The Amateur Gentleman

Barnabas pricked up his ears; a lord, and in the stocks! preposterous!

and yet surely these were the boots, and clothes, and hat of a lord.

"Change my mind, Jerry!" exclaimed his Lordship, "impossible; you

know I never change my mind. What! yield up my freedom for a mess of

beef and tongue, or even a brace of cold fowl--"

"Not to mention a cold biled 'am, Master Horatio, sir."

"No, Jerry, not for all the Roman parents, rounds of beef,

tyrannical uncles and cold hams in England. Tempt me no more, Jerry;

Bo'sun, avaunt, and leave me to melancholy and emptiness."

"Why then," said the Bo'sun, removing the glazed hat and extracting

therefrom the Captain's meat packages, "I were to give you this meat,

Master Horatio, beef and bread, my Lord."

"From the Captain, I'll be sworn, eh, Jerry?"

"Ay, ay, my Lord, from his Honor the Cap'n."

"Now God bless him for a tender-hearted old martinet, eh, Bo'sun?"

"Which I begs to say, amen, Master Horatio, sir."

"To be sure there is nothing Roman about my uncle." Saying which,

his Lordship, tearing open the packages, and using his fingers as

forks, began to devour the edibles with huge appetite.

"There was a tongue, I think you mentioned, Jerry," he inquired

suddenly.

"Ay, sir, likewise a cold biled 'am."

His Lordship sighed plaintively.

"And yet," said he, sandwiching a slice of beef between two pieces

of bread with great care and nicety, "who would be so mean-spirited

as to sell that freedom which is the glorious prerogative of man

(and which I beg you to notice is a not unpleasing phrase, sir) who,

I demand, would surrender this for a base smoked tongue?"

"Not forgetting a fine, cold biled 'am, Master Horatio, my Lord. And

now, wi' your permission, I'll stand away for the village, leaving

you to talk wi' this here young gentleman and take them vittles

aboard, till I bring up alongside again, Cap'n's orders, Master

Horatio." Saying which, the Bo'sun touched the glazed hat, went about,

and, squaring his yards, bore away for the village.

"Sir," said his Lordship, glancing whimsically at Barnabas over his

fast-disappearing hunch of bread and meat, "you have never

been--called upon to--sit in the stocks, perhaps?"

"Never--as yet," answered Barnabas, smiling.

"Why, then, sir, let me inform you the stocks have their virtues.

I'll not deny a chair is more comfortable, and certainly more

dignified, but give me the stocks for thought, there's nothing like

'em for profound meditation. The Bible says, I believe, that one

should seek the seclusion of one's closet, but, believe me, for deep

reverie there's nothing like the stocks. You see, a poor devil has

nothing else to do, therefore he meditates."