t a few hours in that big
city.

"I don't see that it be so very grand like," observed Toby as we drove
through it. "There bees no streets paved with gold, and no Lord Mayor
in a gold coach,--only bricks and mortar, and people running about in a
precious hurry."

Captain Collyer had desired that I should come down by the coach to the
George at Portsmouth, where he would send his coxswain to meet me, and
take me to the tailor, who would make my uniform, a part of my outfit
which our country town had been unable to supply.

It was a bright summer morning when my father accompanied us to
Piccadilly, whence the Portsmouth coach started.

"Cheer up, and don't forget your name, Marmaduke," he said, wringing my
hand as I was climbing on to the front seat. He nodded kindly to Toby,
who followed me closely. "Don't you forget to look after the young
master, boy," he added.

"Noa, squire, while I'se got fists at the end of my arms, I won't,"
answered Toby.

"All right," shouted the guard, and the coach drove off.

I found myself seated by a tall man with a huge red nose, like the beak
of an eagle, a copper complexion, jet black piercing eyes, and enormous
black bushy whiskers. He looked down at me, I thought, with ineffable
contempt. His clothes were of blue cloth, and his hands, which were
very large and hairy, were marked on the back with strange devices,
among which I observed an anchor, a ship, and a fish, which made me
suspect that he must be a nautical character of some sort. He addressed
the coachman and the passenger on the box seat several times in a
wonderfully loud gruff voice, but as they showed by their answers that
they were not inclined to enter into conversation with him, he at last
turned his attention to me.

"Why are you going down to Portsmouth, little boy?" he asked, in a tone
I did not like.

"I suppose because I want to get there," I answered.

"Ho! ho! ho!" His laugh was like the bellowing of a bull. "Going to
sea, I fancy," he remarked.

"Yes, going to see Portsmouth," said I, quietly, "if I keep my eyes
open."

"Ho! ho! sharp as a needle I see," observed the big man.

"Sharpness runs in the family," I replied. We were well up to this sort
of repartee among each other at home.

"Your name is Sharp, I suppose," said my friend.

"No, only my nature, like a currant or a sour gooseberry," I replied,
not able to help laughing myself.

"Take care, youngster, you don't get wounded w