birds were twittering among the branches, but he heard them not; the bonnie burn was sweetly singing its low, quiet evensong, but he heeded it not. Sipping for the last time the cool, refreshing waters of the well, he vowed before high heaven he would not return to his native village until he was -Lord Mayor of London!

The next morning at early dawn, Joe, with his ash sapling in his hand and his little bundle o'er his arm, was ready for his journey. His father's farewell was tender and affecting; but the parting with his mother was, on her part, overwhelmingly sad. As she for the last time strained her favourite boy to her bosom, the only expression to which she could give utterance were these simple words-" Dear Joe."

"Farewell," responded Joe.

your boy will soon return."

"Weep not, my mother;

Footsore and weary with his journey, Joe arrived in Dundee in the afternoon, and proceeded at once to the office of the Dundee and London Shipping Company, where he engaged a berth in the steerage of the good smack Bridport, Captain Wishart. He then proceeded to the harbour, and deposited his bundle and stick in the little crib in the forecastle which he had selected as his berth. Finding the vessel was to sail, wind and weather permitting, at two o'clock on the following morning, Joe was permitted to remain on board, which saved him some expense, a matter of great importance to him in the then rather low state of his scanty exchequer.

These were the good old days of the trim sailing clipper smacks, which took from ten days to two or three weeks to make the passage-when there was no certain time for their sailing, far less any fixed period for their return. So accustomed, however, had the voyageurs to and from the Metropolis become to this means of transit, that many of them, long after the steamers had commenced to run the passage with the greatest regularity, and in a twentieth part less of time, still preferred the "old way" in the trig sailing smacks. Major Guthrie, a well-known and highly respected

citizen of Dundee, took a trip once every year to London, but to the last he gave the preference to his favourite smack, the Sovereign, over the fast-sailing and splendidly equipped steamers then on the passage. When seriously asked the reason, one day, for this strange preference, he jocularly replied, “I always invest my money where I can get the best return!"

Captain Wishart, of the Bridport, was the real veritable type of the old "salt"-brusque, genial, kind-hearted, brave -always rough and ready for his work, and whose delight it was to encounter the tempest and the storm, and to guide his weather-beaten ship all safely and true amongst and over the roaring billows to her destined haven.

Long afterwards, when the Captain's son was appointed to the command of the steamship London, the late Lord Panmure was a passenger in that vessel in one of her trips from London to Dundee. The weather, after she had left the Thames, became very tempestuous and stormy, but so bravely and well did the Captain do his duty that the genial and appreciative peer proclaimed him to be "the prince of sailors," and, in the fulness of his gratitude, bestowed upon him a piece of ground at the West Ferry, on which he afterwards erected a cottage as a refuge from the storms of life, and which the old sailor very thankfully enjoyed when no longer able to contend with the warring elements on the sea, and from under the roof-tree of which his brave spirit at last departed in peace to the quiet haven of eternal rest.

Everything was strange and new to Joe, who had never seen the sea or a ship before. "A rough lot these sailors," said Joe to himself, "but I am determined to take nothing amiss, but to rough it with the best of them, deeming the performance of no duty menial or beneath me, if by the doing of it I can honestly and effectually advance my own interest," an axiom which afterwards proved to be the real cause of his success in life.

The tide was full, and the hour appointed for sailing had

arrived, but the wind had suddenly chopped round to the east, and Captain Wishart was reluctantly compelled to delay the ship's departure till the following tide. When the tide again was full the wind had become more favourable, and the impatient captain gave the expected fiat to make ready for

sea.

All now was bustle and excitement on board the good ship Bridport, the cabin passengers were all on deck, and the crew, all told, were running hither and thither, shouting “Aye, aye, sir," and unfurling the huge mainsail to the piping breeze, while the sonorous voice of the captain rose hoarsely and high above all in authoritative tones of high command, which to hear was to obey.

"Lend us a hand, young chap," jocularly cried one of the sailors to Joe, who, nothing loth, obeyed the summons with the utmost alacrity by pulling the ropes as the sailors pulled, and with a right good will otherwise assisting in their duties to the best of his ability.

"That's a good lad," encouragingly said the captain; "you'll be Lord Mayor of London yet.'

