The popularity of "The Green Hand," both among seamen and others, as being true to life, has been wide. It has, however, been thought desirable to issue a revised edition, freed from various expressions now to a certain extent obsolete or otherwise unsuitable, so as to make it more thoroughly fit for juvenile readers.

Some considerable time has now elapsed since the period to which these adventures refer, not without producing a good deal of alteration in much that goes on at sea, most especially in the outward accessories of nautical life. The spanking frigate of former days, for instance, is now no more; her place being, to the eye at any rate, ill taken up by the ironclad screw-steamer. The mechanical appliances have been improved, particularly in the merchant service, as, for example, by the Patent-Reefing-Topsail, which is only one of the countless new helps to the seaman. In navigation, instead of now taking five, six, or seven months to reach Australia from this country, the captain of any clipper-line sailing ship would be ashamed of himself if he did not do it within three. Not to multiply cases, Jack himself has, as a rule, added the moustache to his exuberance of whisker; he thinks better than he used to do of these excellent institutions, the Sailors' Homes; he is frequently a temperance man, and has even been known to take the chair at a meeting for vindication of sailors' rights.

But the state of the case, from a plain practical point of view, is pretty well illustrated by an anecdote current at sea among forecastle story-tellers. According to them, a singular discovery was made, some forty years or so back, in Portsmouth harbour, aboard no less conspicuous a craft than that immortal three-decker hulk, H.M.S. Victory herself, when some alterations were being made down in her lower decks. There certain of the dock-yard people, having occasion to lift a small out-of-the-way lazarette hatch, down on the after-part of the orlop, which had been long covered with old coils of hawsers or the like, were surprised to find a man lying beneath, who rubbed his eyes, stretched himself as if waking out of sleep, and was finally brought up on deck. From undoubted evidence, it turned out that he had been shut down in joke, under the effect of some strange potion, his rough messmates having, of course, intended to release him before long; but a sudden commotion of a more important nature had arisen, owing to which they had forgotten him until too late, being themselves appointed on active service abroad. Hence it occurred that he had been left there, fast enclosed and asleep, ever since shortly after Trafalgar, when the Victory had come home with Nelson's body, and been paid off, dismantled, and moored in her place as a hulk. From a young reefer, this gentleman had meanwhile grown into a grizzled oldster, on midshipman's half-pay, not likely to have his services further required, seeing that the French had long ceased to offer battle afloat. He was, however, freely invited into professional society, where his opinions on the changes that had taken place were naturally much looked to. The things he is said to have principally remarked as new, were that pigtails had gone out of fashion; the midshipmen's messes were supplied with silver forks; boatswains—in stimulating the men at work—put more force into their language, less into their rattans, and that the leading-blocks of the mizzen-topsail-reef-tackles hung at the slings of the yard instead of being as formerly at the rim of the round-top; nor did he ever feel sure that such changes were for the better. This yarn, with a good moral tacked on at the end, in one form or another, still affords entertainment to many a tarry audience in ships outward bound, at second dog-watch time, when rolling down the Trades; particularly if spun by some fluent ex-man-o'-war's-man from any of Her Majesty's iron-clads. The said moral generally being to the effect, that little difference is made in essentials at sea by progress in the mere shoregoing world.

In the following story no great amount of correction requires to be made in bringing it up to date; and, except in a few minor points, I have left this to be done by each juvenile reader for himself, supposing the case that he should ever find reason in his own professional experience. The terms larboard and starboard are both left in use throughout the book, although the former has long been replaced by the word port—which, in my time, was chiefly confined to the helm, when the resemblance of sound would always have been dangerous at a sudden emergency. The cry "All larbowlins ahoy!" no longer is added to the summons that rouses the sleepy watch below. But after everything is said, the main realities of sea-life continue to be what they were. There is constant truth in those grand words known to us all:

The strangeness of foreign sights and tropical wonders has not altered; nor the thrill of excitement amid tempest; wind and weather are no-way different; the sailor feels as much pride as ever in his ship's good qualities; the occasion of danger still brings out his manhood; hearts-of-oak will always be ready to man our floating bulwarks so long as Britain remains.

If it were only in order to express a hearty belief in this, I am glad to have had the opportunity afforded by the few words prefixed to a fresh edition of "The Green Hand." And to all you young readers who must ere long embark upon the troubled sea of life, success and a good voyage to you is the cordial wish of your sincere friend,

THE AUTHOR.

Edinburgh, August 31, 1878.