r it from another, but not from him," Paul
over and over again had said to himself after each fresh cause of
annoyance given by young Devereux, who all the time was himself utterly
ignorant that he had offended the boy. Of course he did not suspect who
Paul was; Paul had determined to keep his own secret, and had not
divulged it even to Reuben. Reuben was somewhat disappointed with Paul.
"I cannot make out what ails the lad," he said to himself, "he was
merry and spirited enough on shore; I hope he's not going to be afraid
of salt-water."

Poor Paul was undergoing a severe trial. It might prove for his benefit
in the end. While the frigate was in harbour, he bore up tolerably
well, but he had now for the first time in his life to contend with
sea-sickness; while he was also at the beck and call of a dozen or more
somewhat unreasonable masters. It was not, however, till that Saturday
night that Paul began really to repent that he had come to sea. Where
was the romance? As the serpent, into which Aaron's rod was changed,
swallowed up the serpents of the Egyptian magicians, so the stern
reality had devoured all the ideas of the romance of a sea life, which
he had till now entertained.

Yet sleep, that blessed medicine for human woes, brought calm and
comfort to his soul. He dreamed of happier days, when his father was
alive, and as yet no cares had visited his home. He was surrounded by
the comforts which wealth can give. He was preparing, as he had long
hoped to do, for sea, with the expectation of being placed as a
midshipman on the quarter-deck. His uniform with brass buttons, his
dirk and gold-laced hat, lay on a table before him, with a bright
quadrant and spy-glass; and there was his sea-chest ready to be filled
with his new wardrobe, and all sorts of little comforts which a fond
mother and sisters were likely to have prepared for him. He heard the
congratulations of friends, and the prophecies that he would some day
emulate the deeds of England's greatest naval heroes. He dreamed on
thus till the late events of his life again came into his thoughts, and
he recollected that it was not his own, but the outfit of another lad
about to go to sea which he had long ago inspected with such interest,
and at length the poor ship-boy was awakened to the stern reality of his
present condition by the hoarse voice of a boatswain's mate summoning
all hands on deck. Paul felt so sea-sick and so utterly miserable that