lot; but I cannot help fretting at the thought of being left here
without you: and I shall fret until I am with you again."

I renewed my promises to procure his discharge, and forcing upon him all
the money I thought that I could spare, I went over the side as much
affected as poor Tom. Our passage home was rapid. We had a continuance
of North West winds, and we flew before them, and in less than three
weeks we dropped our anchor at Spithead. Happy in the change of my
situation, and happier still in anticipation, I shall only say that I
never was in better spirits, or in company with more agreeable young men
than were the officers of the _Astrea_; and although we were so short a
time together, we separated with mutual regret.

CHAPTER FORTY.

I INTERRUPT A MATRIMONIAL DUET AND CAPSIZE THE BOAT--BEING UPON DRY
LAND, NO ONE IS DROWNED--TOM LEAVES A MAN-OF-WAR BECAUSE HE DON'T LIKE
IT--I FIND THE PROFESSION OF A GENTLEMAN PREFERABLE TO THAT OF A
WATERMAN.

My first object on my return was to call upon old Tom, and assure him of
his son's welfare. My wishes certainly would have led me to Mr
Drummond's but I felt that my duty required that I should delay that
pleasure. I arrived at the hotel late in the evening, and early next
morning I went down to the steps at Westminster Bridge, and was saluted
with the usual cry of "Boat, sir!" A crowd of recollections poured into
my mind at the well-known sound; my life appeared to have passed in
review in a few seconds, as I took my seat in the stern of a wherry, and
directed the waterman to pull up the river. It was a beautiful morning,
and even at that early hour almost too warm--the sun was so powerful; I
watched every object that we passed with an interest I cannot describe;
every tree, every building, every point of land--they were all old
friends, who appeared, as the sun shone brightly on them, to rejoice in
my good fortune. I remained in a reverie too delightful to be wished to
be disturbed from it, although occasionally there were reminiscences
which were painful; but they were but as light clouds, obscuring for a
moment, as they flew past, the glorious sun of my happiness. At last
the well-known tenement of old Tom, his large board with "Boats built to
order," and the half of the boat stuck up on end, caught my sight, and I
remembered the object of my embarkation. I directed the waterman to
pull to the hard, and, paying him well, dismissed him; for I had
p