“No! I determined to work more and play less. We had a capital naval instructor aboard, and our commander was as good an officer as ever trod the deck. I studied--a little too hard perhaps, for I was laid up again. The ‘Arrow’ was, as usual, as good as her name, and we shot across to Jamaica in five weeks. One evening as we were lying in Kingston harbor, Seton, who had come over to join the Commodore as full surgeon, told me what he had never ventured to divulge before.” “What was that?” “Why, that, on the very day I left London, James Barber died of a frightful attack of _delirium tremens_!” “Poor Jemmy!” said the elder Fid, sorrowfully, taking a long pull of consolation from his rummer. “Little did I think, while singing some of your best songs off Belem Castle, that I had seen you for the last time!” “_I_ hadn’t seen him for the last time,” returned the lieutenant, with awful significance. Philip assumed a careless air, and said, “Go on.” “We were ordered home in eighteen forty-five, and paid off in January. I went to Portsmouth; was examined, and passed as lieutenant.” This allusion to his brother’s better condition made poor Philip look rather blank. “On being confirmed at the Admiralty,” continued Ferdinand, “I had to give a dinner to the ‘Arrows;’ which I did at the Salopian, Charing Cross. In the excess of my joy at promotion, my determination of temperance and avoidance of what is called ‘society’ was swamped. I kept it up once more; I went the ‘rounds,’ and accepted all the dinner, supper, and ball invitations I could get, invariably ending each morning in one of the old haunts of dissipation. Old associations with James Barber returned, and like causes produced similar effects. One morning while maundering home, I began to feel the same wild confusion as had previously commenced my dreadful malady.” “Ah! a little touched in the top-hamper.” “It was just day-light. Thinking to cool my self, I jumped into a wherry to get pulled down here to Greenwich.” “Of course you were not quite sober.” “Don’t ask! I do not like even to allude to my sensations, for fear of recalling them. My brain seemed in a flame. The boat appeared to be going at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Fast as we were cleaving the current, I heard my name distinctly called out. I reconnoitred, but could see nobody. I looked over on one side of the gun-wale, and, while doing so, felt something touch me from the other; I felt a chill; I turned round and saw----” “Whom?” asked the midshipman, holding his breath. “What seemed to be James Barber.” “Was he wet?” “As dry as you are.” “I summoned courage to speak. ‘Hillo! some mistake!’ I exclaimed. “‘Not at all,’ was the reply. ‘I’m James Barber. Don’t be frightened, I’m harmless.’ “‘But----’ “‘I know what you are going to say,’ interrupted the intruder. ‘Seton did not deceive you--I am only an occasional visitor _up here_.’