Permit me to illustrate. A friend of mine several winters ago purposed to buy a schooner and fit her out for a West Indian cruise. He provided himself with a number of tickets of admission to several vessels laid up in a dock at South Brooklyn. He invited me to accompany him on a prospecting tour. It was a dirty day, sleet, snow and wind being the objectionable features that confronted us.
Our first port of call was the office of the dock, where we found a man in charge who examined our credentials and sent to a neighboring tavern for the "ship-keeper," who he said had "gone to lunch." In about half an hour this functionary made his appearance, and piloted us to the pier where several schooners which we desired to look at were moored. We boarded the first on our list, a cruising vessel of some celebrity, whose owner desired to sell her, as he was building a steamer. The decks were deep with water, the scuppers being obstructed. Everywhere were signs of disgraceful neglect. The binnacle was a mass of verdigris. Costly and artistic wood carving was without protection from the weather. The handsome companionway of mahogany was without a canvas cover. Going below we found everything mildewed and musty. The bedding in the berths was damp. Water trickled from the deck beams. What really had been a most attractive interior presented an appearance of
