thing: don't be afraid; only be afraid of doing what is wrong. Now, Jack, you must go."

"I will, I will," replied I, bursting into tears.

"Do, do, dear Jack! God bless your heart-I wish I could cry that way."

I walked away quite humiliated; at last I ran, I was so eager to go to Anderson and confess every thing. I found him in his cabin-I attempted to speak, but I could not-I pulled out the money, put it on the table, and then I knelt down and sobbed on his knee.

"You

"What is all this, Jack?" said Anderson, calmly; but I did not reply. "I think I know, Jack," said he, after a pause. have been doing wrong."

"Yes, yes," replied I, sobbing.

"Well, my dear boy, wait till you can speak, and then tell me all about it."

As soon as I could, I did. Anderson heard me without interruption.

"Jack," said he, when I had done speaking, "the temptation (pointing to the money) has been very great; you did not resist at the moment; but you have, fortunately, seen your error in good time, for the money is still here. I have little to say to you, for your own feelings convince me that it is needless. Do you think that you can read a little? then read this." Anderson turned to the parable of the prodigal son, which I read to him: "And now," said he, turning over the leaves, "here is one verse more." I read it: "There is more joy over one sinner tnat repenteth, than over ninety and nine that need no repentance." "Be careful, therefore, my dear boy; let this be a warning to you; think well of it, for you have escaped a great danger; the money shall be returned. Go now, my child, to your employment; and if you do receive only halfpence, you will have the satisfaction of feeling that they are honestly obtained."

I can assure the reader that this was a lesson which I never forgot; it was, however, succeeded by another variety of temptation, which might have proved more dangerous to a young and

ardent spirit, had it not ended as it did, in changing the course of my destiny and throwing me into a new path of action: to this I shall now refer.

Hardly a month passed but we received additional pensioners into the Hospital. Among others, a man was sent to the Hospital who went by the name of Sam Spicer. I say went by the name, as it was not the custom for the seamen to give their real names when they were entered or pressed into the service; and of course they were discharged into the Hospital by the same name which they bore on the ship's books. Spicer was upwards of six feet in height, very large boned, and must, when he was in his prime, have been a man of prodigious strength. When he was admitted to the Hospital he was nearly sixty years of age; his hair was black and grey mixed, his com. plexion very dark, and his countenance fierce and unprepossessing. He went by the name of Black Sam, on account of his appearance. He had lost his right hand in a frigate action; and to the stump he had fixed a sort of socket, into which he screwed his knife and the various articles which he wished to make use of; sometimes a file, sometimes a saw. article made to fit into the socket, for he had been an armourer on board ship, and was very handy at such work. He was, generally speaking, very morose and savage to every body; seldom entered into conversation; but sat apart, as if thinking, with a frown upon his countenance, and his eyes, surmounted with bushy eyebrows, fixed upon the ground. The pensioners who belonged to the same ward said that he talked in his sleep, and from what they could collect at those times he must have been a pirate: but no one dared to speak to him on the subject, for more than once he had been punished for striking those who had offended him: indeed, he nearly killed one old man who was jesting with him when he was at work, having made a stab at him with his knife screwed in his socket; but his foot slipped, and the blow missed. Spicer was brought up before the Council for this offence, and would have been discharged, had he not declared that he had done it only by way of a joke, to frighten the man; and, as no one else was present, it could not

having had

every

be proved to the contrary. For some reason or another, which I could not comprehend, Spicer appeared to have taken a liking to me; he would call me to him, and tell me stories about the West Indies and the Spanish Main, which I listened to very eagerly, for they were to me very interesting. But he seldom, if ever, spoke to me inside of the Hospital; it was always when I was at the steps minding my vocation; where he would come down and lean over the rail at the top of the wharf. He made and gave me a boat-hook, which I found very convenient. He had a great deal of information, and, as the ships came up the river, he would point out the flags of the different nations, tell me where they traded from, and what their cargoes probably consisted of. If they had no ensign, he would tell by their build, and the cut of their sails, what nation they belonged to; pointing out to me the differences, which I soon began to perceive. He had been in every part of the world; and scarcely a day passed in which I did not gain from him some amusing or useful information. Indeed, I became so fond of his company, that Peter Anderson spoke to me on the subject, and asked me what Spicer talked about. I told him, and he replied,

"Well, Jack, I dare say that he is a very pleasant companion to one who, like you, is so anxious for information, and I have nothing to say against him, for we have no right to listen to foolish reports which may probably have been raised from his savage appearance. Still, I confess, I do not like the man, as he is decidedly of a violent temper. As long as he talks to you about what you say he does, there is no harm done; but when once he says anything which you think is wrong, promise me to let me know and even now, if you will take my advice, you will not be so intimate with him."

