tic interest in all this for young Rodney. In his
imagination, Will Manton was a hero. He was scarcely ever out of
his thoughts. He would follow him in fancy, bounding over the broad
sea, with all the sails of the majestic ship swelling in the
favoring breeze, now touching at some island, and looking at the
strange dresses and customs of a barbarous people; now meeting a
homeward-bound vessel, and exchanging joyful greetings; and now
lying to in a calm, and spearing dolphins and harpooning whales.
When the storm raged, he almost trembled lest he might be wrecked;
but, when it was over, he fancied the noble ship, having weathered
the storm, stemming safely the high waves, and careering gracefully
on her course. Or, if he was wrecked, he imagined that he must be
cast upon some shore where the hospitable inhabitants hurried down
to the beach to the relief of the crew, bore them safely through
the breakers, and pressed upon them the comforts of their homes.
His wild imagination followed him to other lands, and roved with
him along the streets of European cities, among the ruins of
Grecian temples, over the gardens of Spain and the vineyards of
Italy, through the pagodas of India, and the narrow streets of
Calcutta and Canton.

"O," thought he, "how delightful must be such a life! How
pleasant to be roaming amid scenes that are always new! And how
wretched to be tied to such a life as I lead, following the same
weary round of miserable drudgery every day!"

But it was Rodney's own fancy that painted this enjoyment of a
sailor-boy's life. Will Manton did not find it so pleasant in
reality. There was more menial drudgery to the poor cabin-boy on
ship-board, than he had ever known in the carpenter's shop. He
was sworn at, and thumped, and kicked, and driven from one thing
to another, by the captain, and mates, and steward, and crew,
all day long. And many a night, when, weary and sore, he crept
to his hard, narrow bunk, he lay and cried himself to sleep,
thinking of his kind and pleasant home.

When Fancy pictures before the restless mind distant and
unknown scenes, she divests them of all the rough realities
which a nearer view and a tried experience find in them. The
mountain-side looks smooth and pleasant from a distance, but we
find it rugged and wearisome when we attempt to climb it.

One idea had now gained almost sole possession of poor Rodney's
mind. He must go to sea! He thought of it all day, and dreamed
of it