Our hero was now one of the candidates, and exhibited to the electors so long a list of bold and ingenious stratagems which he had executed, and made so graceful and majestic an appearance in his person, that he had a considerable majority of white balls in his box, though there were ten candidates for the same honour; upon which he was declared duly elected, and hailed by the whole assembly, King of the Mendicants. The public register of their actions being immediately committed to his care, and homage done him by all the assembly, the whole concluded with great feasting and rejoicing, and the electors sang the following ode: I. Cast your nabs {58a} and cares away, This is Maunders’ holiday; In the world look out and see, Where so blest a king as he! {58b} II. At the crowning of our king, Thus we ever dance and sing; Where’s the nation lives so free, And so merrily as we! III. Be it peace, or be it war, Here at liberty we are: Hang all Harmenbecks, {58c} we cry, We the Cuffin Queres {58d} defy. IV. We enjoy our ease and rest, To the field we are not press’d; And when taxes are increased, We are not a penny sess’d. V. Nor will any go to law With a Maunder {58e} for a straw; All which happiness, he brags, Is only owing to his rags. Though Mr. Carew was now privileged by the dignity of his office from going out on any cruise, and was provided with every thing necessary, by joint contributions of the community, yet he did not give himself up to the slow poison of the mind, indolence, which, though its operations are imperceptible, is more hurtful and fatal than any of the quicker passions; for we often see great virtues break through the cloud of other vices, but indolence is a standing corrupted pool, which always remains in the same state, unfit for every purpose. Our hero, therefore, notwithstanding the particular privilege of his office, was as active in his stratagems as ever, and ready to encounter any difficulties which seemed to promise success, of which the following is an instance. Happening to be in the parish of Fleet, near Portland Race, in Dorsetshire, he happened to hear in the evening of a ship in imminent danger of being cast away, she having been driven on some shoals. Early in the morning, before it was well light, he pulled off his clothes, which he flung into a deep pit, and then unseen by any one swam to the vessel, which now parted asunder; he found only one of the crew alive, who was hanging by his hands on the side of the vessel, the rest being either washed overboard, or drowned in attempting to swim to the shore. Never was there a more piteous object than this poor wretch hanging between life and death; Mr. Carew immediately offered him his assistance to get him to shore, at the same time inquiring the name of the vessel, and her master, what cargo on board, whence she came, and whither bound.