ht, and its sharp peals, followed by the hoarse
summoning of the watch below, by the boatswain's-mates, disturbed his
reverie, and Captain M--- descended to his cabin.

And now, reader, I shall finish this chapter. You may, perhaps, imagine
that I have the scene before me, and am describing from nature: if so,
you are in error. I am seated in the after-cabin of a vessel, endowed
with as liberal a share of motion as any in His Majesty's service:
whilst I write I am holding on by the table, my legs entwined in the
lashings underneath, and I can barely manage to keep my position before
my manuscript. The sea is high, the gale fresh, the sky dirty, and
threatening a continuance of what our transatlantic descendants would
term a pretty-considerable-tarnation-strong blast of wind. The
top-gallant-yards are on deck, the masts are struck, the guns
double-breeched, and the bulwarks creaking and grinding in most
detestable regularity of dissonance as the vessel scuds and lurches
through a cross and heavy sea. The main-deck is afloat: and, from the
careless fitting of the half-ports at the dockyard, and neglect of
caulking in the cants, my fore-cabin is in the same predicament. A
bubbling brook changing its course, ebbing and flowing as it were with
the rolling of the ship, is dashing with mimic fury against the trunks
secured on each side of the cabin.

I have just been summoned from my task, in consequence of one of the
battens which secured my little library having given way to the
immoderate weight of learning that pressed upon it; and as my books have
been washed to and fro, I have snatched them from their first attempts
at natation. Smith's Wealth of Nations I picked up first, not worth _a
fig_; Don Juan I have just rescued from a second shipwreck, with no
other _Hey-day_ (Haidee) to console him, than the melancholy one
extracted from me with a deep sigh, as I received his shattered frame.
Here's Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," in a very melancholy plight
indeed, and (what a fashionable watering-place my cabin has turned to!)
here's Burke's "Peerage," with all the royal family and aristocracy of
the kingdom, taking a dip, and a captain of a man-of-war, like another
Sally Gunn, pulling them out. So, you perceive, my description has been
all moonshine.

"My wishes have been fathers to my thoughts."

My bones are sore with rocking. Horace says, that he had a soul of
brass who first ventured to sea; I think a bo