s advantage at once, and boldly declared that
nothing should separate us.

'The greatest favour, my dear Maurice, you can ever expect at my hands
is, never to speak of this freak of yours; or, if I do, to say that you
performed the part to perfection.'

My mind was in one of those moods of change when the slightest
impulse is enough to sway it, and, more from this cause, than all his
persuasion, I yielded; and the same evening saw me gliding down the
Hudson, and admiring the bold Catskills, on our way to New York.

CHAPTER XXXII. THE 'ATHOL' TENDER

As I cast my eyes over these pages, and see how small a portion of my
life they embrace, I feel like one who, having a long journey before
him, perceives that some more speedy means of travel must be adopted, if
he ever hope to reach his destination. With the instinctive prosiness of
age I have lingered over the scenes of boyhood, a period which, strange
to say, is fresher in my memory than many of the events of few years
back; and were I to continue my narrative as I have begun it, it would
take more time on my part, and more patience on that of my readers, than
are likely to be conceded to either of us. Were I to apologise to my
readers for any abruptness in my transitions, or any want of continuity
in my story, I should perhaps inadvertently seem to imply a degree of
interest in my fate which they have never felt; and, on the other
hand, I would not for a moment be thought to treat slightingly the very
smallest degree of favour they may feel disposed to show me. With these
difficulties on either hand, I see nothing for it but to limit myself
for the future to such incidents and passages of my career as most
impressed themselves on myself, and to confine my record to the events
in which I personally took a share.

Santron and I sailed from New York on the 9th of February, and arrived
in Liverpool on the 14th of March. We landed in as humble a guise as
need be. One small box contained all our effects, and a little leathern
purse, with something less than three dollars, all our available wealth.
The immense movement and stir of the busy town, the din and bustle
of trade, the roll of waggons, the cranking clatter of cranes and
windlasses, the incessant flux and reflux of population, all eager and
intent on business, were strange spectacles to our eyes as we loitered
houseless and friendless through the streets, staring in wonderment at
the wealth and prosperity of