it would teach us to remember that our little
day of opportunity will soon be spent and that the night is at hand in
which no man can work.

Four years rolled away, and during this time Martin, having failed to
obtain his aunt's consent to his going to sea, continued at school,
doing his best to curb the roving spirit that strove within him. Martin
was not particularly bright at the dead languages; to the rules of
grammar he entertained a rooted aversion; and at history he was inclined
to yawn, except when it happened to touch upon the names and deeds of
such men as Vasco di Gama and Columbus. But in geography he was
perfect; and in arithmetic and book-keeping he was quite a proficient,
to the delight of Mrs Dorothy Grumbit whose household books he summed
up; and to the satisfaction of his fast friend, Mr Arthur Jollyboy,
whose ledgers he was--in that old gentleman's secret resolves--destined
to keep.

Martin was now fourteen, broad and strong, and tall for his age. He was
the idol of the school,--dashing, daring, reckless, and good-natured.
There was almost nothing that he would not attempt and there were very
few things that he could not do. He never fought however--from
principle; and his strength and size often saved him from the necessity.
But he often prevented other boys from fighting, except when he thought
there was good reason for it; then he stood by and saw fair-play. There
was a strange mixture of philosophical gravity, too, in Martin. As he
grew older he became more enthusiastic and less boisterous.

Bob Croaker was still at the school, and was, from prudential motives, a
fast friend of Martin. But he bore him a secret grudge, for he could
not forget the great fight.

One day Bob took Martin by the arm, and said, "I say, Rattler, come with
me to Bilton, and have some fun among the shipping."

"Well, I don't mind if I do," said Martin. "I'm just in the mood for a
ramble, and I'm not expected home till bed-time."

In little more than an hour the two boys were wandering about the
dock-yards of the sea-port town, and deeply engaged in examining the
complicated rigging of the ships. While thus occupied, the clanking of
a windlass and the merry, "Yo heave O! and away she goes," of the
sailors, attracted their attention.

"Hallo! there goes the Firefly, bound for the South Seas," cried Bob
Croaker; "come, let's see her start. I say, Martin, isn't your friend,
Barney O'Flannagan, on board?"

"Y