His surmise might have been correct; though all I need add on this point is that my old friend "Joe" is now an admiral, with grown-up daughters of his own, and from his austere manner no one would ever dream of his susceptible nature and flirtive disposition in the days of which I speak. Not so Larkyns, who is the same sprightly, merry fellow as of old, albeit his hair is streaked with grey, and the crowsfeet winkle in the corners of his eyes when he laughs, as he is ever doing. But, my dear old Dad, who came on board the ship to see me while she was at Spithead, without waiting for her to go into harbour, he, like "Poor Tom Bowling" of the song, has now "gone aloft;" my mother following him, within an early date of his departure to that bourne whence no traveller returns. Gone where I hope to meet them both by-and-by; for, I can honestly say, that, beyond trying to do my duty when wearing Her Majesty's uniform, I have considered myself always as serving "Under the Pen'ant" of even a higher power, and hope, perhaps, to earn a crown like that which I know my poor father strove for ever, when I come also to my last anchorage. Ay, even as our dead laureate has sung in his deathless verse:-- "For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar." THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Crown and Anchor, by John Conroy Hutcheson