The anticipated eruption of Mount Vesuvius is said to have been prevented by throwing a box of Holloway’s Ointment into the crater.

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THE SAILOR’S SECRET.

In the year—­let me see—­but no matter about the date—­my father and mother died of a typhus fever, leaving me to the care of an only relative, and uncle, by my father’s side.  His name was Box, as my name is Box.  I was a babby in long clothes at that time, not even so much as christened; so uncle, taking the hint, I suppose, from the lid of his sea-chest, had me called Bellophron Box.  Bellophron being the name of the ship of which he was sailing-master.

I sha’n’t say anything about my education; though I was brought up in

[Illustration:  A FIRST RATE BOARDING-SCHOOL.]

It’s not much to boast of; but as soon as I could bear the weight of a cockade and a dirk, uncle got me a berth as midshipman on board his own ship.  So there I was, Mr. Bellophron Box.  I didn’t like the sea or the service, being continually disgusted at the partiality shown towards me, for in less than a month I was put over the heads of all my superior officers.  You may stare—­but it’s true; for I was mast-headed for a week at a stretch.  When we put into port, Captain ——­ called me into his cabin, and politely informed me that if I chose to go on shore, and should find it inconvenient to return, no impertinent inquiries should be made after me.  I availed myself of the hint, and exactly one year and two months after setting foot on board the Bellophron, I was Master Bellophron Box again.

Well, now for my story.  There was one Tom Johnson on board, a fok’sell man, as they called him, who was very kind to me; he tried to teach me to turn a quid, and generously helped me to drink my grog.  As I was unmercifully quizzed in the cockpit, I grew more partial to the society of Tom than to that of my brother middies.  Tom always addressed me,’Sir,’ and they named me Puddinghead; till at last we might be called friends.  During many a night-watch, when I have sneaked away for a snooze among the hen-coops, has Tom saved me from detection, and the consequent pleasant occupation of carrying about a bucket of water on the end of a capstan bar.

I had been on board about a month—­perhaps two—­when the order came down from the Admiralty, for the men to cut off their tails.  Lord, what a scene was there!  I wonder it didn’t cause a mutiny!  I think it would have done so, but half the crew were laid up with colds in their heads, from the suddenness of the change, though an extra allowance of rum was served out to rub them with to prevent such consequences; but the purser not giving any definite directions, whether the application was to be external or internal, the liquor, I regret to say, for the honour of the British navy, was applied much lower down.  For some weeks the men seemed