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540 rifice duty for pelf, I am afraid we have only too much warrant for saying. In old days it was a very lucrative commission to bring home a freight of specie from abroad. The senders of such valuable cargo were always especially glad if it could be confided to the captain of a man-of-war. Hence at those foreign stations whence we received the precious metals, there was always a chance of a captain being sent to England with a treasure in the hold of his ship, for conveying which he would receive very substantial reward. When this could be done in due order – that is to say, when the captain could take his rich freight by command of his superior – he was simply a fortunate individual. But such things used to be known as captains intriguing to get the offer of bullion freights; and then, forgetful of their duty and honour, leaving their stations without orders or permission, and not caring for the dereliction of their duty as long as they could secure the dues for transporting the freight. Of course any man so acting had to face the decision of a court-martial on his conduct. But, unfortunately, the gain to be made by one voyage was sometimes so great as to tempt a commander to risk his commission to secure it. I remember an old captain who had done this, and contrived to escape punishment for his act. Unless he was most unwarrantably misrepresented, he used to be fond of bragging to his familiars of this achievement, and of saying "You see I put my commission in one hand and the freight-money in the other, and found the latter a devilish deal the better worth having of the two." Such venality in a post-captain was quite as bad as any traffic in documents of which we have had to complain in later days.

MEN ABOVE PRICE.
To turn now from men who not only had their price, but who did not scruple to ticket themselves as open to a bid, it is pleasant to be reminded of one whose conscience was of a far severer order. Only a very few months since, it was notified to English-speaking men that Samuel Johnson had been dead a hundred years; and there was a proposal to mark the epoch by pilgrimages to Lichfield and commemorative ceremonies. The public did not, I think, incline very seriously to the demonstration; and probably those who best know how to value Johnson see no reason to regret that this was the case. For centenaries are becoming somewhat vulgar tributes, and our sturdy moralist still commands from his countrymen a respect which would scarcely sort well with processions and spectacles. Had he left behind him simply the fame of a great author, there might have been something fitting in acting to enthusiastic audiences his tragedy, with Miss Ellen Terry for Irene, and an exceptionally powerful cast – in presenting the London of 120 years ago – in elaborating tableaux from the 'Prince of Abyssinia'; but the Johnson whom we revere to-day is the sage far more than the author. Our great-grandfathers and grandfathers did, I truly believe, regard the sonorous Doctor as a mighty leader in all the most majestic modes of letters. His drama, his didactic pieces, his essays, his biographies, and above all these, perhaps, his 'Rasselas,' were