All types were represented; the grave man, the stern man, the sweet-faced dreamy man--even the comic man.

The last-named here was much beloved and admired on account of his vein of humour, and he was decidedly the Sydney Smith of the fleet.

His good-temper was perfect; a large fellow of the Jutish type lifted him with one huge arm, and hung him over the side; the humorist treated this experience as a pleasant form of gentle exercise, and smiled blandly until he was replaced on deck.

When he was presented with a cigar, he gave an exposition of the walk and conversation of an extremely haughty aristocrat, and, on his saying, "Please don't haddress me as Bill.

Say 'Hahdeyedoo, Colonel,'" the burly mob raised such a haw-haw as never was heard elsewhere, and big fellows doubled themselves up out of sheer enjoyment, the fun was so exquisite.
Lewis was struck by the men's extraordinary _isolation_ of mind; you may not understand his thought now, but, when you visit the North Sea, the meaning will flash on you.