SOME of our readers may be cognizant that in all sea-port towns there are a few old established taverns, (in the immediate vicinity of the docks, harbours, and piers,) frequented especially by ship-masters. Yes, "shipmasters" is their ancient, legal and, in our opinion, very honourable designation, albeit by courtesy they are styled captains in verbal discourse, or when personally addressed-and they naturally relish the honorary title, and are punctilious concerning its application-although post-captain FitzMontmorency, of H.M.S. "Thunderbolt," would grimly smile, and scornfully curl his lip if the title were applied in his presence to honest John Johnson, master of the "Nancy Dawson," merchant barque. On the other hand, the said John Johnson would be mightily "huffed," in turn, were we to introduce to him, as a "brother captain," Thomas Deadeye, of the coasting sloop, "Saucy Jack,"-for the captains of "long-voyage" ships, barques, and brigs think it quite infra. dig. to associate on terms of equality with the masters of coasting schooners and sloops, whom they very properly call "skippers." Yet more, these identical coasting skippers consider themselves decidedly of higher rank than the skippers of the "keels" and "billyboys" which navigate our estuaries and tidal rivers; and the latter, finally, also deem themselves a full degree above the masters of canal boats and barges. (Yet skippers of small coasters, and of river craft, ay, and even of canal barges, call themselves "captains," and are ordinarily so addressed!) Ah, ladies and gentlemen! what a world of rank, title, precedence, and etiquette is this we

live in! If any democrotic donkey brays about "equality and fraternity" in your presence, rely upon it he never became inoculated with such an idiotic delusion at sea; for we will pledge our word that a single voyage, as one of a ship's crew, would convince even Louis Blanc, or Redru Rollin, or any other ultra-revolutionary philosopher, that of all astounding absurdities, the theory of "equality and fraternity" bears the bell !*

To resume. We are about to spend an hour at one of the taverns alluded to, ay, and in the CAPTAINS' ROOMfor so it is familiarly called, because it is specially set apart for ship-masters and their personal friends. It is a dark, squally evening at the latter end of February, and a stiff Nor-easter yells so savagely in our teeth, that we make slow headway as we wend along a straggling line of houses, facing the harbour of Seaport. At length we pause by the side of a projecting latticed porch, over which is firmly fixed a good-sized model of a ship, with all three topmasts struck, as though she were laid up in ordinary. This is the familiar sign of our tavern -The Old Ship. We enter, and in a couple of minutes are in the Captains' Room. It is an oblong apartment, panelled with very dark polished old oak, which brightly reflects the cheering blaze of a roaring sea-coal fire, with a thick billet of wood-a section of a condemned cat-head" at its back. Half a dozen large framed engravings of ships and marine views adorn the walls, and over the mantelpiece is a really fine old oil painting, representing Rodney's victory over the French fleet, commanded by the Comte de Grasse, in the West Indies,

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on April 12th, 1782. The broad mantel-piece itself is ornamented with a beautiful little model of a full-rigged ship in a glass case, and divers sea shells and marine curiosities-the most notable being a fine specimen of the terrible weapon of the sword-fish, imbedded in a piece of ship's plank which it had completely penetrated, and a huge tooth of the cachalot or sperm-whale, most ingeniously carved all over with representations of ships, seamen, and their sweethearts, and kindred subjects. A small round table in a corner is covered with a great pile of back numbers of the Shipping Gazette-three or four of the last published numbers of that excellent paper lying on the large table for the use of the company. Altogether, the Captains' Room is a very comfortable rendezvous, and many captains at this moment sailing on every ocean and sea of the globe, have spent happy hours here, and perchance some of them would be very thankful were they once more safely housed in The Old Ship.