Away down the beautiful river proud and swan-like the Bridport went, passing Broughty Castle and the Lights of Tay with a proud, majestic sweep, that bore her on triumphantly to the bar, o'er which the white-crested breakers ominously broke with a crashing, growling sound, which went to Joe's innermost heart of hearts, for the land of his fathers was fast receding from his view, and he now realised for the first time that he was literally and emphatically alone on life's dark and troubled sea, with none to guide the helm save He who alone can still the stormy wave, and bring the tempest-tossed voyager to the havens of earthly and everlasting rest.

The sailors prophesied it would be a "nasty" night, and Joe, feeling somewhat squeamish, and sick at heart to boot, retired below to his crib in the forecastle, ostensibly to sleep, but in reality to ruminate on the perilous future that lay in all its indistinctive outlines before him. The ship had now

cleared the Tay, and was tossing amongst the troubled billows of St Andrews Bay, her sails flapping in fitful thuds on the creaking masts, and her cordage, lashed by the roaring waves, groaning in agony like the vengeful demon of the brooding storm. Now down in the trough of the swelling sea, anon riding out the tempest on the crest of the mountain wave, with the sea-mews screaming ominously o'erhead, and the sleety rain falling in copious showers around, away went the little smack, right bravely clearing for herself a pathway safe and clear over the stormy deep.

Joe could not sleep; Joe could not think. Such was the fury of the storm, that for three long days and nights the hatches had to be fastened down, leaving the forecastle during all that dreary time in total darkness. Fortunately for our young hero, he was so miserably sea-sick all that terrible time, that he had ceased to think of life and its prospects at all, or if occasionally he did so, it was only to wish himself aud all his ambitious hopes at the bottom of the sea.

"A rough beginning means a good ending," encouragingly shouted the captain, as young Wightman appeared on the deck on the morning of the fourth day, pale and sickly from recent illness, and ravenously hungry by reason of his long fast. The swell of the sea was still considerable, but the sun was shining bright and unclouded overhead, begemming the troubled waves with a silvery radiance very beautiful and exhilarating, coming after such a dark and fearful storm.

"That is Scarborough," kindly said our captain to Joe, as he leant over the vessel's side, evidently delighted he had seen the land and human habitations once more.

"When shall we reach London ?" responded Joe, apparently unheeding the remark of the captain.

"In three days at farthest," replied Captain Wishart; "but, dear me, my lad, he added, "your gills are as white as a well-bleached spelding. Come down and breakfast with me in the cabin, you require some nourishing food after your long fast."

On the second day thereafter, the Bridport was dashing through Yarmouth Roads, in which there was the usual display of shipping, a scene which never fails to call forth exclamations of wonder and delight as one of the most beautiful and animating sights a seaman or landsman can behold. On the following day she entered the Thames.

"There is the land of plenty now, my lad," gaily said the captain to our young hero, whose heart beat quickly with new and indescribable emotions, as the vessel swept swiftly on her course with the flowing tide up the renowned and beautiful river.

Under the pilot's directions she soon passed Sheerness on the one hand, and Southend on the other, till Gravesend and Greenwich reached and passed, she slowly made her way through the forests of shipping in the Pool, until the Bridge of London coming suddenly in sight, made her passengers and crew aware their voyage was ended.

Having learned somewhat of young Wightman's history and aims during the voyage, Captain Wishart kindly gave Joe the address of a lodging-house-keeper in Wapping, where he knew he would not only be comfortably provided for, but safe from all attempts at imposition and fraud.

"Good-bye, my lad," said the kind-hearted captain. “We shall lie here for a week or ten days. Come down to the wharf before we sail and let me know how you get on. boy will pilot you safely. Good-bye. God bless you!"

This

Joe was up betimes next morning, and, looking out from his bed-room window, the high brick walls of St Katherine's Dock too truly told him he was indeed far away from his native village and the breezy fields of Strathmore! From a cage hung out beneath, there came at that instant, the sweet, well-known song of the lark, which, while it carried his thoughts on the wings of love, in joyous ecstasy to the scenes of his childhood home, served, at the same time, to cheer his burits and nerve his heart, to achieve success in the perilous all itprise on which he had embarked.