on an engine, who took to drinking and
was reclaimed. He tells the whole story there;
and afterwards he became not only an apostle of
temperance, but a minister, preaching and
winning souls to Christ."

"Oh, that's what he was," I said, I am afraid
with marked disgust in my face; for that sort
of thing is well enough ashore, but doesn't fit
handy on a sailor. I came and told Fanny.

"Canting creature," said Fanny.

I observed, too, that Dan and he had very little
conversation.

That night, about eleven, was a lovely
moonlight night. Fanny had just gone down. I
went "for'ard" — not forward — towards the
"fo'castle," not forecastle, as the vulgarities and
land-lubbers say. I talked with Clarke about
the course; we then fell off to other things, and
I saw what a good sailor he was. He told me
more about B. B. Rudge and himself.

"He did a great deal for me, sir, that man,"
he said. "You wouldn't have taken me, sir, if
you had seen me as Mr. Rudge first saw me." (I
was amused at this notion; for as it was, after
Mr. Rudge had seen him, I was very near not
taking him.) "You can little conceive, sir, what a
wretch I was. Drunken, depraved, abandoned in
every sense. It was in a vile drunken quarrel I
got this, sir," and he pointed to his ugly scar.
"It nearly killed me, and I lay for weeks
between life and death; until that good and
gracious man came and raised me up."

"Of course you mean in the spiritual sense,"
I said, with a sort of sneer.

"Quite right, sir," he said, calmly. "And I
owe to him more than to my father." Then he
said, "This was his last voyage that he would
make, thanks to his own exertions."

"And to B. B. Rudge?"

"Yes, sir. In fact, he wishes me to join his
ministry; and after this voyage there is a young
girl who has grace, at Falmouth, where we are
now going, who would be content to take her
lot with me."

"Is she a brand plucked, too?" I could not
help asking. But he gave a look of reproach
which the scar made savage. "I am only
joking," I said, hastily.

"I am sure she is a very good girl, and all
that."

Fanny, when I reported this conversation, was
in a little rage.

"What an old hypocrite! I am so sorry we
shipped him."

"Canting, whining creature," I said; "poor
Dan will have a fine time of it."

We got to Falmouth, and went ashore. But
the wind suddenly fell, and it looked as if
there was to be a change in the weather.
We determined to run up to London, which
we did. We there met pleasant friends
who insisted on doing us, &c., and so a very
pleasant week went by in next to no time.
Then we went down to our craft, and found the
drum up. It was only a stiff breeze, so we
determined to put out to sea at once. But there
was a great change in our skipper. Dan was
on board, riotous with spirits, singing and whistling;
Clarke was ashore. When he came, we
both noticed a great alteration. His composed
serenity was gone. He was doggedly moody,
and his eyes glared. He did not speak to Dan,
who told us that they had had a quarrel ashore.
Both Fanny and I remarked this, and I noticed
Clarke following Dan with lowering brow and
dark suspicious eyes, as he walked past him on
the deck. The evening was very fine, the drum
was down, and we promised ourselves a charming
voyage to Cherbourg, our destination, and
then hey for Paris!

Before we started, Fanny had got it all out of
Dan. There was a young woman in the case—
in fact, the young woman at Falmouth, a nice,
fresh, gay girl, not at all "serious," though our
friend wished to make her so.

"It 'ud have been a pity, marm,"said Dan, "to
have handed the likes of her over to psalm singing
for the rest of her life. And faix I just talked to
her a little quietly, quietly, and put the come-
thur on her, or she put it on herself, but at the
end she gave the cowld shouldher to my frind
Johnny Calvin there! Sorry a hand or part
I had in it, wittin'ly, marm, or knowin'ly."

"You did quite right, Dan," said my Fanny,
with enthusiasm.

It was on deck when Clarke came to me.

"Don't go for a day or two yet, sir," he said,
gloomily. "Take my advice; there is bad
weather coming on."

"It don't look much like it," I said,
pleasantly.

"I know these things, sir," he said. "There'll
be a storm before morning."

"Ah, what are ye talking of," said Dan,
laughing. "Don't be humbuggin' the masther."
There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke.
"D'ye want another sight at little Susan?"

The ferocious look the other gave him shocked
me and Fanny. I saw the reason now. "We
go to-night," I said, firmly; "get up the moorings."

We got out to sea. The night was very fine.
It came to ten, eleven, and midnight. Then
Fanny went down.

"Well, Clarke," I said, "what d'ye say now?
—or have you forgotten Susan by this time?"

There was another black look of ferocity,
and his eyes wandering to Dan, who was at the
forecastle—"fo'castle," I mean — looking out,
dancing from one foot to the other, and whistling
St. Patrick's Day.

"He will have to account to Heaven for
what he has done. She was a good girl, and
would have made me a good wife, and worked
to save souls with me. Now she will be lost
and go after vanity. God forgive him."

"In short, not plucked from the burning.
Now, look here, Clarke; I must speak to you
seriously. In the first place, I must ask you
to drop that jargon of yours, which is all very
well in its way and on shore, but here you
know — in short, it don't fit a British seaman."

"I should have thought, sir, with the
dangers of the seas, and the heavens, and