Joseph! he tries to slip along with the others; but when
the holiday comes, instinct takes him straight to the mill-pond, there
to construct forbidden rafts and adventure contraband voyages. The
best-worn page of his Malte-Brun Geography is that which treats the
youthful student to a packet-passage to England. He can tell the names
of all islands, capes, and bays; but ask him the boundaries of Bohemia
or Saxony, the capitals of Western States, and down he goes to the foot
of the class. Thus it continues awhile, till, after a fracas at school,
or a neglected duty on the farm, or similar severance of the bonds of
home, Master Joe may be seen trudging along the dusty seaport-highway,
in a passion of tears, but with a resolute heart, and an ever-deepening
conviction that he must go on, and not back.

Then there is another class,--the poetical, dreamy adventurer, to whom
the sea beckons in every white Undine that rises along the beaches of a
moonlight night, to whom it calls in that mournful and magic undertone
heard only by those who love and listen. These do not often run away to
go to sea; they prefer to voyage genteelly in yachts or packet-ships,
and, if the impulse be very strong, will get a commission in the navy.
However, if circumstances compel a Tapleyan "coming out strong," they
will sometimes face their work, and that right nobly; for there is
nowhere that gentle blood so tells as at sea. The utter absence of all
sham or room for sham brings out true and noble qualities as well as
mean and selfish ones. For ordinary work, one man's muscle is as good
as another's. It is only when the time of trial comes,--when the
volunteers are called to man the boat that is to venture through the
wild seas to pick off the crew of a foundering wreck,--"when the
jerking, slatting sail overhead must be got in somehow," though topmast
and yard and sail may go any minute,--when the quailing mate or
frightened captain dares not _order_ men to all but certain death, and
still less dares to _lead_,--then it is, when the lives of all hang on
the heroism of one, that the good blood will assert itself.

Then there is the class who are _sent_ to sea,--scapegraces all. The
alternative is not unfrequently the one of which Dr. Johnson chose the
other side. The Doctor being _sans question_ a landsman, _he_ never
saw, we warrant, any resemblance to fore and main and mizzen in the
three spires of Litchfield. But the Doctor, not being a scamp, was