The village of Northam, which lies on the slope of a high tongue of land between Bideford Bay and the Torridge, is neither pretty, nor picturesque, nor romantic, nor anything of the kind. It is a plain, antiquated, countrified-looking place, with irregular rows of cottages, representing the style of architecture which prevailed centuries ago, relieved occasionally by a dilapidated building of statelier proportions, disclosing signs of former gentility, at a time when the houses of the poor were at a respectful distance from it, and it could boast of shrubbery, lawn, and orchard. The plainness of the village, however, by no means detracts from its merit, for historic associations of no small interest have gathered round this little hamlet, from the days of Ubba, the Danish chieftain and robber, to the days of James Stauncy; and warriors of note, seamen of renown, friars of doubtful reputation, have in their turn given Northam a name, and made it, 'for the nonce,' a small lion. It is not of these, however that we have now to write. Had the captain's dwelling been elsewhere, the village would have been left alone in its quietude; but there, in the street which lies at right angles to the main road, and which leads to the Appledore Causeway, is the selfsame cottage he once called his home. Time has not changed it greatly. The huge chimney projects where it always projected, supporting the front wall, and wasting its comfortable warmth upon the front air. The window by its side is somewhat modernized, indeed, and instead of the double hatch there is a panelled door. In all other respects it is the same cottage still.
 
CAPTAIN STAUNCY REPORTS PROGRESS AT HOME.
By the side of a bright fire in that happy home sat Mary Stauncy, waiting the return of her husband. The children were settled for the night, and everything in the little sitting-room was made to wear an air of cheeriness, that would have brightened a cloudy brow had it darkened the door. But Stauncy's brow was not clouded when he stepped in lightly, and saluted his smiling wife. On the contrary, his manner was unusually lively, and, being quite himself again, having shaken off the effects of his morning potations, he laughingly said, 'The old boy was in good cue for once, Mary, and I'm a richer man than I was yesterday. He has come out handsome.'
Now, Mary Stauncy, who was a woman of a penetrating mind, and thoroughly sterling in character, had a marvellous contempt for the said Mr. Phillipson. She mistrusted and scorned him, and her dislike was the barbed arrow of a woman's aversion. She therefore replied, in a tone which showed that strong feelings were on the instant awakened, 'And not before it was time, James. He has often promised to do something; but his promises, like himself, are worthless. Here are your best years running out, and what do you get for it? Depend upon it, when you answer his purpose no longer, he'll send you adrift with as little compunction as he turned Nanny Heale out of house and home—the poor old creature!'
'Cut the painter, eh, Mary?' he replied, smiling.
'Yes—cut the painter, James, and no joke in it either. It'll be a serious thing to get older and poorer at the same time, living, as I may say, from hand to mouth, and letting time go by us until every opportunity for bettering ourselves has passed away, because your unprincipled employer is pleased to keep us off and on, promising and promising, without ever intending to perform.'
'Nonsense, Mary!' replied the captain; 'we're young enough yet, and all our spring tides are not done with. Though you think so ill of the merchant, it isn't all breath he deals in;' and, laying the fifty-pound note on the table, he added, 'Look, there's a hansel.'
The little woman coloured scarlet. Surprise, pl............