The last time I landed at Liverpool, I met an old gentleman walking along the street. I looked in his face. It was Captain Carr! I told him who I was. Of course he had thought I had been lost, and was very much surprised to see me. He was shocked to hear of the death of my companions, and deeply interested in the account I gave him of my captivity. To my no little satisfaction he told me that he had not invested the money, which was mine by rights, from the last voyage; and that he thought he could obtain fifty pounds from the owners as my share of profits. This sum I afterwards received. It was all that remained out of the thousands I had made in the course of my life. I was now sixty years of age. I had recovered my health on board the cutter, but though strong and hearty, I felt I was no longer fit for sea. I found, however, on application, that I could obtain employment as a rigger in the dockyard; and in that work I spent some years. I took a little cottage on the hill, which I furnished by means of the money I received from Captain Carr, and made myself perfectly comfortable. Directly I was settled, I started off next day for Greenwich Hospital, for I thought that I should very likely fall in with some old shipmates there. I went into the chapel and sat myself down--no one hindering me. As the men were coming out when service was over, I saw before me a tall, thin old pensioner, bending under the weight of years, and resting on a staff as he walked before me. I came behind as he reached the open air, and looked up in his face. It wore the same kind, benignant, mild expression which I remembered so well in the countenance of Peter Poplar. I waited till he got down the steps. "Just lean on me, sir," said I. "You have carried me before now, if I mistake not." He looked hard at my face. A tear dimmed his eye. "Yes, yes--it's the boy himself," he whispered in a tremulous voice. "But you are `Old Jack' now." I loved the name he gave me, and ever since to the lads I meet and talk with I have called myself by it. A few weeks after that, I sat by the bedside of my kind, noble old friend--talking of that glorious eternity into which his spirit entered before I left him. After I had been settled for some years, I met an old shipmate, sick, and I saw plainly dying. He had been a lad when I knew him. He had with him a little girl, his only child, some ten years old. His wife was dead. He had no friends. I promised as he lay on his death-bed to take charge of the lassie. He blessed me, and died. I took her to my cottage, and she has ever since been a comfort and a solace to me--a daughter by adoption, if not by blood. Not long after this event, I met my former commander in the cutter. He asked me how I was employed. I told him as a rigger, but that I sometimes found my strength scarcely equal to the work; but when that failed, I was sure God would provide for me as He had always done.