Two weeks of idleness had nearly exhausted the little stock of funds I had picked up on board my old ship, and it was becoming necessary for me to find some means or other of supporting myself; for although the prim widow, with whom I boarded, was quite obliging while her bills were paid, it was altogether probable that she would become a little crusty if they should be neglected. At this crisis I fortunately met with an Englishman, who had visited our frigate at Hurl-gate. His name was Smith; he was a deserter from the British army; but was now settled in New York, as a boot-maker, in the employment of the firm of Benton & Co., Broadway. He offered to take me and initiate me into the art, science and secrets of boot-making. Seeing no better opportunity before me, I accepted his kind offer, and at once entered on my novitiate. Behold me then, kind reader, transformed from the character of a runaway British sailor, into that of a quiet scholar, at the feet of St. Crispin, where in the matter of awls, wax-ends, lapstones and pegs, I soon became quite proficient. It is altogether probable that the rest of my life would have glided away in this still and quiet manner, but for a report that reached me, one Sabbath, as I was wasting its precious hours in wandering about among the shipping. This was, that there was a tall, stout seaman on board the _United States_, named George Turner. From the name and description, I had no doubt that this was my cousin, who (the reader has not forgotten I presume) presented himself so unceremoniously to my aunt at Wanstead. This intelligence determined me to pay that frigate a visit. Going on board, I found her crew living in a complete Elysium of sensual enjoyment. They had recently received their prize money. Salt beef and pork were now rejected with disdain: Jack’s messkids smoked with more savory viands, such as soft tack (bread) and butter, fried eggs, sausages, &c.; the whole well soaked with copious streams of rum and brandy. Those of the crew who had been in the _Macedonian_, hailed me with a hearty welcome; those for whom I had bought the turkey and apples at Christmas repaid me fourfold, so that when I went ashore that night my purse was as heavy as on the afternoon when I quitted my ship. My cousin did not recognise me at first; but by referring him to his visit to my old abode, he at last felt satisfied that I was his cousin. He then charged me not to mention our relationship, because he wished to pass for an American. Having given me this charge, he surveyed me from head to foot, and then said, “What are you doing in New York?” “I am learning to make boots and shoes.” “I am sorry you are bound to a shoemaker,” said he; “I don’t like that business.” “I am not _bound_ to Mr. Smith, but can leave him when I please.”