" said Captain Oughton, in
continuance.

"The end of what, sir?"

"What! why, the fight. Spring beat. I've cleared three hundred by
him."

"Then, sir, I am very glad that Spring beat," replied Newton.

"I'll back him against a stone heavier any day in the week. I've got
the newspaper in the cabin, with the fight--forty-seven rounds; but we
can't read it now; we must see after these soldiers and their traps.
Look at them," continued Captain Oughton, turning to a party of the
troops ordered for the passage, who were standing on the gangway and
booms; "every man Jack, with his tin pot in his hand, and his great-coat
on. Twig the drum-boy, he has turned his coat--do you see, with the
lining outwards to keep it clean. By Jove, that's a