t did who were to those more on a level with it. The effect of
perspective is well known, and even children now have as playthings,
castles, &c., laid down on card, which, when looked at in a proper
direction, appear just as correct as they do preposterous when lying
flat before you.

Now it happened that from the level that Jemmy looked up from to his
wife's face, her inharmonious features were all in harmony, and thus did
she appear--what is very advantageous in the marriage state--perfection
to her husband, without sufficient charms in the eyes of others to
induce them to seduce her from her liege lord. Moreover, let it be
recollected, that what Jemmy _wanted_ was _height_, and he had gained
what he required in his wife, if not in his own person: his wife was
passionately fond of him, and very jealous, which was not to be wondered
at, for, as she said, "there never was such a husband before or since."

We must now return to the conference, observing, that all these parties
were sitting down on the deck, and that Jemmy Ducks had his fiddle in
his hand, holding it with the body downwards like a bass viol, for he
always played it in that way, and that he occasionally fingered the
strings, pinching them as you do a guitar, so as to send the sound of it
aft, that Mr Vanslyperken might suppose that they were all met for
mirth. Two or three had their eyes directed aft, that the appearance of
Corporal Van Spitter or the marines might be immediately perceived; for,
although the corporal was not a figure to slide into a conference
unperceived, it was well known that he was an eavesdropper.

"One thing's sartain," observed Coble, "that a dog's not an officer."

"No," replied Dick Short.

"He's not on the ship's books, so I can't see how it can be mutiny."

"No," rejoined Short.

"Mein Got--he is not a tog, he is te tyfel," observed Jansen.

"Who knows how he came into the cutter?"

"There's a queer story about that," said one of the men.

Tum tum, tumty tum--said the fiddle of Jemmy Ducks, as if it took part
in the conference.

"That poor boy will be killed if things go on this way: the skipper will
never be content till he has driven his soul out of his body--poor
creature; only look at him as he lies in his hammock."

"I never seed a Christian such an object," said one of the sailors.

"If the dog ain't killed, Bones will be, that's sartain," observed
Coble, "and I don't see why the preference should be given to