lad," said Captain Merryweather, as they walked along, "did
you hear what Captain Thomson said?"

"Ay, captain; and what you said too. And I'm sure you spoke nothing but
the real truth."

"Well, you just mark that, Jacob. There are scores of accidents and
crimes from drunkenness, and they get known, and talked about, and
punished; but there are hundreds which come from moderate drinking, or
from the drink itself, which are never traced. Ships run foul of one
another, trains come into collision, houses get set on fire; and the
drink is at the bottom of most of it, I believe, because people get put
off their balance, and ain't themselves, and so get careless, or
confused, or excited, and then mischief follows. And yet no one can say
they're drunk; and where are you to draw the line? A man's the worse
for drink long before he's anything like intoxicated; for it is in the
very nature of the drink to fly at once to a man's brain. Ah, give me
the man or lad, Jacob, that takes none. His head is clear, his hand's
steady, his eye is quick. He's sure not to have taken too much, because
he has taken none at all.--But here we are. There lies my good ship,
the barque _Sabrina_. You shall come on board with me at once, and see
your quarters."

CHAPTER TEN.

OUTWARD BOUND.

Six weeks had elapsed since the barque _Sabrina_ had left the port of
Liverpool. She was stealing along swiftly before a seven knot breeze on
the quarter, with studding-sails set. It was intensely hot, for they
had crossed the line only a few days since. Captain Merryweather had
proved himself all that a captain should be--a thorough sailor, equal to
any emergency; a firm but considerate commander; an interesting and
lively companion, ever evenly cheerful, and watchful to make all around
him comfortable and happy. Hubert Oliphant was full of spirits--happy
himself, and anxious to make others the same; a keen observer of every
natural phenomenon, and admirer of the varied beauties of ocean and sky;
and, better still, with a heart ready to feel the bounty and love of God
in everything bright, lovely, and grand. Poor Frank had become less
sad; but his sorrow still lay heavy on his spirits. Yet there was hope
for him to cling to; and he was rejoicing in the subduing of his evil
habit, which was thus far broken through by his forced abstinence.
Alas! he did not realise that a smouldering fire and an extinct one are
very different things. He w