“Prosperity to England’s friends! 
    Perdition to her foes! 
  Heaven to herself! to hell she sends
    All Spaniards and Crapeaua!”

Saying this, he drained his cup.  “And now, boys, about this little starched old maid of a town—­”

“There you are, in a fog, Captain,” interrupted Pantry.  “How can it be an old maid, when, on every tack, half a dozen children, like so many porpoises, come across your bows?”

“Any wit but thine own would easily box that compass,” answered the Captain.  “But talking is thirsty business, and we will have up another bottle.  Halloa, old Nettletop, bear a hand with some more of your weak-waters.  What do you stand gaping there for, like a chicken with the pip?  Off with you.  And now, while old Thistle is rummaging the locker, I will give you my mind about this matter of—­”

But, alas! an incident now occurred which has deprived posterity forever of the invaluable opinion of Captain Sparhawk respecting the appearance of Boston in 16—­, and of his explanation of the phenomenon suggested by Bill.

Some five or ten minutes before, a grave looking personage, with a long staff in his hand, had stolen quietly into the room, unnoticed by any one but Arundel—­the landlord being absent at the time—­and taken a seat where he could overhear the conversation.  Upon mine host’s return, and noticing the stranger, he exhibited some embarrassment, and endeavored to catch the attention of the drinking party without attracting that of the new comer.  His efforts, however, were in vain, and assuming an air of deep mortification, he waited for what should happen.  Upon being required by the Captain to supply more wine, he had shaken his head, which it seems was not taken much notice of by the sailor, and was preparing to reply, when he was anticipated by the stranger.  Lifting up his staff, and pointing with it at the table, he said,

“Furnish no more strong liquor, good man Nettles, to these carousers.  Methinks they have already had more than enough for their souls’ or bodies’ health.”

“I will not gainsay thee, master Prout,” said the host, “and will obey, as becometh a man who respects Thee and thine office; but the wine is good and can do no harm, as thou mayest convince thyself by trial.  I will pour thee out a cup.”

“Nay,” said Master Prout, “I need it not.  I do stand amazed,” he added, bending his brows severely on the host, “that, a man professing godliness, and one of the congregation, shouldst administer to the carnal appetite till the graceless sinner is converted into a swine.”

“Dear Master Prout, be not so hard on a friend.  I knew not the strength of my wine, or that these strangers were so unaccustomed to drinking.  The wine hath been but lately bought, being part of the cargo of the Abstemious, and thou knowest I A indulge not, else I should have been acquainted with its potency, and regulated things accordingly.  But thou seest the six have drunk only so many poor bottles.”