ing no trace
behind. But, being what he was--and is, I hope--I can't believe it.'

'Wal'r, my lad,' inquired the Captain, wistfully eyeing him as he
pondered and pondered, 'what do you make of it, then?'

'Captain Cuttle,' returned Walter, 'I don't know what to make of it. I
suppose he never has written! There is no doubt about that?'

'If so be as Sol Gills wrote, my lad,' replied the Captain,
argumentatively, 'where's his dispatch?'

'Say that he entrusted it to some private hand,' suggested Walter, 'and
that it has been forgotten, or carelessly thrown aside, or lost. Even
that is more probable to me, than the other event. In short, I not
only cannot bear to contemplate that other event, Captain Cuttle, but I
can't, and won't.'

'Hope, you see, Wal'r,' said the Captain, sagely, 'Hope. It's that
as animates you. Hope is a buoy, for which you overhaul your Little
Warbler, sentimental diwision, but Lord, my lad, like any other buoy, it
only floats; it can't be steered nowhere. Along with the figure-head of
Hope,' said the Captain, 'there's a anchor; but what's the good of my
having a anchor, if I can't find no bottom to let it go in?'

Captain Cuttle said this rather in his character of a sagacious citizen
and householder, bound to impart a morsel from his stores of wisdom to
an inexperienced youth, than in his own proper person. Indeed, his face
was quite luminous as he spoke, with new hope, caught from Walter; and
he appropriately concluded by slapping him on the back; and saying,
with enthusiasm, 'Hooroar, my lad! Indiwidually, I'm o' your opinion.'
Walter, with his cheerful laugh, returned the salutation, and said:

'Only one word more about my Uncle at present' Captain Cuttle. I suppose
it is impossible that he can have written in the ordinary course--by
mail packet, or ship letter, you understand--'

'Ay, ay, my lad,' said the Captain approvingly.

And that you have missed the letter, anyhow?'

'Why, Wal'r,' said the Captain, turning his eyes upon him with a faint
approach to a severe expression, 'ain't I been on the look-out for
any tidings of that man o' science, old Sol Gills, your Uncle, day and
night, ever since I lost him? Ain't my heart been heavy and watchful
always, along of him and you? Sleeping and waking, ain't I been upon my
post, and wouldn't I scorn to quit it while this here Midshipman held
together!'

'Yes, Captain Cuttle,' replied Walter, grasping his hand, 'I know you
would, and I kn