in the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty-four there stood on the old quay at appledore—a maritime village in the north of devon—a sombre-looking abode of respectability, with an air of faded greatness about it, which towered above its more humble neighbours, and commanded an unbroken view of the so-called 'pool.'

that self-same 'pool' is not unworthy of notice; for there the tidal waters of the torridge and the taw form a spacious basin, in which shipping of no mean tonnage may swim and swing. it is there that those waters assume the hue and mimic the mien of their capricious stepmother, the ocean, becoming greener and more wavy; and when the old lady, rushing in over bideford bar, takes these children in her arms, the swelling and dancing and splashing of that pool in the pride of its heart is beyond all common belief. it is there, too, that, having parted company for a time, and sailed miles into the country, they return again, and, bidding their tidal convoy farewell for a season, allow her to glide out by the side of the burrows, until she joins once more with the atlantic in bideford bay.

there are not a few who leave smoky cities, and breezeless plains, and monotonous landscapes, during the summer months, for seaside air and scenery; and to such we would say, search out this meeting of the waters. make acquaintance with north devon, and pay your respects to northam, the birthplace and the resting-place of that valiant adventurous knight sir amyas leigh. run down from thence to the burrows, with its thousand acres of greensward like a bowling-green, studded with grazing cattle, and fenced by a long sea-wall of innumerable pebbles, beyond which is a strand that would amaze ilfracombe or weston. inhale there the strong sea-breezes fresh up from the atlantic. walk fearlessly out into the surf, to meet the breakers rolling majestically, and harmless withal as the ripples on a mill-pond. creep over the slaty rocks with oarweed strewed, surveying thence the frowning head of hartland, or the burnt turf slopes and beetling cliffs of baggy, and you will meet with marine enjoyments which few of the more fashionable resorts have ever dreamt of, and can never hope to supply.

in one of the front rooms of that sombre abode of respectability sat the wealthiest and most renowned of appledore's merchants—and then they were princes indeed. mr. phillipson was a shrewd and determined man. descended from ancestors who had contributed much to the commercial prosperity of devon, when bideford was one of the most stirring and thriving of british trading ports, he inherited their business habits, their passion for speculation, their greed for gain, and consequently their remorseless rapacity; and, at the time of which we write, he was busily engaged in the american and russian trade, which yielded him a handsome income. though well educated, and accustomed to good society, his manners were anything but refined; and so rough and coarse was his language at times that the common people honoured him with epithets not very flattering to his respectability. it was said by those who pretended to know that he was a hard drinker. there were whispers, too, that he had so far departed from the line of rectitude as to traffic in contraband goods, and that some of his craft were in fact no better than out-and-out smugglers. these rumours, however, were attributed by all genteel inhabitants to the tongue of scandal; for true it is that evil-speaking, lying, and slandering were very strong-handed in that maritime village. and so it came to pass that money and station did then what they have always done, and will always do—stave off suspicions, make the possibility of crime a hard thing to be believed, and keep a fence around the character which it is next door to sacrilege to touch.

it was a winter morning. the fire which burned brightly on the hearth was clear and glowing as a frosty air could make it; and as the merchant gazed on the ruddy mass and flickering flame, he seemed absorbed in some dreamy reverie; but, recovering occasionally from the fit of abstraction into which his musings had thrown him, he cast his eyes hurriedly and anxiously on the papers that lay on the table before him.

his reverie was interrupted at the moment he had apparently come to some definite conclusion. a servant entered and announced that captain stauncy wished to speak with him.

