"Now, I can imagine, sir, the meaning of what I read in Xenophon with father, about the soldiers of Cyrus crying with joy when they once more beheld the sea after their toilsome march for months and months, wandering inland over a strange and unknown country without a sight of its familiar face to tell them of their home by the wave-girt shores of Greece!" "You're quite a poet, Graham," observed Mr Mackay, laughing now, though not unkindly.

There was, indeed, a tone of regret and of sadness, it seemed to me, in his voice.

"Ah, well, you'll soon have all such romantic notions taken out of you, my boy, when you've seen some of the hardships of a sailor's life, like others who at one time were, perhaps, as full of ardour for their profession at the start as yourself." "I hope not, sir," I replied seriously.

"I should never like to believe differently of it to what I do now.

I think it is really something to be proud of, being a sailor.