On our entrance, we exchange brief but hearty greetings with two or three whom we know, and then taking a seat, look around and listen to the conversation going on-putting in a few words now and then. Four or five of our countrymen are present, and nearly as many foreign captains. Ere the sederunt is over, we inciden

tally learn who every one is, and shall avail ourselves of that knowledge to forthwith severally introduce the members of the worshipful company. First, Captain William Brace, of the barque “Lord Melbourne,” (just arrived with a cargo of sugar from the Mauritius,) a very fair specimen of an intelligent, modest, civil, unassuming, middle aged ship-master, very quiet and reflective; albeit a man who has experienced almost every peril and adventure incident to his hazardous profession. Close to him is a bluff, hairy, coarse-looking, slovenly dressed, and by no means overclean man, of at least fifty years of ageCaptain Anthony Blowhard, of the regular Baltic trader, "Nancy," now discharging a cargo of timber and battens from Memel. Captain Blowhard is unrivalled in two respects. He can hail a topgallant yard in a voice so tremendous, that a thirtytwo pounder could not possibly outroar it; and he can sing the very appropriate song of "Nature and Nancy," in magnificent style. Ah, ladies and gentlemen! we do wish you could only hear Captain Blowhard troll forth that capital ditty, which he always prefaces by goodhumouredly observing, "my ship is the Nancy, and Nancy's my wife!" "Tis better than listening to all your fine opera squallers to hear him sing—

A striking contrast to the bluff old Baltic ship-master is presented by the gentleman next to him--and who sits a little aloof, as though he did not altogether regard Captain Blowhard as congenial company. That is Captain Rupert Charleston, of the "Moulmein," East Indiaman. He is a young man, not more than six and twenty at most, and was regularly brought up as a reefer in one of the Honourable East India Company's

splendid ships; remaining in their service until he attained the rank of first mate (some of their ships carry six mates!) when he quitted it, to become a captain of an Indiaman belonging to a private firm. He is a capital specimen of a nautical dandy. In person he is tall, slim, and genteel; his complexion, notwithstanding he has spent his life in voyages to India ever since he was fourteen, is exceedingly fair,* without the least tinge of

the sun. His features are really handsome, though somewhat supercilious and haughty in expression-for he comes of a very good, though poor family; being the youngest son of a youngest son. He wears a richly figured black velvet vest, and a superfine black surtout, with a velvet collar. His shirt is faultlessly white, and of the latest fashion; its bosom ornamented with gold studs, and a diamond breast-pin. His hands are so small and white, that my Lord Byron would have envied them; considering they are the hands of a seaman, they are perfect prodigies. Can they ever have been dipped in a tarbucket, or have handled a marlingspike, or fixed a topsail? The fingers are adorned with two or three valuable rings, which their owner turns round from time to time, and silently admires-to the obvious disgust of dirty Captain Blowhard. To complete our sketch, we may add that Captain Charleston wears a grand hundredguinea chronometer, attached to a massive gold chain of the Albert (or cable) pattern--so long, that its bights fall down in full festoons over his vest. The sleeves of his surtout are fancifully braided over the wrists, and his cap has a narrow gold band, and anchor buttons. In our private opinion, he is coxcombically rigged out-still, he is a gentleman for all that, and possibly a good seaman also.

Two other British captains must be introduced. One is Captain Fidgett, of the clipper ship "Flyaway," now on the berth for Melbourne-a very little man, very dark, very restless, very conceited, and very boastful. If you were a timid patient listener, he would fairly talk you into a state of mental imbecility by his voluble and passionate yarns about " great circle sailing," the true rotary system of storms," the "displacement of fluid," the "scientific proportion of spars," the " wave line" of ship building, the unparalleled speed and other wondrous qualities of his ship; and, above all, his own marvellous skill as an accomplished seaman-both theore tical and practical. By his side is seated a bronzed, curly-haired, bullet

headed man, with bright piercing eyes, yet apparently of a taciturn disposition-Captain Blackman, of the "Sierra Leone," a regular African trader. Despite the frequent gleams of intellect that shoot athwart his swarthy visage, he seems to be perpetually calculating the profits of gold dust and ivory, in exchange for Brummagem goods and nick-nacks; and so abstracted is he that we fancy he hears no more of what passes around him than if he were in his own cabin, lying off the Gold Coast. We may be mistaken, however.

