ALAND THE BALTIC IN 1854. 199 



meal was snatched when and how it could; a nap 

 after the same fashion. Those meals were certainly 

 delicious things. An old battered table, propped up 

 by uneven stones in front of the tent, represented the 

 festive board. On it would be strewn at odd times 

 a wonderful miscellany of tin pannikins, tin spoons, 

 battered knives, odd cups, odd pieces of cold meat, 

 and hunches of bread. There was one box reserved 

 as a seat for a chance guest ; it was the seat of honour, 

 but also the seat of inconvenience, as our factotum 

 was sure to forget pepper, salt, sugar, or mustard, 

 and be obliged to rummage for it therein. The rest 

 squatted anywhere around, on stones or folded cloaks. 

 Stray guests would be dropping in ever and anon, 

 but their coming caused no dismay to host or cook. 

 There were always a spoon, a platter, and a welcome 

 to a dive into the crock. Near was the kitchen a 

 pile of stones with a fire in the midst, and a kettle or 

 crock suspended over it. When the stew was ready, 

 the crock was handed round, and every man made a 

 dive, and tried his hand at pot-luck. After an ex- 

 periment or two, the Meg Merrilees cookery was uni- 

 versally acknowledged to be the only one adapted 

 to a vagabond life, and the satisfaction of vagabond 

 appetites, and after that everything or anything was 

 put into the caldron. Then came brandy-and-water, 

 in tea-cups or pannikins, and cigars ; then the siesta 

 Pleasant, too, were those snatches of sleep, lying 

 under the fresh green boughs, with the soft light 



