Joe, taking the menu, gazed on it with a puzzled air, scratched his head, and said: "I can't make nothing out of it. Let's go to old Coffin; he's a scholard, and sure to know." On giving the menu to the boatswain, he thoughtfully stroked his chin, and said: "Well, look 'ere, mates, it's like this 'ere. Them swells down in the saloon have some soup, a bit of fish, a bit of this, and a bit of that, and a hit of summat else, and calls it 'table dottie.' We haves 'table dottie,' only we mixes it all together and calls it Irish stew." GRANDFATHER'S ADVENTURES. KIDNAPPING POOR COOLIES. BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON. The rain was sweeping a musical tattoo against the windows of the room in which Ralph Pell was devouring an ancient volume of sea-yarns, discovered by him that morning among other old books in the attic chest, and which collection represented the little ship's library that had been carried by Grandfather Sterling's vessel on many long and venturesome voyages to all quarters of the globe. In a sleepy-hollow chair near the window that overlooked a sweep of sodden meadow-land sat the old sailor, his eyes closed, and his head nodding over a long-stemmed pipe in which the fire had gone out some time before, but whose mouth-piece he held between his lips with something like the tenacity of a bull-dog's grip. As Ralph ran his eyes along the line of type that marked the ending of the last story, he gave expression to a sigh in which enjoyment and regret were equally divided, and turned the leaves of the book through his fingers idly, as though reluctant to realize that he had parted company with its sea heroes, buccaneers, beautiful captive maidens, and other characters who had played their several parts against backgrounds of tempest, fire, and piracy. "Grandpop!" he called, gently, and the old man slept on. "Oh, grandpop!" he said, in a louder voice; but the grizzled seaman responded only by a little deeper snore and a tighter hold upon the stem of his pipe. A mischievous look stole into Ralph's eyes. Suddenly he called out strong, "There goes flukes!" "Where away?" shouted Grandfather Sterling, dropping his pipe and jumping excitedly to his feet, imagining that he was on board of a whaling-ship, and that the lookout had reported a school of whales in sight. At this Ralph threw himself back in his chair, laughing heartily, and did not observe the old sailor's look of bewilderment change to that of comprehension and fun-making. Grandfather quietly laid hold of the fire-bellows hanging on the chimney front, stole across the room to Ralph's chair, and just as its occupant was indulging in a renewed burst of mirth the nozzle of the bellows found its way into his generously open mouth, and a strong and unexpected rush of air sent his head bumping against the back cushion. "There she blows! There she blows!" yelled Grandfather Sterling, as he worked the bellows handles energetically.