Now for the foreigners. Cheek-byjowl, and plump in front of the firealthough it was large and hot enough to roast a sheep whole, or to melt a native of Ashantee sate two Dutch captains. We heard their outlandish patronymics, and the long jaw-breaking names of their ships, but really we feel unable to write them down with any approximation to verbal accuracy. One was a tall man, and the other was considerably under the middle height, but both were immensely fat, and so broad-bottomed (pray don't blush, ladies! we speak the literal truth, and use strictly nautical language,) that, ample-sized as were the Windsor chairs, we perceived they were not half broad enough, and so-we pitied the Mynheers. We could not help also being reminded of our old sea phrase on a cloudy day "there isn't enough of blue sky to make a Dutchman a pair of breeches!" But, whatever amount of broad cloth might be requisite to fashion a covering for the lower extremities of these gentlemen, it was nothing in quantity compared with that " expended" for their enormous

blue surtouts, which were of unconscionable amplitude, and their shirts reached to the calves of the wearers' legs, when the latter stood upright. The two captains were amazingly alike in countenance, both being very 'bluff-bowed," with fat, suub noses, fair, freckled complexions, smoothly shaved cheeks, double chins, and little inexpressive pigs' eyes. Both were in the act of solemnly smoking huge meerschaum pipes; and as they slowly

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turned their heads to stare at the new comer, their features dimly loomed through the curling smoke in such a manner, as to mightily resemble two full moons partially obscured by a fog. We may add, that each of them wore plain gold ear-rings, and not only finger-rings, but thumb-rings, also, unless we were mistaken.* Some what aloof sate a Dane, a fine athletic fellow, with a complexion fair as a dainty lady's, large light blue eyes, and long hair, not merely flaxen, but almost white. What a contrast was his intelligent mobile features to those of the stolid, phlegmatic Dutchmen! Like them, however, he wore gold ear-rings, and had a broad silver ring on the forefinger of his right hand. He, also, was smoking-not a meerschaum, but a silver pipe-that is, the immense bowl was of pure silver,† and the long flexible stem was covered with horse-hair, woven in a most beautiful and intricate fashion. We ourselves have a pipe-stem of this kind, which we obtained when in Norway. As we have sailed in Danish vessels, and sojourned in gamlé Danmark, we happen to be able to inform the reader that this descendant of the Vikings of old was Capitan Hans Ernst Sörensen, of the brig "Enigheetns Minde," belonging to Kjöbenhavn, (pray don't attempt to pronounce these names!)

The last foreigner (as we suppose we must call him) remaining to be noticed, was Captain Aminadab Washington Goahead, of the U. S. clipper

Yankee Doodle." Although we suspect that Captain Goahead rarely reads printed matter, unless it directly relates to dollars and cents, and the best way to obtain the same; yet, as it is at least within the bounds of possibility that his keen eye may happen to glance over these pages, we are rather afraid to describe him personally in such graphic language as would convince the worthy downeaster, that he had unconsciously sate for his portrait in our presence. we dare to say is this. At our entrance Captain Goahead was seated

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on a chair in a reversed attitudethat is, his face was to the back thereof, his long legs widely apart, toes pointed upwards, and he was in the act of cutting a section off a roll of leaf tobacco, tightly "served" (as a sailor would say) with spun-yarn, with a knife bearing-as we shudderingly observed-a suspicious resemblance to what is called a "bowie." The roll of tobacco he had conveniently placed on the rail of the chair back, and just as he had severed the piece intended to accommodate his cheek with a comfortable quid, he quickly raised his head, pushed back the long lank black hair which had straggled down from beneath the broad brim of his felt "wide-awake" hat, and fixed on us a penetrating prolonged stare, evidently measuring us from top to toe. We presume that the opinion he formed was on the whole favorable, for he coolly squirted a copious stream of dark-coloured juice into the heart of the fire, where it emitted a sharp crackle, and then he stretched forth his long arm, with the fresh plug extended between the tips of his tawny fingers, and in a shrill nasal twang laconically said to us:--" Chaw, cap'ain? Rale Virginny!" This was kindly meant, and so we smiled and bowed, but courteously declined, on the plea that we didn't "chaw." Thereupon Captain Goahead complacently responded, "Wal! stranger, there's no compulsion. This hyur's a free country, I carlkelate, so what's the odds?" and he forthwith conveyed the delicate morsel to his own mouth, and proceeded to vigourously masticate the "rale Virginny."