'show him in,' he said smartly, as though annoyed at being interrupted and intruded on just then; adding, in a more self-possessed tone, 'see that no one is admitted whilst the captain is here.'

james stauncy entered, and a goodly specimen of a british tar was he. his manly, open, sunburnt countenance, his broad and strong-built figure, his smart and jaunty air, his bold and sparkling eye, his spruce and expensive fittings, proclaimed him a worthy son of neptune. under other circumstances, and with opportunities more favourable, he would have become an extraordinary man. generous and disinterested, brave and devoted, self-possessed and strong-minded, he would have stood out from and proved himself superior to his class. but his education had been scanty; and, having reached the quarter-deck through the hawse-hole, as the sailors express it,—that is, having passed through all possible gradations, from the cabin-boy to the captain,—he had not been able to rub off the rough manners of early days, nor had he furnished his mind with any literature beyond that of the log-book.

the habits and associations of the forecastle had marked him strongly; and the only wonder is that, having passed through many a slough in his sailor's career, there was comparatively so little mire adhering to him. his moral code was for the most part comprised in one word, duty, comprehending fidelity to his employer and devotedness to his family; and faithfully must it be recorded that he seldom felt much scruple about the means, provided the ends were 'all right' in his estimation.

having respectfully saluted his superior, he seated himself near the fire, at the request of the merchant, who, without giving him an immediate opportunity of explaining his errand, said, 'you will join me, mr. stauncy?' and, taking a bottle of brandy from the cupboard, he held it for a moment in his hand reflectingly; then, raising it between his eye and the window, he smiled as he surveyed the brilliant liquor, and observed, 'here's something, captain, that never blushed at the face of a gauger: help yourself;' and he helped himself, remarking, as he smacked his lips, 'prime stuff for priming, mr. stauncy, i'll warrant you. captain,' he added, evidently speaking out of the fulness of his heart, and continuing audibly what he had been revolving mentally, 'the road to fortune is what we make it—long or short, broad or narrow. there is the long roundabout turnpike road, and there is the short cut through brake and spinney. i was thinking about this just as you entered, and i should like to have your opinion. it strikes me that two words comprehend everything—work and wit: work is the turnpike—wit is the short cut.'

'i don't know, mr. phillipson,' replied the captain; 'short cuts for a sailor are often dangerous things; and the fellows that i am acquainted with who live by their wits are a ragged lot, sure enough.'

'bah! you don't understand me; but you'll be wiser some day. i tell you what it is, stauncy: the higher up you get in life, the shorter the cuts are. chances multiply as you run up the ladder. what is knavery amongst the poor at the bottom is "unfortunate speculation," or something of that sort, amongst the wealthy at the top; whilst all the way through, according to a graduated scale, artifice, or roguery if you like, changes both its name and its aspect. dangerous at one end, it gradually becomes safer and safer; for, whilst it exposes the wits you speak of to a few lessons on the treadmill, it rewards the wits i speak of with the fawning homage of everybody. i would only observe,' he added, helping himself at the same time, 'that you and i are fools if we don't make our brains serve us as others do. and now, what is it?'

'i came, sir,' replied stauncy, 'to ask for orders, as we shall be ready to move off to-morrow morning. the men say that the vessel is bound to jersey or marseilles.'

'never mind what the men say,' exclaimed the merchant; 'there is gossip enough in this place to ballast a man-of-war. the sarah ann is bound to a far more comfortable and profitable port.'

'any where you please, sir,' said the captain, who had been accustomed for some time to receive orders at the last moment. 'i am not particularly curious; and, indeed,' he added, laughing, 'it's part of my agreement, you know, to ask no questions, and do as i'm bid.'

'exactly so,' mr. phillipson responded. 'i do as i am bid by circumstances and chances; you do as you are bid by my honourable self; and, as i have always endeavoured to be faithful to my masters, so you have always been faithful to me.'

'thank you, sir,' replied stauncy, evidently flattered. 'i hope i know my duty;' and, preparing for himself a fresh potation, he added, 'long life to you, sir, and all the success you wish for.'

'all the success i wish for, stauncy, is more than i can expect to secure; but you can help me, if you will, to a large slice of it. i have trusted you more than any man living.'

'mr. phillipson,' replied the captain, 'all i say is, i've endeavoured to do my duty.'

'you have, stauncy; and i'll make a man of you when you return from this voyage. you'll be able to sing "with shiners in my sack" to some purpose.'

'it'll be a short cut, then,' answered the captain, who had often heard the same thing before, but whose love of money was keener than his sense of disappointment; 'and maybe i shall get to the top of the ladder after all. i suppose we are bound for kegs, as usual?'