A little while afterwards, my father and Ben the whaler both spoke to me on the same subject, but with much less reservation. My father said,

"Jack, I don't like to see you always in company with that old pirate; no good can come of it; so haul off a little further for the future." And Ben told me,

"That a man who couldn't sleep o'nights without talking of killing people must have a bad conscience, and something lying heavy on his soul. There's an old saying, Jack, —‘Tell me whose company you keeps, and I'll tell you what sort of a chap you be.' You've the character of a good honest boy ;- steer clear of Sam Spicer, or you'll lose it."

Admonitions from all those whom I loved were not without their effect; and I made a resolution to be less intimate with Spicer. But it was difficult to do so, as I was obliged to be at the landing steps, and could not prevent his coming there.

I acknowledge that it was a severe privation to me to follow the injunctions given to me; for I would listen for hours to the thrilling narratives, the strange and almost incredible accounts of battles, incidents, and wild adventures, which this man Spicer would relate to me; and when I thought over them, I felt that the desire to rove was becoming more strong within me every day. One morning I said to him that "I had a great mind to go on board of a man-of-war."

On board of a man-of-war?" replied Spicer; "you'd soon be sick enough of that. Why, who would be at the beck and nod of others, ordered here, called there, by boy midshipmen; bullied by lieutenants; flogged by captains; have all the work and little of the pay, all the fighting and less of the prize-money; and, after having worn out your life in hard service, be sent here as a great favour, to wear a cocked hat, and get a shilling a week for your 'baccy? Pshaw! boy- that's not life."

"Then, what is life?" inquired I.

"What is life? Why, to sail in a clipper, with a jolly crew and a roving commission; take your prizes, share and share alike, of gold dust and doubloons."

"But what sort of vessel must that be, Spicer ?"

"What sort? why-a letter of marque on the Spanish Main- that's life.

a privateer-a cruise Many's the jolly day I've seen

in those latitudes, where men-of-war do not bring vessels to and press the best men out of them. There the sun's warm, and the sky and the sea are deep blue—and the corals grow like forests

underneath, and there are sandy coves and cool caves for retreat -and where you may hide your gold till you want it —ay, and your sweethearts too, if you have any."

"I thought privateers always sent their prizes into port, to be condemned?"

"Yes, in the Channel and these seas they do; but not down there; it's too far off. We condemn the vessels ourselves, and share the money on the capstan head."

"But is that lawful?"

"Lawful! to be sure it is. Could we spare men to send prizes home to England, and put them into the hands of a rascally agent, who would rob us of three fourths at least? No, no - that would never do. If I could have escaped from the man-of-war which picked up me and four others, who were adrift in an open boat, I would now have been on the Coast. But when I lost my fin, I knew that all was over with me; so I came to the Hospital: but I often think of old times, and the life of a rover. Now, if you have any thoughts of going to sea, look out for some vessel bound to the Gold Coast, and then you'll soon get in the right way." "The Gold Coast? Is not that to where the slavers go?" "Yes, slavers, and other vessels besides: some traffic for ivory and gold dust; however, that's as may happen. You'd soon find yourself in good company; and wouldn't that be better than begging here for halfpence? I would be above that, at all events."

This remark, the first of the kind ever made to me, stung me to the quick. Strange, I had never before considered myself in the light of a beggar; and yet, was I not so, just as much as a sweeper of a crossing?

"A beggar?” replied I.

"Yes, a beggar; don't you beg for halfpence, and say, 'Thank your honour; a copper for poor Jack, your honour?"" rejoined Spicer, mimicking me. "When I see that pretty sister of yours, that looks so like a real lady, I often thinks to myself, Fine and smart as you are, miss, your brother's only a beggar.' Now, would you not like to return from a cruise with a bag of doubloons to