a monster, like the idol we saw in Owhyhee, with the head of a
jackass, the body of a baboon, and the tail of a scorpion!"

"I don't like that," said Jack; "when I'm ashore, I myself am
part of the public."

"Your pardon, Jack; you are not, you are then a part of the
people, just as you are aboard the frigate here. The public is
one thing, Jack, and the people another."

"You are right," said Jack; "right as this leg. Virgil, you are a
trump; you are a jewel, my boy. The public and the people! Ay,
ay, my lads, let us hate the one and cleave to the other."



CHAPTER XLVI.

THE COMMODORE ON THE POOP, AND ONE OF "THE PEOPLE" UNDER THE
HANDS OF THE SURGEON.


A day or two after the publication of Lemsford's "Songs of the
Sirens," a sad accident befell a mess-mate of mine, one of the
captains of the mizzen-top. He was a fine little Scot, who, from
the premature loss of the hair on the top of his head, always
went by the name of _Baldy_. This baldness was no doubt, in great
part, attributable to the same cause that early thins the locks
of most man-of-war's-men--namely, the hard, unyielding, and
ponderous man-of-war and navy-regulation tarpaulin hat, which,