"I left him at Liverpool, sir," replied the queer-looking sailor; "and, as I intended to take a run down over and to Leith to see my old mother, 'Bill,' says he to me (for my name's Bill, sir--Bill Somers)--well, as I'm saying, 'Bill,' says he, 'you'll be going past the door of a brother of mine, and I wish I were going with you'--(and I wish he had, for, not to say it before you, sir, there an't a better or a cleverer fellow than Captain Rogers in the whole service--nor a luckier one either, though, poor fellow, he has had his bad luck too in some things; and it sticks to him still, and will stick to him)--however, as I say, said he to me--'Bill, here is a bit of a letter, give it to my brother--it concerns my nevy, George'--(yes, George, I think he called him). So I took the letter and set off--that is some days ago--and I arrived at the public-house, a little from this, about four hours since, and intended to cast anchor there for the night; but having taken a glass or two, by way of ballast, I found myself in good sailing trim, and, having inquired about you, and finding that you lived but a short way off, and that the people in the house said, it being New-year's times, you wouldn't be moored yet, I desired the landlady to fill me up half-a-gallon or so of her best rum, that I mightn't come empty-handed--for that wouldn't be lucky, ma'am, I reckon," added he, squinting in the face of Mrs Rogers, who looked now at his eyes, and now at a large bottle, which he drew from beneath a sort of half greatcoat or monkey-jacket. Nelly was no friend to spirit-drinking; nevertheless she was glad that her first-foot, though he did squint, had not come empty-handed. The letter was handed to Mr Rogers, who, having broke the seal--"Preserve us, Richard!" said Nelly, "that's a lang epistle! I daursay the captain's made his will in't--what does he say?" "It's a kind, sensible, weel-written letter," said Richard, "for John was a genius a' his days; and there is mair about a will in't than ye're aware o'. But there's nae secret in't. George will read it." The letter was then given to the genius, who read as follows:-- "DEAR DICK,--As one of my crew, Bill Somers, who has sailed with me for a dozen years, is going down to Scotland, and will pass your way, I take the opportunity of writing to you, and letting you know that I am as well as a person who has as much cause to be unhappy as I have can desire to be. The cause of that unhappiness you don't know, and few know it--but I do, and that's enough. I have made some money--perhaps a good deal--but that's of no consequence. I once thought that I might have _them_ of my own flesh and blood to inherit it; however, that was not to be. It is a long story, and a sad story--one that you know nothing about, and which it is of no use to tell you about now. As things are, my nevy George is to be heir to whatever money, goods, and chattels I possess."