Before we sought the decks of the _Macedonian_ we paid a short visit to Wanstead, where we met with very pleasant reception, very hospitable entertainment, very affectionate adieus. Returning to London, we hired a boat and sailed down the Thames, on whose bosom reposed the commerce of the world, to Gravesend, where we spent the night. The next morning I experienced a new gratification, which was nothing less than being arrayed in a complete suit of sailor apparel; a tarpaulin hat, round blue jacket and wide pantaloons. Never did young knight swell with loftier emotion when donning for the first time his iron dress, than I did when in sea dress I trod the streets of Gravesend. This had always been my highest ambition. The gaudily dressed soldier never had charms for me; but a sailor, how nice he looked! Well, here I stood, at last, in the often coveted dress; it was the first luxury connected with my life at sea. Pity that each successive step had not yielded me equal delight. But it was mine to learn that anticipation and reality were not born twins; that in fact there are scarcely any two existences so essentially different in their characteristics. That I should not lack the means of comfort, my good mother purchased me a chest of clothing, and, as her last token of maternal care, presented me with a Bible, a prayer book, and, strangely inconsistent companions, a pack of cards! Thus equipped, we once more hired a boat and descended the river two miles below Gravesend, where lay the _Macedonian_, in graceful majesty on the sparkling waters. The first guest we met on board was _disappointment_. From the promises of Lord Fitzroy, we very strangely supposed that he felt my importance nearly as much as did my mother or father. Judge then how we felt, when we learned that no one knew anything in particular about my veritable self; yet, as his Lordship was absent, they said I might remain on board until his return. This was rather a damper on my spirits, but flattering myself that all would be right on his return, I soon rallied again, and, aided by the presence of my mother, passed a very agreeable day. Towards night, my mother left me; it scarcely need be said, she wept when we parted. What mother would not? She did weep, she strained me to her heart, and impressed affection’s purest kiss upon my cheek. How like a dream that moment fled! Now, she held me in her arms; a moment after, she was seated in the light boat and gliding along the turbid Thames, on her homeward way. I leaned over the taffrail and gazed on the departing boat, and when it disappeared, I turned away and wept.