mother

.
And as I sat there, gazing now at the blue heavens, now at the downs before me, a man came along the road in the direction in which I had hitherto been proceeding: just opposite to me he stopped, and, looking at me, cried,—'Am I right for London, master?'

He was dressed like a sailor, and appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty years of age—he had an open manly countenance, and there was a bold and fearless expression in his eye.

'Yes,' said I, in reply to his question; 'this is one of the ways to London. Do you come from far?'

'From ——,' said the man, naming a well-known seaport.

'Is this the direct road to London from that place?' I demanded.

'No,' said the man; 'but I had to visit two or three other places on certain commissions I was intrusted with; amongst others to ——, where I had to take a small sum of money. I am rather tired, master; and, if you please, I will sit down beside you.'

'You have as much right to sit down here as I have,' said I; 'the road is free for every one; as for sitting down beside me, you have the look of an honest man, and I have no objection to your company.'

'Why, as for being honest, master,' said the man, laughing and sitting down by me, 'I haven't much to say—many is the wild thing I have done when I was younger; however, what is done, is done. To learn, one must live, master; and I have lived long enough to learn the grand point of wisdom.'

'What is that?' said I.

'That honesty is the best policy, master.'

'You appear to be a sailor,' said I, looking at his dress.

'I was not bred a sailor,' said the man, 'though, when my foot is on the salt water, I can play the part—and play it well too. I am now from a long voyage.'

'From America?' said I.

'Farther than that,' said the man.

'Have you any objection to tell me?' said I.

'From New South Wales,' said the man, looking me full in the face.

'And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home brought you from New South Wales.'

'There you are mistaken,' said the man. 'Wish to see England again would never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see another kind of mother—a poor old woman, whose son I am—has brought me back.'

'You have a mother, then?' said I. 'Does she reside in London?'

'She used to live in London,' said the man; 'but I am afraid she is long since dead.'

'How did she support herself?' said I.

'Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of seeing her.'

'Did you ever write to her,' said I, 'or cause others to write to her?'

'I wrote to her myself,' said the man, 'about two years ago; but I never received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the assistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do that very well before I went—my poor mother taught me to read, out of a book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor dear!—what I would give only to know that she is alive.'

'Life is very uncertain,' said I.

'That is true,' said the man, with a sigh.

'We are here one moment, and gone the next,' I continued. 'As I passed through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time?'

'Who knows, indeed?' said the man. 'Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead. Well, God's will be done.'

'However,' said I, 'I should not wonder at your finding your mother alive.'

'You wouldn't?' said the man, looking at me wistfully.

'I should not wonder at all,' said I; 'indeed, something within me seems to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to fivepence that you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, five shillings to fivepence—'

'Is very considerable odds,' said the man, rubbing his hands; 'sure you must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds.'

'After all,' said I, 'it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the long odds lose. Let us hope, however. What do you mean to do in the event of finding your mother alive?'

'I scarcely know,' said the man; 'I have frequently thought that if I found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to the country which I have left—it is a better country for a man—that is, a free man—to live in than this; however, let me first find my mother—if I could only find my mother—'

'Farewell,' said I, rising. 'Go your way, and God go with you—I will go mine.'
.