Captain Savage, who was very particular, asked what was the matter with me.

The surgeon replied, "An inflamed eye." The captain asked no more questions; and I took care to keep out of his way.

I walked in the evening on the forecastle, when I renewed my intimacy with Mr Chucks, the boatswain, to whom I gave a full narrative of all my adventures in France.

"I have been ruminating, Mr Simple," said he, "how such a stripling as you could have gone through so much fatigue, and now I know how it is.

It is _blood_, Mr Simple--all blood--you are descended from good blood; and there's as much difference between nobility and the lower classes, as there is between a racer and a cart-horse." "I cannot agree with you, Mr Chucks.