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 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 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 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 . I directed the waterman to pull to the hard, and, paying him well, dismissed him; for I had perceived that old Tom was at work round a wherry, bottom up; and his wife was sitting on a bench in the boat-arbour, in the warm sun, and working away at her nets. I had landed so quietly, and they both were so occupied with their respective employments, that they had not perceived me, and I crept round by the house to surprise them. I had gained a station behind the old boat, where I overheard the conversation.  
“It’s my opinion,” said old Tom, who left off hammering for a time, “that all the nails in Birmingham won’t make this boat water-tight. The timbers are as rotten as a pear, and the nails fall through them. I have put in one piece more than agreed for; and if I don’t put in another here she’ll never swim.”
 
“Well, then, put another piece in,” replied Mrs Beazeley.
 
“Yes; so I will; but I’ve a notion I shall be out of pocket by this job. Seven-and-sixpence won’t pay for labour and all. However, never mind,” and Tom carolled forth—
 
     “Is not the sea
 
     Made for the free—
 
Land for courts and chains alone?
 
     There we are slaves,
 
     But on the waves
 
Love and liberty’s all our own.”
 
“Now, if you do sing, sing truth, Beazeley,” said the old woman. “A’n’t our boy pressed into the service? And how can you talk of liberty?”
 
Old Tom answered by continuing his song—
 
“No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us;
 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.”
 
“Yes, yes,” replied the old woman; “no eye to watch, indeed. He may be in sickness and in sorrow; he may be wounded, or dying of a fever; and there’s no mother’s eye to watch over him. As to all the earth being forgot, I won’t believe that Tom has forgotten his mother.”
 
Old Tom replied—
 
        “Seasons may roll,
 
        But the true soul
 
Burns the same wherever it goes.”
 
“So it does, Tom—so it does; and he’s thinking this moment of his father and mother, I do verily believe, and he loves us more than ever.”
 
“So I believe,” replied old Tom—“that is, if he hasn’t anything better to do. But there’s a time for all things; and when a man is doing his duty as a , he mustn’t let his thoughts wander. Never fear, old woman: he’ll be back again.
 
“There’s a sweet little that sits up aloft,
 
To take care of the life of poor .”
 
“God grant it! God grant it!” replied the old woman, wiping her eyes with her , and then resuming her netting.
 
“He seems,” continued she, “by his letters, to be over-fond of that girl, Mary Stapleton—and I sometimes think that she cares not a little for him; but she’s never of one mind long. I didn’t like to see her and so with the soldiers, and at the same time Tom says that she writes that she cares for nobody but him.”
 
“Women are—women! that’s sartin,” replied old Tom, for a time, and then showing that his thoughts were running on his son, by bursting out—
 
“Mary, when yonder sea
 
    Shall part us, and perchance for ever,
 
Think not my heart can stray from thee,
 
    Or cease to mourn thine absence—never!
 
And when in distant climes I roam,
 
    Forlorn, unfriended, broken-hearted—”
 
“Don’t say so, Tom—don’t say so,” interrupted the old woman.
 
Tom continued—
 
“Oft shall I sigh for thee and home,
 
    And all those joys from which I parted.”
 
“Aye, so he does, poor fellow, I’ll be bound to say. What would I give to see his dear, smiling face!” said Mrs Beazeley.
 
“And I’d give no little, missus, myself. But still, it’s the duty for every man to serve his country; and so ought Tom, as his father did before him. I shall be glad to see him back: but I’m not sorry that he’s gone. Our ships must be manned, old woman; and if they take men by force, it’s only because they won’t volunteer—that’s all. When they’re once on board they don’t mind it. You women require pressing just as much as the men, and it’s all much of a muchness.”
 
“How’s that Tom?”
 
“Why, when we make love, and ask you to marry, don’t you always , and say, ‘No!’ You like being kissed, but we must take it by force. So it is with manning a ship. The men all say, ‘No;’ but when they are once there, they like the service very much—only, you see, like you, they want pressing. Don’t Tom write and say that he’s quite happy, and don’t care where he is so long as he’s with Jacob?”
 
“Yes; that’s true; but they say Jacob is to be discharged and come home, now that he’s come to a fortune; and what will Tom say then?”
 
“Why, that is the worst of it. I believe that Jacob’s heart is in the right place; but still, riches spoil a man. But we shall see. If Jacob don’t prove ‘true blue,’ I’ll never put faith in man again. But there be changes in this world, that’s sartin.
 
“We all have our taste of the ups and the downs,
 
As Fortune her smiles and her frowns;
 
But may we not hope, if she’s frowning to-day,
 
That to-morrow she’ll lend us the light of her ray.
 
“I only wish Jacob was here—that’s all.”
 
“Then you have your wish, my good old friend,” cried I, running up to Tom and seizing his hand. But old Tom was so taken by surprise that he started back and lost his , dragging me after him, and we rolled on the turf together. Nor was this the only accident, for old Mrs Beazeley was so alarmed that she also sprang from the bench in the half of the old boat stuck on end, and threw herself ............