During the course of the winter which followed my visit to the Long-Beach a great change took place in our family—my brother departed for his first campaign.  
He was, as I have said, about fourteen years older than I. I had had very little time to become acquainted with him, to attach myself to him, for his preparation for his vocation¹ made it necessary for him to be away from home a great deal. I scarcely ever went into his room where, scattered² upon the table, there was an appalling³ number of large books. This room was pervaded⁴ with the strong odor of tobacco; and I dared not go near it for fear that I would meet his comrades, young officers, or students like himself. I had heard, also, that he was not always well-behaved, that sometimes he did not come in until very late at night, and that often my father had found it necessary to give him a serious talking to; secretly I greatly disapproved⁵ of his conduct.
 
But his approaching departure strengthened my affection, and caused me extreme sorrow.
 
He was going to Polynesia, to Tahiti, almost to the end of the world, and he expected to be away four years. To me that seemed an almost endless absence, for it represented half of my own age.
 
I watched, with the greatest interest, the preparations that he made for his voyage. The iron-bound trunks were packed with care. He wrapped the gilt⁶-embroidered uniform and his sword in a quantity of tissue paper, and put them away with the same care one bestows⁷ upon a mummy when it is relaid in its metal case. All of these things augmented⁸ the impression that I had of the distance and dangers of the long voyage about to be undertaken by my brother.
 
A sort of melancholy⁹ rested upon every one in the house, which became deeper and more and more noticeable as the day for the separation drew near. At our meals we were more silent; advice from my father and assurances from my brother was the substance of most of the conversations, and I listened meditatively¹⁰ without saying a word.
 
The day before my brother left he confided¹¹ to my care—and I was greatly honored to have him do so—the many fragile little things that he had upon his mantel-piece; these he bade me guard faithfully until his return.
 
He then made me a present of a handsome gilt edged, illustrated¹² book entitled, “A Voyage in Polynesia.” It was the only book that in my early childhood I had an affection for, and I constantly turned its pages with eager ............