and that no true prosperity can exist away from virtue.'

A very different teacher was the sea-dog Solomon Sprent, who lived in
the second last cottage on the left-hand side of the main street of the
village. He was one of the old tarpaulin breed, who had fought under
the red cross ensign against Frenchman, Don, Dutchman, and Moor, until a
round shot carried off his foot and put an end to his battles for ever.
In person he was thin, and hard, and brown, as lithe and active as a
cat, with a short body and very long arms, each ending in a great hand
which was ever half closed as though shutting on a rope. From head to
foot he was covered with the most marvellous tattooings, done in blue,
red, and green, beginning with the Creation upon his neck and winding up
with the Ascension upon his left ankle. Never have I seen such a
walking work of art. He was wont to say that had he been owned and his
body cast up upon some savage land, the natives might have learned the
whole of the blessed gospel from a contemplation of his carcass. Yet
with sorrow I must say that the seaman's religion appeared to have all
worked into his skin, so that very little was left for inner use. It
had broken out upon the surface, like the spotted fever, but his system
was clear of it elsewhere. He could swear in eleven languages and
three-and-twenty dialects, nor did he ever let his great powers rust for
want of practice. He would swear when he was happy or when he was sad,
when he was angry or when he was loving, but this swearing was so mere a
trick of speech, without malice or bitterness, that even my father could
hardly deal harshly with the sinner. As time passed, however, the old
man grew more sober and more thoughtful, until in his latter days he
went back to the simple beliefs of his childhood, and learned to fight
the devil with the same steady courage with which he had faced the
enemies of his country.