Finding no cargo ready for him, and anxious to deliver up the vessel to the owner, who resided at Overton, he returned in ballast, and communicated the intelligence of Thompson's death, which in so small a town was long the theme of conversation, and the food of gossips.

Newton consulted with his father relative to the disposal of the trunk; but Nicholas could assist him but little with his advice. After many pros and cons, like all other difficult matters, it was postponed." Really, Newton, I can't say. The property certainly is not yours, but still we are not likely to find out the lawful owner. Bring the trunk on shore, we'll nail it up, and perhaps we may hear something about it by and bye. We'll make some inquiries-by and bye--when your mother"

"I think," interrupted Newton, "it would not be advisable to acquaint my mother with the circumstance; but how to satisfy her curiosity on that point, I must leave to you."

"To me, boy! no; I think that you had better manage that, for you know you are only occasionally at home."

"Well, father, be it so," replied Newton, laughing; "but here comes Mr. Dragwell and Mr. Hilton to consult with us what ought to be done relative to the effects of poor old Thompson. He has neither kith nor kin, to the ninety-ninth degree, that we can find out.”

Mr. Dragwell was the curate of the parish; a little fat man with bow-legs, who always sat upon 'the edge of the chair, leaning against the back, and twiddling his thumbs before him. He was facetious and good-tempered, but was very dilatory in every thing. His greatest peculiarity was, that although he had a hearty laugh for every joke, he did not take the jokes of others at the time that they were made. His ideas seemed to have the slow and silent flow ascribed to the stream of lava (without its fire); and the consequence was, that although he eventually laughed at a good thing, it was never at the same time with other people; but in about a quarter or half a minute afterwards (according to the difficulty of the analysis), when the cause had been dismissed for other topics, he would burst out in a hearty Ha, ha, ha!

Mr. Hilton was the owner of the sloop: he was a tall, corpulent man, who for many years had charge of a similar vessel, until by" doing a little contraband," he had pocketed a sufficient sum to enable him to purchase one for himself. But the profits being more than sufficient for his wants, he had for some time remained on shore, old Thompson having charge of the vessel. He was a good-tempered, jolly fellow, very fond of his pipe and his pot, and much more fond of his sloop, by the employment of which he was supplied with all his comforts. He passed most of the day sitting at the door of his house, which looked upon the anchorage, exchanging a few words with every one that passed by, but, invariably upon one and the same topic-his sloop. If she was at anchor-" There she is," he would say, pointing to her with the stem of his pipe. If she was away, she had sailed on such a day,—he expected her back at such a time. It was a fair wind-it was a foul wind for his sloop. All his ideas were engrossed by this one darling object, and it was no easy task to divert him from it.

I ought to have mentioned that Mr. Dragwell,

the curate, was invariably accompanied by Mr. Spinney, the clerk of the parish, a little spare man, with a few white hairs straggling on each side of a bald pate. He always took his tune whether in or out of church from his superior, ejecting a small treble ❝ He, he, he !" in response to the loud Ha, ha, ha of the curate.

"Peace be unto this house!" observed the curate as he crossed the threshold, for Mrs. Forster's character was notorious; then laughing at his own wit with a Ha, ha, ha!

He, he, he!"

"Good morning, Mr. Forster, how is your good lady?"

"She's safe moored at last," interrupted Mr. Hilton.

"Who?" demanded the curate, with surprise. "Why, the sloop, to be sure."

"Oh! I thought you meant the lady—ha, ha, ha!"

"He, he, he!"

"Won't you sit down, gentlemen ?" said Nicholas, showing the way from the shop into the parlour, where they found Mrs. Forster, who had just come in from the back premises.

"Hope you're well, Mr. Curate," sharply observed the lady, who could not be persuaded, even from respect for the cloth, to be commonly civil-" Take a chair; it's all covered with dust; but that Betsy is such an idle slut!"

"Newton handles her, as well as any man. going," observed Hilton.

"Newton!" screamed the lady, turning to her son, with an angry inquiring look-" Newton handles Betsy!" continued she, turning round to Hilton.

"Betsy! no; the sloop I meant, ma'am."

Newton burst out into a laugh, in which he was joined by Hilton and his father.

"Sad business-sad indeed!" said Hilton, after the merriment had subsided, "such an awful death!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" roared the curate, who had but just then taken the joke about Betsy. "He, he, he!"

"Nothing to laugh at, that I can see," observed Mrs. Forster snappishly.

66

Capital joke, ma'am, I assure you!" rejoined

the curate; but, Mr. Forster, we had better