leman into
my stateroom, steward," called he out from above. "Mix him something
warm, and look after him."

"Ay, ay, sir," was the brisk reply, as the bustling man of brandy and
basins threw open a small door, and ushered me into a little den, with
a mingled odor of tar, Stilton, and wet mackintoshes. "All to yourself
here, sir," said he, and vanished.

CHAPTER XI. A JEALOUS HUSBAND.

I take it for granted that all special "charities" have had their origin
in some specific suffering. At least, I can aver that my first thought
on landing at Ostend was, "Why has no great philanthropist thought
of establishing such an institution as a Refuge for the Sea-sick?"
I declare this publicly, that if I ever become rich,--a consummation
which, looking to the general gentleness of my instincts, the wide
benevolence of my nature, and the kindliness of my temperament, mankind
might well rejoice at,--if, I repeat, I ever become rich, one of the
first uses of my affluence will be to endow such an establishment.
I will place it in some one of our popular ports, say Southampton.
Surrounded with all the charms of inland scenery, rich in every rustic
association, the patient shall never be reminded of the scene of his
late sufferings. A velvety turf to stroll on, with a leafy shade above
his-head, the mellow lowing of cattle in his ears, and the fragrant
odors of meadow-sweet and hawthorn around, I would recall the sufferer
from the dread memories of the slippery deck, the sea-washed stairs, or
the sleepy state-room. For the rattle of cordage, and the hoarse
trumpet of the skipper, I would substitute the song of the thrush or the
blackbird; and, instead of the thrice odious steward and his basin, I
would have trim maidens of pleasing aspect to serve him with syllabubs.
I will not go on to say the hundred device" I would employ to cheat
memory out of a gloomy record, for I treasure the hope that I may yet
live to carry out my theory, and have a copyright in my invention.

It was with sentiments deeply tinctured by the above that I tottered,
rather than walked, towards the "Hotel Royal." It was a bright moonlight
night, and, as if in mockery of the weather outside, as still and calm
as might be. Many a picturesque effect of light and shade met me as I
went: quaint old gables flaring in a strong flood of moonlight, showed
outlines the strangest and oddest; twinkling lamps shone out of tall,
dark-sided, old houses, from which strains