We must not omit to describe one other individual. He is a captainbut on the "retired list," having given up the sea years ago, on a very comfortable competency most honourably and arduously earned, during a long life spent on the ocean wave. (By the way, we, who know what "a life on the ocean wave" really is, never can hear sentimental coxcombs sing that line without an inward feeling of intense disgust.") Well, Captain

George Boom, having in the course of his life visited more than one half the ports in every quarter of the globe, finally settled down at Seaport, where he has a snug little cottage in the suburbs, kept in the nicest order by the housewifely cares of his worthy spouse. They have no family, but their latter days glide along peacefully and happily. Captain Boom, however, would be a miserable man in spite of all his comforts, were it not for the Old Ship Tavern. It is a true saying that an old coachman loves the smack of the whip, and equally true is it that an old seaman loves to be within sight of his shipping, and to daily associate with those of the profession in which he has spent his youth and manhood. And so Captain Boom lounges about the pier, and the docks, and the harbour, all the forenoon; and in the afternoon, after dinner, he drops into the Old Ship, and chats over his glass of grog with the guests, and looks at the Shipping Gazette. In the evening, almost as regularly as the eight-day clock in the lobby strikes seven, Captain Boom enters, and ascends to the captain's room to spend a few hours. He is the king of that room, though the regular frequenters hail him as the OLD COMMODORE a title which he relishes extremely. Captain Boom -or, the Old Commodore, as we ought henceforth to call him--is sixtyfive, yet he is still a stout active man, and it is easy to see that when younger, his features must have been eminently handsome. On an evening he sits in an easy arm-chair-nobody ever thinks of occupying this throne to his exclusion-and listens benignantly to all the small talk and discussions going on; now and then giving his mature opinion, which, generally speaking, is well worth hearing on all professional subjects. Good-natured, manly Old Commodore! long mayst thou live to enjoy thy otium cum dignitate, say we!

The conversation was confined to the British-for the Dutchmen and the Dane smoked on in silence, or, at most, only grunted an occasional ejaculation, and the Yankee abstractedly amused himself by gently hacking the back of his chair with his glittering bowie. The captains commented upon the last number of the Shipping Gazette, and had a sharp

discussion concerning who was to blame in a terrible case of collision therein reported-Captain Brace being of opinion that the officer of one of the ships ought to have ported his helm under the peculiar circumstances of the case, whilst Captain Blowhard doggedly maintained the exact reverse, and although the Old Commodore mildly decided that Brace was right, the dogmatic Baltic captain wouldn't give in. Then various points of seamanship were mooted, and Captain Rupert Charleston drew down on himself sundry sarcastic remarks, because he kept saying, "We did so and so in John Company's service," and appeared to think that first-rate seamanship could only be acquired in the ships of the H. E. I. Company. At length a violent difference of opinion ensued on the subject of heaving-to a ship by counter-bracing. "I says it, and I sticks to it," roared Captain Blowhard, striking the table a blow with his sledge-hammer fist that made the glasses dance and ring, "that the true shipshape way is to brail up mainsail, if so be it is on her; square mainyards aback; haul up. foresail; back cross-jack yards; keep jib set, and spanker full; and helm a-lee." Little Captain Fidgett rose to his feet, and with animated gesticulations proceeded to deliver a scientific disquisition, all about "centres of rotation," "principles of counteraction," and so forth, which nobody seemed to understand any better than the orator himself, and so the discord grew to such an unpleasant pitch that fists were doubled, and personal observations were muttered, of a tendency to excite a breach of the peace of our Sovereign Lady the Queen. Now it was that the good Old Commodore thought it high time to cast oil on the troubled waters. He soothingly remarked that much depended on the build and rig of a ship, and that certainly a long clipper might be heaved-to in a different manner from a short deep-sided craft, &c. Then he proposed for the company to join in a bowl of punch, which he undertook to brew. We all -foreigners included-readily agreed, and in a few minutes fresh tumblers adorned the ample board, and the pretty "daughter of the house" brought in the ingredients, and screeching hot water, Captain Ru