"Don't seem much like it, certainly; but you've a good chance

of being a pilot."

"Yes, that I certainly have; and a pilot is always respected, go on board what ship he may."

“To be sure he is; because he is supposed to have more knowledge than any one on board."

"Then I am contented, father, with the prospect of being respectable; so there's an end of that business, except that I must write and thank the captain for his kindness."

"Just so, Tom; do you dine with me?"

"No, father. I promised to meet Bramble at the Jolly Sailors. We are going up to Mr. Wilson's."

66

Ay, about the farm he wants to buy. Well, the clock is striking, so good-by til! this evening."

I must explain to the reader that Mr. Wilson, having heard of Bramble's intention to purchase the farm, very kindly interfered. He had a son who was a solicitor at Dover, and he recommended Bramble not to appear personally, but let his son manage the affair for him, which he promised should be done without expense. The next morning Bramble and I took our leave and quitted Greenwich, taking the coach to Dover; for Bramble, having a good deal of money in his pocket, thought it better to do so, than to wait till he could take a ship down the river. On our arrival at Dover, we called upon Mr. Wilson's son, who had already made inquiries, and eventually obtained the farm for Bramble for two hundred pounds less than he expected to give for it, and, very handsomely, only charged him for the stamps of the conveyance. When we arrived at Deal, we found Mrs. Maddox quite recovered, and sitting with little Bessy in the parlour below. After Mrs. Maddox and Bessy went up stairs to bed, Bramble said to me, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe,

Tom, I've got this farm for Bessy for two hundred pounds less than I expected to give for it; now, I've been thinking about this two hundred pounds, which I consider, in a manner, as her property; and what d'ye think I mean to do with it? I'll tell you I'll give her education as well as money. This sum will

keep her at a good school for a matter of four years, and I've made up my mind that she shall go. I don't like to part with her, that's certain; but it's for her good- so all's right- don't you think so?"

"I do indeed, father," replied I. you do; but, as you say, it's all you have so decided."

"I shall miss her as inuch as right; and I'm very glad that

CHAP. XXXII.

IN WHICH THERE IS A HOP, SKIP, AND A JUMP.

LIFE has often, and with great truth, been compared to a river. In infancy a little rill, gradually increasing to the pure and limpid brook, which winds through flowery meads, "giving a gentle kiss to every ridge it overtaketh in its pilgrimage." Next it increases in its volume and its power, now rushing rapidly, now moving along in deep and tranquil water, until it swells into a bold stream, coursing its way over the shallows, dashing through the impeding rocks, descending in rapids swift as thought, or pouring its boiling water over the cataract. And thus does it vary its velocity, its appearance, and its course, until it swells into a broad expanse, gradually checking its career as it approaches, and at last mingles with the Ocean of Eternity. I have been led into this somewhat trite metaphor, to account to the reader for the contents of this chapter. As in the river, after many miles of chequered and boisterous career, you will find that its waters will for some time flow in a smooth and tranquil course as almost to render you unconscious of the neverceasing stream; so, in the life of man, after an eventful and adventurous career, it will be found that for a time he is permitted to glide gently and quietly along, as if a respite were given to his feelings, preparatory to fresh scenes of excitement. Such was the case with me for some time. I had now been under Bramble's tuition for more than a year and a half, and was consequently between fifteen and sixteen years old. The years from 1800 to the end of 1804 were of this description in my stream of life, unmarked by any peculiar or stirring events worthy of occupying the attention of my readers. It is therefore my intention, in this chapter, to play the part of the chorus in the old plays, and sum up the events in few words, so as not to break the chain of history, at the same

time that I shall prepare my readers for what subsequently took place.

I will first speak of myself. Up to the age of nineteen I continued my career under the care of Bramble; we seldom remained long on shore, for neither Bramble nor I found home so agreeable since little Bessy had been sent to school, and Mrs. Maddox, assisted by a little girl, had charge of the house; indeed, Bramble appeared resolved to make all the money he could, that he might the sooner be able to give up his profession. Mrs. Maddox I have spoken little of, because I had seen but little of her now that she was down stairs, I will not say I saw, but I certainly heard too much of her, for she never ceased talking; not that she talked loud or screamed out. on the contrary, she was of a mild amiable temper, but could not hold her tongue. If she could not find any one to talk to, she would talk to any thing; if she was making the fire, she would apostrophise the sticks for not burning properly. I watched her one morning as she was kneeling down before the grate:

Now, poker, your

Bless me, smoke, up the chimney?

Now, stick you must go in," said she; "it's no use your resisting, and, what's more, you must burn, and burn quickly too, do'ye hear, or the kettle won't boil in time for breakfast. Be quick, you little fellow burn away and light the others, there's a good boy." Here she knocked down the tongs. "Tongs, be quiet, how dare you make that noise?" Then, as she replaced them, "Stand up, sir, in your place until you are wanted. turn's coming, we must have a stir directly. what's the matter with you now? can't you go You can't pretend to say the wind blows you down this fine morning, so none of your vagaries. Now, fender, it's your turn stand still till I give you a bit of a rub. There, now you're all right. Table, you want face washed your your master has spilt his grog last night there now, you look as handsome as ever. chair, how are you this morning? You're older than I am, I reckon, and yet you're stouter on your legs. Why, candle, are you burning all this while? Why didn't you tell me?—I would have put you out

Well, old

long ago. Come now, don't be making a smell here-send it up the chimney."

Thus would she talk to every thing. We only had two animals in the house-a cat and a canary bird: of course they were not neglected; but, somehow or another, the cat appeared to get tired of it, for it would rise, and very gently walk into the back kitchen; and as for the canary bird, like all other canary birds, as soon as he was talked to, he would begin to sing, and that so loud, that Mrs. Maddox was beaten out of the field. Bramble bore with her very well; but, at the same time, he did not like it: he once said to me, "Well, if Bessy were at Deal, I think I would take a short spell now; but as for that poor good old soul, whose tongue is hung on the middle, and works at both ends, she does tire one, and that's the truth." But she really was a good-natured, kind creature, ready to oblige in every thing; and I believe that she thought that she was amusing you, when she talked on in this way. Unfortunately she had no anecdote, for she had a very bad memory, and therefore there was nothing to be gained from her. By way of amusing me, she used to say, "Now, Tom, sit down here, and I'll tell you all about my bad leg." And then she would commence with the first symptoms, the degrees of pain, the various plasters, bandages, and poultices, which had been applied, and what the doctor had said this day and that day. I bore this very patiently for four or five times; but at last, after several days of increasing impatience (somewhere about the fifteenth time, I believe), I could stand it no more, so I jumped off my chair, and ran away, just as she commenced the interesting detail.

"Mrs. Maddox," said I, "I cannot bear to hear of your sufferings; pray never mention them again."

"What a kind-hearted creature you are!" said she. "Well, I won't, then. It's not many who have such pity in them. Cotton, where have you got to always running away? One would think you don't like to be knitted. Now, cotton, don't be foolish; where have you hid yourself? You make others as bad as yourself. Scissors have got away now;- there now, sit on my lap, and be quiet."