THE Rights of Man,--whether abstract or real, divine or vulgar, vested or contested, civil or uncivil, common or uncommon--have been so fully and so frequently discussed, that one would suppose there was nothing new to be felt or expressed on the subject. I was agreeably surprised, therefore, during a late passage from Ireland, to hear the rights of an individual asserted in so very novel a manner as to seem worthy of record. The injured party was an involuntary fellow-passenger; and the first glance at him as he leisurely ascended the cabin stairs, bespoke him an original. His face, figure, dress, gait, ad gestures, were all more or less eccentric; yet, without any apparent affectation of singularity. His manner was perfectly earnest and business-like, though quaint. On reaching the deck, his first movement was towards the gangway, but a moment sufficed to acquaint him with the state of the case. The letter-bags having been detained an hour beyond the usual time of departure, the steam had been put on at a gallop, and Her Majesty’s mail packet the Guebre had already accomplished some hundred fathoms of her course. This untoward event, however, seemed rather to surprise than annoy our Original, who quietly stepped up to the Captain, with the air of demanding what was merely a matter of course: “Hollo, Skipper! Off she goes, eh? But you must turn about, my boy, and let me get out.” [Illustration: “HE’S A-GOING TO TAKE A TOWER.”] “Let you get out!” echoed the Skipper, and again repeating it, with what the musicians call a staccato--“Let--you--get--out!” “Exactly so. I’m going ashore.” “I’m rather afraid you are _not_, Sir,” said the Skipper, looking decidedly serious, “unless you allude to the other side!” [Illustration: AN AQUATIC TRIP.] “The other side!” exclaimed the Oddity, involuntarily turning towards England. “Poo! poo! nonsense, man,--I only came to look at your accommodations. I’m not going across with you--I’m not, upon my word!” “I must beg your pardon, Sir;” said the Captain, quite solemnly. “But it is my firm opinion that you _are_ ‘going across.’” “Poo, poo! all gammon.--I till you I am going back to Dublin.” “Upon my soul, then,” said the Skipper, rather briskly, “you must swim back like a grampus, or borrow a pair of wings from the gulls.” The man at the helm grinned his broadest at what he thought a good joke of his officer’s--while the Original turned sharply round, parodied a hyena’s laugh at the fellow, and then returned to the charge. “Come, come, Skipper--it’s quite as far out as I care for--if you want to treat me to a sail!” “Treat you to a sail!” roared the indignant officer. “Zounds! Sir, I’m in earnest--as much in earnest as ever I was in my life.” “So much the better,” answered the Original. “_I’m_ not joking myself, and I have no right to be joked upon.” “Joke or no joke,” said the Captain--“all I know is this. The mail bags are on board--and it’s more than my post is worth to put back.”