villany-the public good, often wisdom, and sometimes virtue. This is no casuistry; but merely common sense. Supposing that a man, tainted with the plague, was about to enter a room full of healthy persons; let us suppose that the aggravation of the disease had produced insanity: expostulation with the intruder would be useless, and contact death. Who will say that to shoot this man on the threshold would not be an act of justice, as well as an act of expediency? It is within the range of possibility that the pest-stricken might have recovered, and that he might not have contaminated those upon whom he was intruding; but such an act, under such circumstances, would have been just;-to whom? not, certainly, to the victim, but to the many.

In the toil and contention of public life, mo dified cases like these are continually occurring : and these considerations must be pleaded in defence of many of the actions of the Commodore; for I must confess that no other defence

have they got. But, whilst I am pleading his cause, I have forgot his person-Oh! I left him on the quarter-deck, having just sent away twelve tall fellows, grumbling in smothered voices from the fulness of their grievances, and in stomachs from actual emptiness.

But as Richard Stubbs, the captain of the mess, and the man who bore the bones, had, bones and all, nearly disappeared down the Jacob's ladder, a change came o'er the spirit of the Commodore's countenance; for he puckered up his red and knotty features into something like a grin, then again resumed his usually desperately stern look, and, at length, relaxed into a low whistle; but it was sufficiently audible for those on deck to recognise in it, distinctly, the tune of "O the roast beef of Old England! O the Old English roast beef!"

Richard Stubbs heard it too: and, instead of smiling at the droll coincidence, like the officers near Sir Octavius-for they were allowed to smile on the quarter-deek, though

none but the Commodore and the winds were allowed to whistle on that sacred spot-Richard Stubbs, I say, shook his head mournfully over the fleshless bones of oxality, while his outstanding pigtail made solemn gyrations in the unconscious air.

"Come here, my men," blustered out the Commodore in his gruffest voice; "come aft, sir, with that excellent eight-pound piece of beef, immediately. Shall I call the boatswain's mate to freshen your way?"

So Dick Stubbs came aft, very naturally expecting three dozen at least for shaking his head at the Commodore's tune.

"Well, sir," said the Commodore, when the penitent Richard had taken his position on the quarter-deck, holding the unlucky beef bones in one hand, and a wiry curl that hung over his right temple in the other.

"I am no judge of music, your honour; it was the excellent eight-pound piece of beef that I was thinking on."

"Well, my man; and what might your thoughts be?"

It might have been the shifting of the Commodore's quid, or it might have been a smile, but, whatever it was, it encouraged Stubbs to the unheard-of boldness to reply: "Sir Hoctive-us"-the middle syllable duly accentuated

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my thoughts were that we might think of it for all the satisfaction we should get out of it, as we should not ever be able to dine on it."

"Pray how long have you been at sea?"

"Let me see, your honour, so that I mayn't tell your honour a word of a lie; come next June I shall be thirty-five, then that makes, man and boy, just twenty-four years.”

"Mostly in what craft?"

"In all manner of craft, Sir Hoct-ive-us, without ever being over and above cunning.” "I should think so; but principally in what service ?"

"In his Majesty's, God bless him!"

At this reply, the Commodore gently lifted his little three-cornered cocked hat an inch, without uncovering his head; for, at that period, he was ultra in his loyalty and downright honest in his Toryism. After this little ceremony, he continued looking dreadfully grim, as some compensation to himself for the little act of humility that he had just performed.

"Did you ever hear, Richard Stubbs, of the 'Devil's dumplings?'"

every

"Lord bless your honour and his Majesty, no, sir," said Richard, again all trembling. "Order the master-at-arms to send aft third man who was going to bring his beef under my nose to-day-every third captain of the messes, I mean,"—and then, without seeming to pay much attention to the looks of those about him, the old gentleman set up his steady quarter-deck walk, with a long leg and a short

one.

The master-at-arms and ship's corporals were some time collecting every third man, for the