the last man in the world to thwart a real vocation, and no doubt (as my Uncle Henry and he had agreed, and, thank GOD, they had had a very pleasant brotherly bit of chat over old times, and a glass of my grandfather’s 1815 port) every Briton had a natural tendency to rule the waves, and it was stronger in some lads than others, as Robinson Crusoe alone would prove, a book which my uncle remembered had nearly cost him his life on a badly-made raft on the mill-dam, when he was a lad, and which would be read by boys with the real stuff in them, when half these modern books the Woods littered the farm parlour with were lighting the fire.  My Uncle Henry had come forward in a very gratifying way.  He had mentioned that Benson, an exceedingly intelligent clerk of his, had spoken of me in the highest terms, and seemed to think that there was hardly anything in the way of distinction in an adventurous career which might not be open to me.  I was not to be made vain by this, as Benson appeared to be an affectionate fellow, with a respect for the family of his employer very rare in these days.  It had been a great comfort to my father, this visit from Uncle Henry.  They were both greyheaded now, and Jem and I were all they had to come after them.  Blood was thicker than water.  As to my poor mother—­

For a few minutes the letter danced up and down as if writ in water; then I dried my eyes, and found that she bore up pretty well in hopes of my return, and that Uncle Henry was communicating by this mail with a man of business in Halifax, N.S., who was instructed to take a passage home for me in a good vessel, and to defray any expenses of a reasonable nature in connection with my affairs.  When I was safe home, my father added, he would take the best advice as to sending me to sea in a proper and suitable way.  Dr. Brown had some relatives who were large ship-owners, and he seemed to be much interested in my career, out of regard to the family.  I was to let nothing hinder me from coming home at once, as I valued the love and blessing of my affectionate father.

My mother’s letter was infinitely tender, and it was curiously strong.  Not a reproach or a lamentation, but some good counsel, shrewd as well as noble, and plenty of home news.  Only at the end did she even speak of herself:  “You see, my son, I have never had men belonging to me who earned their livelihood in foreign countries and by dangerous ways, but you may trust your old mother to learn to do and bear what other mothers go through with.  She will learn to love the sea because you are a sailor, but, Jack, you must always give her a woman’s bitter-sweet privilege of saying good-bye, and of packing up your things.  I am getting the time over till you come back with socks.  I am afraid they will blister your feet.  Martha does not like them because they are like what the boys wear in the coal-pits, but Dr. Brown declares they are just right.  He chose the worsted when we