388 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
your boudoir; but be never seemed out of place on 
my quarter-deck, and every man on board loved bim 
as a brother. With what a languid grace be would 
wallow and roll in the water, when we chucked him 
overboard; and paddle and splash, and make himself 
thoroughly cool and comfortable, and then come and 
“ beg to be taken up,” like a fat baby, and allow the 
rope to be slipped round his extensive waist, and come 
up—sleek and dripping—among us again with a con¬ 
tented grunt, as much as to say, “ Well! after all, there’s 
no place like home!” How he would compose himself 
to placid slumber in every possible inconvenient place, 
with his head on the binnacle (especially when careful 
steering was a matter of moment), or across the com¬ 
panion entrance, or the cabin skylight, or on the 
shaggy back of “ Sailor,” the Newfoundland, who posi¬ 
tively abhorred him. And how touching it was to see 
him waddle up and down the deck after Mr. White, 
whom he evidently regarded in a maternal point of 
view—begging for milk with the most expressive 
snorts and grunts, and embarrassing my good-natured 
master by demonstrative appeals to his fostering offices. 
I shall never forget Mr. White’s countenance that 
