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 manof-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-a privateer --a cruise on the Spanish Main-that's life. Many's the jolly day I've seen in those latitudes, where menof-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 threefourths 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 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 throw into her lap, proving that you are a gentleman, and above coppers thrown to you out of charity? Well, old as I am, and maimed, I'd sooner starve where I now stand- -but I must be off; so good-bye, Jack-look sharp after the halfpence."

As Spicer walked away, my young blood boiled. A beggar!-it was but too true-and yet I had never hought it a disgrace before. I sat down on the steps, and was soon in deep thought. Boat after boat came to the stairs, and yet I stirred not. Not one halfpenny did I take during the remainder of that day: for I could not-would not ask for one. My pride, hitherto latent, was roused; and before I rose from

where I had been seated, I made a resolution that I would earn my livelihood in some other way. What hurt me most was his observations about Virginia and her beggar brother. I was so proud of Virginia, I left that her brother ought not to be a beggar. Such was the effect produced in so short a time by the insidious discourse of this man. Had he still remained at the steps, I do believe that I should have asked, probably have followed, his advice. Fortunately he had left; and, after a little reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult him as to what I could do; for to change my mode of obtaining my livelihood I was determined upon.

I found Anderson, as usual, seated under the colonnade, reading; and I went up to him.

"Well, Jack, my boy, you are home early," said he. “Yes,” replied I, gravely; and then I was silent. After a pause of about a minute, Peter Anderson said,

Jack, I see there is something the matter. Now, tell me what it is. Can I help you?"

I did wish to speak to you," replied I. "I've been thinking about going to sea."

"And how long have you thought of that, Jack?" "I've thought more of it lately," replied I.

"Yes, since Spicer has been talking to you. Now is that not the case?"

"Yes, it is."

"I knew that, Jack. I'm at your service for as long as you please; now sit down and tell me all he has said to you that you can remember I sha'n't interrupt you."

I did so; and before I had half finished, Anderson replied, "That is quite enough, Jack. One thing is evident to me that Spicer has led a bad and lawless life, and would even now continue it, old as he is, only that he is prevented by being crippled. Jack, he has talked to you about privateers! God forgive me if I wrong him; but I think had he said pirates he would have told the truth. But say nothing about that observation of mine; I wish from my heart that you had never known him. But here comes your father. He has a right to know what we are talking about; for you owe duty to him as his son, and nothing can be done without his permission."

When my father came up to us, Anderson begged him to sit down, and he told him what we had been discoursing about. I had already stated my objections to enter on board of a man-of-war.

"Well!" said my father, "I may come athwart hawse of that old piccaroon yet, if he don't look out. Not that I mind your going to sea, Jack, as your father did before you; but what he says about the sarvice is a confounded lie. Let a man do his duty, and the sarvice is a good one; and a man who is provided for as he is, ought to be ashamed of himself to speak as he has done-the old rascal. Still, I do not care for your entering the sarvice so young. It would be better that you were first apprentice and larnt your duty; and as soon as your time is out, you will be pressed of course, and then you would sarve the King. I see no objection to all that."

"But why do you want so particularly to go to sca, Jack?" observed Anderson.