IX. “A free show may be a good show, but if it is, the crowd will pay for it. X. “A mosquito has no fear of death, and a pound of them will ruin the best addition ever laid out. XI. “Luck is a good thing, but it’s the men that don’t count on it that mostly have it. XII. “It isn’t the biggest creature that can stand the most punishment. A lick that will only amuse a fly will kill a baby. XIII. “Distance depends a good deal on how fast a man can walk. No addition should be more than five minutes from the station. XIV. “A man can enjoy leisure just as well while he’s waiting for a train as any other time if he’ll only think so. XV. “I never saw a failure yet that wasn’t worth more than it cost, if the fellow that failed made use of it. XVI. “The best way to make yourself liked is to make yourself worth liking. XVII. “Never laugh at a lunatic’s plans. The biggest fool scheme to-day may be a sound business proposition to-morrow.” Gale sat down amid enthusiasm. Most of his observations were not new in substance, and some of them I did not altogether agree with, but in them all I recognized the characteristic philosophy that had made Chauncey Gale the man I had learned to admire, and even to love. His last “observation,” though uncomplimentary in form, explained to me our presence in Bottle Bay at this moment. I would endeavor to make it hold good. “Come, Chase, it’s your turn, now!” “This,” I said, rising, “is something I did while wandering about the docks of New York City. The editors that saw it didn’t care for it, and I don’t care very much for it now, myself. I have altered my opinion about some things since then—not about the sea, I mean, but about the—the most sustaining—that is, through a dark night—I mean, that is—now——” “Never mind what you mean now,” said Gale. “Suppose you read it and let us see if we can tell what you meant then.” I was glad enough for this interruption, and proceeded, forthwith: SEA HERITAGE. I was born with the sea in my blood— The sea with its surge and its flow— The voice of the tide at its flood Keeps calling and calling to me, And sooner or later I know I must go back to the sea. I hear it pound in the dark: The salt mist creeps to my brain As I lean from my window and hark To the voice that keeps shouting for me In vain—and yet, not in vain, For I shall go back to the sea. I long for the leap of the spray— I lust for the swirl of the brine— Though lingering day after day (Land fetters still cumbering me) Some morn I shall claim what is mine— I will rise—I will go to the sea.