Bonfield; Or, the Outlaw of the Bermudas. A Nautical Novel

THE BOATMAN. Still shorter was a short winter's day rendered by a heavy and gloomy mist that filled the atmosphere and made it murky twilight long before the sun went down. It had just ended, in blasts and pelting rain, when a Thames boatman, chilled and wet by exposure, and with a pair of oars upon his shoulder, entered the door of his humble abode by the river side. His habitation, although wretched enough, seemed to be a palace of comfort in his eyes, as they met the cheerful blaze upon the hearth, with his good wife stooping down and cooking a warm supper for him, and beheld upon a few coals, seething most invitingly, a mug of egg flip. The sight made him smile with a cheery expression upon his dark, sun-browned face, which, as he first entered, looked sour and discomposed: and when his young wife, and handsome withal, rose up and turned to welcome him with 'I am so glad you have come in, Martin!' spoken in the tones that only a loving wife can utter, his gloomy aspect disappeared entirely, and he responded with a kindliness of look and voice which showed that he not only loved his wife, but had his heart in the right place: 'And glad am I to come in, Martha, for the night is as cheerless and cold as I ever would care to be abroad in!' he said, placing his oars in beckets over the door. 'Then I am rejoiced that you havn't to go on the river! It is so rare that I have you at home with me so early, that I feel grateful to the storm and darkness that keeps travelers in their houses. How drenched your muffler is?' she added with a look of surprise and sympathy, as she untied it from his neck and hung it dripping upon a chair by the fire. 'What a time you must have had!' 'Yes, and no fares at that, Martha,' he answered, removing his heavy, wet over-coat, the numerous patches upon which showed both the poverty of the husband and the tenderness and skill of the wife. It also revealed, suspended by a ribbon upon his breast, a silver medal

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