MAKING A MASTER. 



One keen winter morning in 1837, there stood 

 before Captain Lewis Tobey, of the ship Sivift, a 

 boy asking permission to go with him on his next 

 voyage. The captain looking sharply at his 

 visitor, saw a lad of hardly fifteen, slight, erect, 

 with dark hair and deep blue eyes, and something 

 about his square chin and firm mouth which he 

 seemed to think argued well for the future. 



" Take your hands out of your pockets, and tell 

 me your name," demanded the master. 



" My name is Charles H. Robbins," replied the 

 boy, his eyes on the hands which were now 

 clasped in front of him. That boy was myself. 



" Who is your father ? " was the next question. 



" My father was Lemuel Robbins, sir," I replied 

 softly. " He died six years ago." 



The captain remembered that he had seen the 

 boy before. Many evenings when he sat telling 

 sea tales to the friends who were his entertainers 

 on shore, this lad, visiting his chum, the young 

 son of the family, had been among his listeners. 



The result of that morning interview was a 

 decision that I should go as cabin-boy on the ship 

 Swift, which was very soon to sail. 



