THE SMUGGLER. 4 1 



"Quite the reverse!" answered Osboru, with a smile; 

 "mine has been nothing but a life of peril and danger, and 

 activity, as far as it hitherto has gone. From the time I was 

 eighteen till now, the battle and the skirmish, the march and 

 the retreat, with often the hard ground for my bed, as fre- 

 quently the sky for my covering, and at best a thin piece of 

 canvass to keep off the blast, have been my lot, but it is that 

 very fact that makes me long for some repose, and love scenes 

 that give the picture of it to the imagination, if not the reality 

 to the heart. I should suppose that few men who have 

 passed their time thus, and known from youth to manhood 

 nothing but strife and hourly peril, do not, sooner or later, 

 desire such tranquillity." 



"I don't know, sir," said the smuggler; "it may be so, 

 and the time may come with me ; but yet, I think, habits one 

 is bred to get such a hold of the heart that we can't do with- 

 out them. I often fancy I should like a month's quiet, too; 

 but then, I know, before the month was out I should long to 

 be on the sea again." 



"Man is a discontented creature," said Warde; "not even 

 the bounty of God can satisfy him. I do not believe that he 

 would even rest in heaven, were he not wearied of change by 

 the events of this life. Well may they say it is a state of trial." 



"I hope I shall go to heaven, too," rejoined the smuggler; 

 "but I should like a few trips first; and I dare say, when I 

 grow an old man, and stiff and rusty, I shall be well contented 

 to take my walk here in the sunshine, and talk of days that 

 are gone ; but, at present, when one has life and strength, I 

 could no more sit and get cankered in idleness than I could 

 turn miller. This world's not a place to be still in; and I 

 say, Blow wind, and push off the boat." 



"But one may have activity enough without constant ex- 

 citement and peril," answered Osborn. 



"I don't know that there would be half the pleasure in it,'' 

 replied the smuggler, laughing, "that we strive for, that we 

 love. Everything must have its price, and cheap got is little 

 valued. But who is this coming?" he continued, turning 

 sharply round before either of his companions heard a sound. 



The next moment, however, steps running up the face of 

 the bank were distinguished, and in another minute a boy of 

 twelve or thirteen, dressed in a sailor's jacket, came hurrying 



