fabulous age, and became at last as wrinkled as a
red herring. For all we know to the contrary, she may be alive yet.
Willie lived with her, and became a cultivator of the soil. But why go
on? Enough has been said to show that no ill befell any individual
mentioned in our tale. Even Mrs Brown lived to a good old age, and was
a female dragon to the last. Enough has also been said to prove, that,
as the old song has it, "we little know what great things from little
things may rise."

STORY TWO, CHAPTER 1.

WHY I DID NOT BECOME A SAILOR.

There is mystery connected with the incidents which I am about to
relate. Looked at from one point of view, the whole affair is
mysterious--eminently so; yet, regarded from another point of view, it
is not so mysterious as it seems. Whatever my reader may think about it
as he goes along, I entreat him to suspend his judgment until he has
reached the conclusion of my narrative. My only reason for bringing
this mysterious matter before the public is, that, in addition to
filling me with unutterable surprise, it had the effect of quenching one
of my strongest desires, and effectually prevented my becoming a sailor.

This, I freely admit, is not in itself a sufficient reason to justify my
rushing into print. But when I regard the matter from what may be
termed a negative point of view, I do feel that it is not absolutely
presumptuous in me to claim public attention. Suppose that Sir John
Franklin had never gone to sea; what a life of adventure and discovery
would have been lost to the world! what deeds of heroism undone, and,
therefore, untold! I venture to think, that if that great navigator had
not gone to sea, it would have been a matter of interest, (knowing what
we now know), to have been told that such was the case. In this view of
the matter I repeat it, as being of possible future interest, that the
incident I am about to relate prevented my becoming a sailor.

I am said to be a soft boy--that is to say, I _was_ said to be soft.
I'm a man now, but, of course, I was a boy once. I merely mention this
to prove that I make no pretension whatever to unusual wisdom; quite the
reverse. I hate sailing under false colours--not that I ever did sail
under any colours, never having become a sailor--and yet I shouldn't say
that, either, for that's the very point round which all the mystery
hangs. I _did_ go to sea! I'm rather apt to wander, I find, from my
point, and to c