and love in the same breath?" cried Rhimeson;
"why, his heart is like a rock, and love, like a torpid serpent,
enclosed in it."

"True," replied Frank; "but, you know, these same serpents sting as hard
as ever when once they get into the open air; besides, love, as the
shepherd in Virgil discovered, is an inhabitant of the rocks."

"Confound the fellow! he's a walking apothegm--as consequential as a
syllogism!" muttered Harry; "but come now, Frank, let us have the
inexpressive she, without backing and filling any longer."

"Upon my word, Harry, it is out of my power; but, in a few weeks, I hope
to"----said Elliot.

"Hope, Frank, hope, my good fellow, is a courtier very pleasant and
agreeable in his conversation, but very much given to forget his
promises. But I'll tell you, Frank, since you won't give a toast, I
will, because I know it will punish you--so, gentlemen"----

The toast was only suited for the meridian of the place in which it
was given, and we will, therefore, be excused from repeating it. But
Whitaker had judged rightly that he had punished his friend, who,
from the strictness of his education, and a certain delicacy in his
opinions respecting women, could never tolerate the desecration of these
opinions by the libertine ribaldry which forms so great a part of the
conversation of many men after the first bottle. Frank's brow darkened,
his keen eye turned with a glance of indignation to Harry; and he was
prevented only by the circumstance of being in his own house, from
instantly kicking him out of the room.

"Look at Frank now, gentles," continued the young sailor, when the mirth
had subsided; "his face is as long as a ropewalk, while every one of
yours is as broad as the main hatchway. He has a reverence for women as
great as I have for my own tight, clean, sprightly craft; but because a
fellow kicks one of my loose spars, or puts it to a base use, I'm not to
quarrel with him, as if he had called my vessel a collier, eh? Frank, my
good fellow, you're too sober; you're thinking too much of yourself;
you're looking at the world with convex glasses; and thus the world
seems little--you yourself only great; but, recollect, everybody looks
through a convex glass; and that's vanity, Frank:--there, now! the
murder's out."

"Nay, Harry," cried Rhimeson, good-naturedly; for he saw Elliot's nether
lip grow white with suppressed passion; "don't push Frank too hard, for
charity's sake."

"Charity, to be sur