any man under heaven." He then informed us how he was indebted to the daring of Fleuriot for the capture he had just made. The recital was animated and well told, in spite of Paulet's manner, who had a strange way of pronunciation, and who informed us that he had knocked out the brains of a dozen Englishmen with a hand-spike. The evening advanced, and Paulet, who had not seen his wife and children, was about to retire, when Fleuriot returned. He was not alone. "Captain," said he, entering, "what think you of this agreeable sailor I have just engaged? I think that red cap was never placed over a prettier countenance."—"True," replied Paulet, "but is it a cabin-boy you have brought us? He has no beard. Parbleu!" he added, raising his voice, "it is a woman!" Then continuing, with more strongly expressed astonishment, "If I am not mistaken, it is the Saint "[1]—"Yes," replied Fleuriot, "it is Eliza, the amiable and better half of the manager of the company which now enchants Boulogne; she has come to congratulate us upon our late good fortune."—"Madame amongst privateers!" said the captain, casting on the disguised actress a look of contempt but too expressive of his thoughts. "I compliment her taste; she will hear agreeable conversation; the devil must possess her! A woman, too!"—"Come, come, captain," cried Fleuriot, "privateers are not cannibals, they will not eat her up. Besides, you know, the old ditty:
'She loves a laugh; she loves a glass;
'She loves a song; a jolly lass.'
What harm is there in it?"—"None; only the season is propitious for a cruise; my crew are all well, and we were in no want of madame to improve their health."
- ↑ The name had dearly escaped my pen; but the husband of the lady in question has been for some time manager of one of our theatres in the capital. He is living, and my discretion will be commended.
