as I left them when I was taken ill.. I half expected to see the whole troop of wriggling, twisting, forkedtailed smoke-worms coming up the harbour with the last of the flood; but though I looked out till the tide had done, they didn't come, and it's my belief that they knocked themselves about so much against the Needle rocks, that they put about and went down Channel; and all I can say is that I hope that every one of 'em was drowned or came to some other bad end out at sea, and that I may never as long as I live have such a night as the one I spent after taking Doctor Gulliman's physic. Sarvants, ladies and gentlemen; you'll agree that story is worth five shillings. Howsomdever, I never charges my friends, but gives them all free gratis and for nothing." And old Jerry gave one of his most knowing winks as he finished off his glass and took up his hat to prepare for his departure.

I ought perhaps to apologize for giving such a story; but it is a fair specimen of the style of narrative in which old seamen of Jerry Vincent's stamp are apt to indulge, and I have heard many such, though seldom told with so much spirit, during my career at sea.

CHAPTER VIII.

Visit to Plymouth-Bitter disappointment-Miss Rundle's account of Charley-Voyage to Shetland-Wrecked again-Fall among friends-Near death's door-Happy encounter-Description of Shetland-My residence there-Married-Summoned southward.

I DID not think that I should ever have got tired of living at Southsea with my kind aunt and fine hearty old uncle, but I had been so accustomed to a roving life and active employment, that in a little time I began to consider that I ought to be looking out for something to do. What to do was the question. I had a fancy for staying on shore after having been knocked about at sea for so many years, and setting up in some business.

"What, have you forgotten Margaret Troall?" said my aunt to me one day.

The chord was struck. "No, indeed, I have not," said I; "I'll go and find her, and bring her back to you as my wife if she will have me.” I had given all my money to my uncle to have put safe in a bank for me. The next day I drew thirty pounds of it, and shipped myself aboard a smack bound for Plymouth. Strange as it may seem, all the time I had been on shore I had never once thought of my oath and its consequence, but scarcely had I got to sea than the recollection of it came

How

back, and I fully expected that some accident would
happen to me before I reached my destination. It did
not, however. I landed in safety, and walked imme-
diately up to the house where I hoped to find the old
lady and her niece. How strange it seemed. I never
felt in such a way
before in my life. A child might
have knocked me down. I got to the house.
well I knew it. I looked in, as I had done before, at
the parlour window. I fully expected to see the old
lady sitting in her arm-chair and knitting, as I had
when I was last there. My heart jumped up right into
my throat, and then down it went I don't know where.
There was no old lady there; but there were three
little children, fat, chubby, merry things, tumbling
about head over heels on the floor, and shouting and
shrieking with laughter, while a young woman sat on
a low chair knitting and encouraging them in their
gambols, while she rocked a cradle with her foot.
"All
sorts of strange thoughts came into my head.
can she be, I wonder? Can it be?" I said. I looked
at her very hard, but the glass was thick and dirty,
and I could not make out her features. With a trem-
bling hand I knocked at the door.
A servant girl,
after a little delay, opened it.

"Does Mrs. Sandon live here?" I asked.
"No, she doesn't," was the short answer.
"Can you tell me where she lives?" I said.

Who

"No; she does not live anywhere, she's dead," said the girl, who seemed determined not to throw a word

away.

"Dead!" said I. "Dead! just like grannie," I muttered, scarcely knowing what I was saying. The girl was going to slam the door in my face. "Can you

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.

165

tell me, my good girl, who that lady is in the parlour?" said I, stopping her.

"Yes, that's Mrs. Jones," was the answer.

I was no wiser than before. "Can you tell me what her maiden name was?" said I, in a low, trembling voice.

"Missus never was a maid-servant; she was always a lady, as she is now," answered the girl, with a toss of her head, again attempting to slam to the door.

"Stop, stop!" I exclaimed, in an agitated manner. "Can you tell me whether she was Mrs. Sandon's niece?"

"She'd nothing to do with Mrs. Sandon that I knows on," said the girl; "you're asking a lot of questions. You wouldn't, if master was at home."

I was fairly beaten. Just then I heard a footstep behind me, and on looking round, who should I see but Miss Rundle, tripping along the pavement up to her own door, looking as brisk and young as ever. "Oh, Miss Rundle, I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed, forgetting all the proprieties, and running after her. "Can you tell me anything about my kind friends who lived in our old house, and where I met you last at tea?" I thought she would have shrieked out when she saw me-she looked so astonished.

Why, who are you? where did you come from? What do you want? Why, I thought you were dead. You are not alive, are you?"

"I hope so, Miss Rundle. I fancy I am. I've done nothing to kill me lately, and I know that I was alive a short time ago," I answered, laughing in spite of my agitation.

"Well, if you are sure that you are alive, come in

here and sit down and tell me all about it," said the little old lady, opening the door of her house with a latch-key which she drew from her pocket, and pointing to the parlour, which she signed to me to enter.

I took off my hat and sat down, wondering what strange news I was to hear. She presently made her appearance, having laid aside her walking dress. I felt myself completely at home in a moment, she looked so exactly as she had done when I last saw her on that delightful evening I spent at Plymouth, and as I so well remembered her in the days of my boyhood.

“Well, Willand, I am glad to see you," said she in a kinder tone than usual. "A young man whom you know, and whose name I would rather not repeat, indeed, I do not like thinking about him, told us that you were dead-drowned or killed somehow or other at sea. Perhaps he had his own selfish ends to serve, or perhaps he believed it; we will hope for the best.” "Who do you mean? What do you speak of, Miss Rundle?" I exclaimed, in a voice full of agitation.

"I speak of that false deceiver, that bad, heartless fellow, Charles Iffley," she answered, in a tone which showed her strong dislike to my former friend. "Do you know, some time after you were here, he returned from sea, and came up here to visit me, and talked of old times and old friendships, and how I had known his poor mother and his friends, till I was quite taken with him; and then he presented me with a stuffed parrot and two little pets of Java sparrows, he called them (which certainly were very merry and hopped about gaily in their cage), and a dried snake, which he told me was a great curiosity; and he used to drop in to tea nearly every evening, and certainly he used to