The Sketch Book.

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RECOLLECTIONS OF A WANDERER.

An Incident on the Coast.

Towards the close of an afternoon in the dreary month of December, a small vessel was descried in the offing, from the pier of a romantic little hamlet on the coast of ——.  The pier was this evening nearly deserted by those bold spirits, who, when sea and sky conspire to frown together, loved to resort there to while away their idle hours.  Only a few “out-and-outers” were now to be seen at their accustomed station, defying the rough buffetings of the blast, which on more tender faces might have acted almost with the keenness of a razor.  Though the evening certainly looked wild and stormy to an unpractised eye, still to those who “gauge the weather” it was unaccompanied with those unerring symptoms which usually usher in a gale.  However, the appearance of the night was so uninviting, as to have induced the local craft to run some time before along shore for shelter; and the movements of the strange vessel were consequently a matter of speculation to those on land.  There is something to our minds exceedingly interesting in a solitary vessel at sea—­it is a point on which you may hinge your attention—­a living thing on the desert-bosom of the main.  For sometime her movements were apparently very undecided, but though the weather seemed to be looking up, she suddenly put about helm, and ran without further wavering right for the shelter held out at Lanport.  In less than twenty minutes she was safe alongside the pier.  She was one of the larger class of fishing vessels and was well manned.  The attention of the bystanders was now directed to an individual who seemed to be a passenger, and who immediately landed after conversing for a short while with the master.  The gentleman brought ashore an immoderately large carpet-bag, and forthwith marched for the chief street of Lanport.  When we say chief, we, perhaps, ought to add that it was the only assemblage of buildings in the village, which by the comparative uniformity of their arrangement, could lay claim to such a title.  On reaching the foot of the declivity, the traveller, who was evidently much jaded with his marine excursion, espied with symptoms of satisfaction, the antiquated sign-post of an “hostelrie” swinging before him in the breeze.  Without further investigation, but with “wandering steps and slow,” he decided on taking up his quarters at the “Mermaid Inn and Tavern, by Judith, (or Judy as she was called by some) Teague.”  This determination of the traveller would, however, have turned out to be “Hobson’s choice” had his eyes wandered in quest of a rival establishment, for here Mrs. Judy Teague reigned supreme amongst “licensed victuallers,” no rival having hitherto been found bold enough to enter the field against her.  The leisurely advance of the traveller up the street, had given all the old gossips and that numerous class who esteem other