nds the
ship."

"Really, O'Brien, this is not a very pleasant prospect."

"Whist! wait a little; now I come to the wind-up. This Captain To is
very partial to pig's _mate_, and we have as many live pigs on board as
we have pigs of ballast. The first lieutenant is right mad about them.
At the same time he allows no pigs but his own on board, that there may
be no confusion. The manger is full of pigs; there are two cow-pens
between the main-deck guns, drawn from the dock-yard, and converted into
pig-pens. The two sheep-pens amidships are full of pigs, and the geese
and turkey-coops are divided off into apartments for four _sows_ in the
_family way_. Now, Peter, you see there's little or no expense in
keeping pigs on board of a large frigate, with so much _pay_-soup and
whole peas for them to eat, and this is the reason why he keeps them,
for the devil a bit of any other stock has he on board. I presume he
means to _milk_ one of the _old sows_ for breakfast when the ship sails.
The first thing that he does in the morning, is to go round to his pigs
with the butcher, feeling one, scratching the dirty ears of another, and
then he classes them--his _bacon_ pigs, his _porkers_, his _breeding_
sows, and so on. The old boar is still at the stables of this inn, but I
hear he is to come on board with the sailing orders: but he is very
savage, and is therefore left on shore to the very last moment. Now
really, Peter, what with the squealing of the pigs and his wife's piano,
we are almost driven mad. I don't know which is the worse of the two; if
you go aft you hear the one, if you go forward you hear the other, by
way of variety, and that, they say, is charming. But, is it not shocking
that such a beautiful frigate should be turned into a pig-sty, and that
her main-deck should smell worse than a muckheap?"

"But how does his wife like the idea of living only upon hog's flesh?"

"She! Lord bless you, Peter! why, she looks as spare as a shark, and she
has just the appetite of one, for she'll _bolt_ a four-pound piece of
pork before it's well put on her plate."

"Have you any more such pleasant intelligence to communicate, O'Brien?"

"No, Peter; you have the worst of it. The lieutenants are good officers
and pleasant messmates: the doctor is a little queer, and the purser
thinks himself a wag; the master, an old north-countryman, who knows his
duty, and takes his glass of grog. The midshipmen are a very genteel set
of young men,