atisfactory to feel that one is an
officer in reality, with a cabin of one's own."

"Of course, my boy; much more natural than to wish to be dangling after
your sisters, or any other of the petticoat tribe who might take it into
their heads to patronise you," said Sir John, glancing with all a
father's pride at his gallant son. "To what station are you to be
sent?"

"As far as I can discover, that remains as yet in the mysterious depths
of my Lords Commissioners' minds," answered Jack, glancing over some
other letters. "Hemming has an idea that it may be to the West Indies;
at least such is the opinion of the Portsmouth tailors, who have
generally more correct information on these matters than any one else.
Just now, when the world is so peaceably disposed, it is not of much
consequence where we go; and as I have never been in those seas I would
rather be sent there than anywhere else."

"I trust that it will not be to the West Indies, my dear boy," said Lady
Rogers. "I have read such sad accounts of the dreadful yellow fever
which kills so many people, and of those terrible hurricanes which send
so many ships to the bottom, and devastate whole islands whenever they
appear, that I tremble at the thoughts of your going there."

"Pray don't let such an idea trouble you, mother," answered Jack; "the
yellow fever only comes once in a way, and hurricanes appear even less
frequently; so that we may hope to escape both one and the other, even
if we do go there. I have no wish, however, to leave home in a hurry,
and should be glad to remain long enough to receive Murray and Adair,
whom I invited to come here, but I am afraid when they hear of my
appointment that they will write to put off their visit till another
time, which may never arrive. It is not likely that we shall be at home
together again. They are capital fellows. You remember them, Lucy,
when we were all on shore after our first trip to sea, and they came to
call on us in London, and afterwards Adair went down with us for a few
days into the country."

"Yes, indeed. Mr Adair, I suppose I must now call him, was, I
remember, a terrible pickle; while Mr Murray appeared to be a
wonderfully sedate, taciturn young Scotchman, a pattern of correctness
and propriety," said Lucy.

"Maybe, but as noble and brave a fellow as ever breathed!" exclaimed
Jack warmly. "I should like to know what opinion you would form of him
now. I must write by to-day's post, and b