ien winked
at me, referring to Phillott's habit of bad language.

"I once knew a married man," observed the captain, "who had been always
accustomed to go to sleep with his hand upon his wife's head, and would
not allow her to wear a nightcap in consequence. Well, she caught cold
and died, and he never could sleep at night until he took a
clothes-brush to bed with him, and laid his hand upon that, which
answered the purpose--such was the force of habit."

"I once saw a dead body galvanized," observed Mr Phillott: "it was the
body of a man who had taken a great deal of snuff during his lifetime,
and as soon as the battery was applied to his spine, the body very
gently raised its arm, and put its fingers to its nose, as if it was
taking a pinch."

"You saw that yourself, Mr Phillott?" observed the captain, looking at
the first lieutenant earnestly in the face.

"Yes, sir," replied Mr Phillott, coolly.

"Have you told that story often?"

"Very often, sir."

"Because I know that some people, by constantly telling a story, at last
believe it to be true; not that I refer to you, Mr Phillott; but still,
I should recommend you not to tell that story where you are not well
known, or people may doubt your credibility."

"I make it a rule to believe everything myself," observed Mr Phillott,
"out of politeness, and I expect the same courtesy from others."

"Then, upon my soul! when you tell that story, you trespass very much
upon our good manners. Talking of courtesy, you must meet a friend of
mine, who has been a courtier all his life; he cannot help bowing, I
have seen him bow to his horse and thank him after he had dismounted--
beg pardon of a puppy for treading on his tail; and one day, when he
fell over a scraper, he took his hat off, and made it a thousand
apologies for his inattention."

"Force of habit again," said O'Brien.

"Exactly so. Mr Simple, will you take a slice of this pork? and perhaps
you'll do me the honour to take a glass of wine? Lord Privilege would
not much admire our dinner to-day, would he, Mr Simple?"

"As a variety he might, sir, but not for a continuance."

"Very truly said. Variety is charming. The negroes here get so tired of
salt fish and occra broth, that they eat dirt by way of a relish. Mr
O'Brien, how remarkably well you played that sonata of Pleydel's this
morning."

"I am happy that I did not annoy you, Captain Kearney, at all events,"
replied O'Brien.

"On the contrary, I a