ceremony.  The marine guard, of near a hundred men, was paraded on board every ship-of-the-line.  The national anthem was played, the scarlet-clad guard presented, and all officers and crews stood bareheaded, as the flag with measured dignity rose slowly to the staff-head.  Lord St. Vincent himself made a point of attending always, and in full uniform; a detail he did not require of other officers.  Thus the divinity that hedges kings was, by due observance, associated with those to whom their authority was delegated, and the very atmosphere the seaman breathed was saturated with reverence.

The presence of Lord St. Vincent on these occasions, and in full uniform, gave rise to an amusing skit by one of the lieutenants of the fleet, attributing the homage exacted, not to the flag, but to the great man himself; and this, becoming known to the admiral, elicited from him in turn the exhibition of practical humor to which allusion has just been made.  Parodying the Scriptural story of Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image, the squib began:—­

“I.  The Earl of St. Vincent, the commander-in-chief, made an Image of blue and gold, whose height was about five feet seven inches, and the breadth thereof was about twenty inches” (which we may infer were the proportions of his lordship).  “He set it up every ten o’clock A.M. on the quarter-deck of the Ville de Paris, before Cadiz.”

Passing from hand to hand, it can be understood that this effusion, which was characterized throughout by a certain sprightliness, gave more amusement to men familiar with the local surroundings, and welcoming any trifle of fun in the dulness of a blockade, than it does to us.  At last it reached the admiral, who knew the author well.  Sending for him on some pretext, an hour before the time fixed for a formal dinner to the captains of the fleet, he detained him until the meal was served, and then asked him to share it.  All passed off quietly until the cloth was removed, and then the host asked aloud, “What shall be done to the man whom the commander-in-chief delights to honour?” “Promote him,” said one of the company.  “Not so,” replied St. Vincent, “but set him on high among the people.  So, Cumby,” addressing the lieutenant, “do you sit there,”—­on a chair previously arranged at some height above the deck,—­“and read this paper to the captains assembled.”  Mystified, but not yet guessing what was before him, Cumby took his seat, and, opening the paper, saw his own parody.  His imploring looks were lost upon the admiral, who sat with his stern quarter-deck gravity unshaken, while the abashed lieutenant, amid the suppressed mirth of his audience, stumbled through his task, until the words were reached, “Then the Earl of St. Vincent was full of fury, and the form of his visage was changed against the poor Captain of the Main-Top,” who had not taken off his hat before the Image of blue and gold.  Here a roar of laughter from the head of the table unloosed all tongues, and Cumby’s penance ended in a burst of general merriment.  “Lieutenant Cumby,” said the admiral, when quiet was restored, “you have been found guilty of parodying Holy Writ to bring your commander-in-chief into disrespect; and the sentence is that you proceed to England at once on three months’ leave of absence, and upon your return report to me to take dinner here again.”