ick sailor was the better fighter
of the two, and won.

The Englishman shook hands, and asked his name and promised not to
forget him--which was certainly most handsome behavior.

When they reached an English port all the prisoners but one were sent
away under guard to join the other American prisoners of war; but the
admiral sent for a young man named Nathan Lord, and told him that his
Grace the Duke of Clarence, son of his Majesty the King, begged for
his pardon, and had left a five-pound note at his disposal.

This was not the first or last Berwick lad who proved himself of good
courage in a fight, but there never was another to whip a future King
of England, and moreover to be liked the better for it by that fine
gentleman.

My grandfather died in my eleventh year, and presently the Civil War
began.

From that time the simple village life was at an end. Its provincial
character was fading out; shipping was at a disadvantage, and there
were no more bronzed sea-captains coming to dine and talk about their
voyages, no more bags of filberts or oranges for the children, or
great red jars of olives; but in these childish years I had come in
contact with many delightful men and women of real individuality and
breadth of character, who had fought the battle of life to good
advantage, and sometimes against great odds.

In these days I was given to long, childish illnesses, and it must be
honestly confessed, to instant drooping if ever I were shut up in
school. I had apparently not the slightest desire for learning, but my
father was always ready to let me be his companion in long drives
about the country.

In my grandfather's business household, my father, unconscious of
tonnage and timber measurement, of the markets of the Windward
Islands or the Mediterranean ports, had taken to his book, as old
people said, and gone to college and begun that devotion to the study
of medicine which only ended with his life.

I have tried already to give some idea of my father's character in my
story of "The Country Doctor," but all that is inadequate to the gifts
and character of the man himself. He gave me my first and best
knowledge of books by his own delight and dependence upon them, and
ruled my early attempts at writing by the severity and simplicity of
his own good taste.

"Don't try to write _about_ people and things, tell them just as they
are!"

How often my young ears heard these words without comprehending them!