1826.J An Old Neigh()oiir.s — An Admiral on Shore. 381 



one wet night, had alarmed the whole house, and nearly broken his own 

 neck, by a fall from his hammock. The admiral would have put up 

 twenty spare beds, if he could have been sure of filling them, for 

 besides his natural sociability, he was, it must be confessed, in spite of 

 his farming, and gardening, and keeping a log-book, a good deal at a loss 

 how to fill up his time. His reading was none of the most extensive : 

 Robinson Crusoe, the Naval Chronicle, Southey's admirable Life of 

 Nelson, and Smollett's Novels, formed the greater part of his library ; and 

 lor other books he cared little ; though he liked well enough to pore over 

 maps and charts, and to look at modern voyages, especially if written 

 by landsmen or ladies ; and his remarks on those occasions often dis- 

 played a talent for criticism, which under different circumstances might 

 have ripened into a very considerable reviewer. 



For the rest, he was a most kind and excellent person, although a 

 little testy and not a little absolute; and a capital disciplinarian, although 

 addicted to the reverse sins of making other people tipsy wliilst he kept 

 himself sober, and of sending forth oaths in vollies whilst he suffered 

 none other to swear. He had besides a few prejudices incident to his 

 condition — loved his country to the point of hating all the rest of the 

 world, especially the French ; and regarded his own profession with a 

 pride which made him intolerant of every other. To the army he had 

 an intense and growing hatred, much augmented since victory upon vic- 

 tory had deprived him of the comfortable feeling of scorn. The battle 

 of Waterloo fairly posed him. " To be sure to have drubbed the French 

 was a fine thing — a very fine thing — no denying that ! but why not have 

 fought out the quarrel by sea ? " 



I made no mention of Mrs. Floyd in enumerating the admiral's do- 

 mestic arrangements, because, sooth to say, no one could have less 

 concern in them than that good lady. She had not been Mrs. Floyd for 

 five-and-twenty years without thoroughly understanding her husband'g 

 despotic humour, and her own light and happy temper enabled her to 

 conform to it without the slightest appearance of reluctance or discon- 

 tent. She liked to be managed — it saved her trouble. She turned out 

 to be Irish, as I had suspected. The admiral, who had reached the age 

 of forty without betraying the slightest symptom of matrimony, had, 

 during a sojourn in Cork Harbour, fallen in love with her, then a buxom 

 widow, and married her in something less than three weeks after their 

 acquaintance began, chiefly moved to that unexpected proceeding by 

 the firmness with which she bore a salute to the Lord Lieutenant which 

 threw half the ladies on board into hysterics. 



Mrs. Floyd was indeed as gallant a woman as ever stood fire. Her 

 first husband had been an officer in the army, and she had followed the 

 camp during two campaigns ; had been in one battle and several skir- 

 mishes, and had been taken and retaken with the carriages and baggage 

 without betraying the slightest symptom of fear. Her naval career did 

 not shame her military reputation. She lived chiefly on board, adopted 

 sea phrases and sea customs, and but for the petticoat might have passed 

 for a sailor herself. 



And of all the sailors that ever lived, she was the merriest, the most 

 generous, the most unselfish ; the very kindest of that kindest race ! 

 There was no getting away from her hearty hospitality, no escaping her 

 prodigality of presents. It was dangerous to praise or even to approve 

 of any thing belonging to herself in her hearing; if it had been the 



