from the slough of degradation to the dignity of
a people?"

"You've been a play-actor, I take it?" asked
he, dryly.

"No, sir, never!" replied I, with some
indignation.

"Well, then, in the Methody line? You've
done a stroke of preaching, I'll be sworn."

"You would be perjured in that case, sir,"
I rejoined, as haughtily.

"At all events, an auctioneer," said he, fairly
puzzled in his speculations.

"Equally mistaken there," said I, calmly;
"bred in the midst of abundance, nurtured in
affluence, and educated with all the solicitous
care that a fond parent could bestow——."

"Gammon!" said he, bluntly. "You are one
of the swell mob in distress!"

"Is this like distress?" said I, drawing forth
my purse in which were seventy-five sovereigns,
and handing it to him. "Count over that, and
say how just and how generous are your
suspicions."

He gravely took the purse from me, and,
stooping down to the binnacle light, counted
over the money, scrutinising carefully the pieces
as he went.

"And who is to say this isn't 'swag?'" said
he, as he closed the purse.

"The easiest answer to that," said I, "is,
would it be likely for a thief to show his booty,
not merely to a stranger, but to a stranger who
suspected him?"

"Well, that is something, I confess," said he,
slowly.

"It ought to be more — it ought to be everything.
It distrust were not a debasing sentiment,
obstructing the impulses of generosity and
even invading the precincts of justice, you would
see far more reason to confide in, than to
disbelieve me."

"I've been done pretty often afore now,"
he muttered, half to himself.

"What a fallacy that is!" cried I, contemptuously.
"Was not the pittance that some crafty
impostor wrung from your compassion well
repaid to you in the noble self-consciousness of
your generosity? Did not your venison on that
day taste better when you thought of his pork
chop? Had not your Burgundy gained flavour
by the memory of the glass of beer that was
warming the half chilled heart in his breast?
Oh, the narrow mockery of fancying that we
are not better by being deceived!"

"How long is it since you had your head
shaved?" he asked, dryly.

"I have never been the inmate of an asylum
for lunatics," said I, divining and answering
the impertinent insinuation.

"Well, I own you are a rum 'un," said he,
half musingly.

"I accept even this humble tribute to my
originality," said I, with a sort of proud defiance.
"I am well aware how he must be regarded who
dares to assert his own individuality."

"I'd be very curious to know," said he, after
a pause of several minutes, "how a fellow of
your stamp sets to work about gaining his
livelihood? What's his first step? how does
he go about it?"

I gave no other answer than a smile
of scornful meaning.

"I meant nothing offensive," resumed he,
"but I really have a strong desire to be
enlightened on this point."

"You are doubtless impressed with the
notion," said I, boldly, "that men possessed of
some distinct craft, or especial profession, are
alone needed by the world of their fellows.
That one must be doctor, or lawyer, or baker, or
shoemaker, to gain his living, as if life had no
other wants than to be clothed, and fed, and
physicked, and litigated. As if humanity had
not its thousand emotional moods, its wayward
impulses, its trials and temptations, all of them
more needing guidance, support, direction, and
counsel, than the sickest patient needs a physician.
It is on this world that I throw myself; I devote
myself to guide infancy, to console age, to
succour the orphan, and support the widow
—morally, I mean."

"I begin to suspect you are a most artful
vagabond," said he, half angrily.

"I have long since reconciled myself to the
thought of an unjust appreciation," said I. "It
is the consolation dull men accept when
confronted with those of original genius. You
can't help confessing that all your distrust of
me has grown out of the superiority of my
powers, and the humble figure you have
presented in comparison with me."

"Do you rank modesty amongst these
same powers?" he asked, slyly.

"Modesty I reject," said I, "as being a
conventional form of hypocrisy."

"Come down below," said he, "and take a
glass of brandy-and-water. It's growing chilly
here, and we shall be the better of something
to cheer us."

Seated in his comfortable little cabin, and
with a goodly array of liquors before me to
choose from, I really felt a self-confidence in
the fact that, if I were not something out of
the common, I could not then be there. "There
must be in my nature," thought I, " that element
which begets success, or I could not always
find myself in situations so palpably beyond
the accidents of my condition."

My host was courtesy itself; no sooner was I
his guest than he adopted towards me a
manner of perfect politeness. No more allusions
to my precarious mode of life, never once a
reference to my adventurous future. Indeed, with
an almost artful exercise of good breeding he
turned the conversation towards himself, and
gave me a sketch of his own life.

It was not in any respects a remarkable one;
though it had its share of those mishaps and
misfortunes which every sailor must have
confronted. He was wrecked in the Pacific, and
robbed in the Havannah; had his crew desert
him at San Francisco, and was boarded by
Riff pirates, and sold in Barbary just as
every other blue iacket used to be, and I