Livro Tom Cringle's Log

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THE CRUISE OP THE TORCH. Sleep, p-ntle sleep? Wilt than, upon the high and giddy mast, Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brainj In cradle of the rude inijerious surge; And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top.

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them With deaf ning clamours in the slippery cluuds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes. Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour w rude T' King Henry IV., Part 11.

Heligoland light?north and by west?so many leagues? wind baffling?weather hazy?Lady Passengers on deck for the first time. Arrived in the Downs?ordered by signal from the guardship to proceed to Portsmouth.

Arrived at Spithead?ordered to fit to receive a general officer, and six pieces of field artillery, and a Spanish Ecclesiastic, the Canon of . Plenty of great guns, at any rate?a regular park of artillery.

Received General and his wife, and aide-de-camp, and two poodle-dogs, one white man-servant, one black ditto, and the Canon of, and the six nine-pound field-pieces, and sailed for the Cove of Cork It was blowing hard as we stood in for the Old Head of Kin- sale?pilot boat breasting the foaming surge like a sea gull?

Carrol Cove in her tiny mainsail?pilot jumped into the main channel?bottle of rum swung by the lead line into the boat?all very clever. Ran in, and anchored under Spike Island.

A line-of-battle ship, three frigates, and a number of merchantmen at anchor? men-of-war lovely craft?bands playing?a good deal of the pomp and circumstance of war. Next forenoon, Mr Treenail, the second lieutenant, sent for me.

Mr Cringle, said he, you have an uncle in Cork, I believe? I said I Had. I am going there o...