dialogue, using the canting language of her tribe—"Cut ben whids, and stow them—a gentry cove of the ken."
The fellow's cloudy visage cleared up. "The top of the morning to you, sir; I find you are a visitor of my friend Mr Bertram—I beg pardon, but I took you for another sort of a person."
Mannering replied, "And you, sir, I presume, are the master of that vessel in the bay?"
"Aye, aye, sir; I am Captain Dirk Hatteraick, of the Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen, well known on this coast; I am not ashamed of my name, nor of my vessel,—nor of my cargo neither for that matter."
"I dare say you have no reason, sir."
"Tousend donner—no; I'm all in the way of fair trade—Just loaded yonder at Douglas, in the Isle of Man—neat coniac—real hyson and souchong—Mechlin lace, if you want any—We bumped ashore a hundred kegs last night."
"Really, sir, I am only a traveller, and
