I begin a life without a similitude with a simile—Start off with four horses—And, finally, I make my first appearance on any stage, under the protection of the “Crown.”

I am decidedly an incumbrance—Begin life with half a dozen fruitless journeys—Find a home and a foster father—And talk learnedly of triangles and archbishops.

My foster-father forsakes the right line of conduct chalked out for him—I grow ill—Find pot-luck and baptism—Go to Bath, and take my first lessons in the arts of persuasion.

My proximity to the clergy impels me to preach—I advocate the vulgar, and prove that neither the humble nor the low are necessarily the debased—Consequently this chapter need not be read.

I receive my first lessons in pugnacity—And imbibe the evil spirit—Learn to read by intuition, and to fight by practice—Go to school to a soldier—Am a good boy and get whipped.

This chapter showeth, in a methodical manner, how to find a faith and lose a religion; also, to procure a call for persons of all manner of callings.

I too have my call—to death’s door—A great rise in life—Brandon allows neither slugs nor sluggards in his sawpit—is ruined, and beats the Reverend Mr Cate.

Another migration—From the ruralities of Cut-throat Lane to the Groves of Academus—I am forced into good clothes and the paths of learning in spite of my teeth, though I use them spitefully.

I prove to be, not one in a thousand, but one in a quarter of that number, to whom no quarter was shown—In spite of my entreaties I am evil entreated, and am not only placed on the lowest form, but made excessively uncomfortable on my seat of honour.

I grow egotistical, and being pleased with myself, give good advice—A visit; and a strange jumble of tirades, tears, tutors, tenderness, and a tea-kettle.

Containeth a lecture on love from a personification of loveliness—And showeth that superstition has its sweets as well as its horrors—And also how to avoid the infection of the evil eye.

Ralph lectureth on divinity and little boys’ nether garments—Despondeth exceedingly—And being the weakest goeth to the wall, and there findeth consolation—An old friend with an old face and excellent provent.

Pray remember the fifth of November—Rumours of wars—Preceded by scholastic elocution, and succeeded by a cold dinner, darkness, and determination.

Hard words the precursors of hard blows—A turn-up, to be apprehended, but not merely of polysyllables—Ralph commences raving—Root resisting—The latter gets the whip-hand of us.

Much excellent, and consequently useless, diplomacy displayed—A truce, and many heads broken—The battle rages; and, at length, the pueriles achieve the victory.

An affecting appeal that effects nothing—The rebels commence their rejoicings—They are suddenly damped—The firemen defeat the fire-boys by means of water—The victors are vanquished, who shortly find themselves covered with disgrace and the bed-clothes.

Is full of moral and religious disquisitions, therefore it behoveth the general reader to look at and pass it by with that inattention that readers generally have for morality and religion.

Ralph receives an infusion of patriotism—Is himself drilled and drills a touch hole—He turns out a monstrous big liar—Somebody comes to see him whom nobody can see, and the mystery ends in another migration.

A chapter of disappointments, which Ralph hopes the reader will not share—Some comparisons which he hopes will not be found odious, and some reflections which he thinks cannot be resented.

Ralph groweth egregiously modest, and boasteth immoderately, until he is beaten by one with one foot in the grave; with something touching the feats of the man without feet.

Treateth of the amativeness of wooden members, and the folly of virgin frights—Ralph putteth his threat of versifying into actual execution, for which he may be thought worthy of being executed.

Ralph describeth a rare character, a noble and a good man—He goeth to fish without a rod, and suffereth more than fifty rods could inflict, and is not reconciled to the honour of the sun riding him a pick-a-back.

Reminiscences—A friend found and a line lost—Ralph makes a new acquaintance and a hearty supper, both of which do him much good.

A disaster by water is the first cause of all Ralph’s future disasters upon it—He gets with his tutor out of his depth, in latitude and longitude; and finds himself rivalled by the man with the peg.

Evidences of good taste in favour of Master Ralph—Jealousy ushers in revenge, revenge retaliation, which he is compelled to chronicle on the usher’s face, and what punishment thereupon ensued.

A reconciliation—A walk planned, and a man planted—The latter found to grow impatient—Ralph at length rigged out as a Reefer.

Ralph commences his public career by accepting an IOU, he hardly knows why—He finds his future Captain based on a bottle—He is not taken by the hand.

Ralph’s heart still at home—His coffee-room friend all abroad—Gets his IOU cashed, and sees the giver exalted to everybody’s satisfaction but his own.

Ralph is shipped, hulked, and overcome—A dark hall and an ebony servitor—A tailor’s politeness, and a master’s mate, who sighs to be mated yet does not see that he is outmatched.

Jealousy cooled by a watering—Ralph exhorteth, and right wisely—The boatswain sees many things in a new light—And, though he causeth crabs to be caught, he bringeth them to a wrong market.

Another mystery—All overjoyed because the “Eos” is under weigh; she works well—Through the water—Her officers through their wine—Ralph refraineth, and self-glorifieth—A long-shore man makes a short stay on board—Because he won’t go on the wrong tack.

The volunteer and his fate, showing how a great rogue, notwithstanding that he may appear to be born to be hung, will sometimes happen to drown.

Symptoms of sickness, not of the sea, but of the land beyond it—Our M.D. wishes to write DIO, and prepares accordingly—Ralph is about to reap his first marine laurels on the rocks of Cove.

A little boat with a large cargo—Worse than the drift of a dull argument, Ralph finds drifting across the Atlantic—He meets with land at length, and a real Irish welcome—Potatoes and poteen, and much more fur than furniture.

Ralph figureth at a ball, excelleth, and afterwards sleepeth—He returneth on board, and hath both his toils and his sand undervalued, and thus discovereth the gratitude of first-lieutenants.

An invaliding suit—The cards well played, and by a trump—The odd trick, however, in much danger—The Doctor finesses with a good heart, but diamonds are cutting articles.

Valid reasons for invaliding—The patient cured in spite of himself—And a lecture on disease in general, with a particular case of instruments as expositors.

Paving-stones sometimes prove stumbling-blocks—A disquisition on the figurative, ends by Ralph figuring at the mast-head, thus extending his views upon the subject.

Ralph regenerateth himself and becometh good, for half-an-hour—Singeth one verse of a hymn, escheweth telling one lie, and getteth his reward in being asked to breakfast.

How to make a day’s work easy—Ralph avoideth trouble by anticipating land, but is anticipated by the enemy—A chapter altogether of chasing, which it is hoped will pleasantly chase away the reader’s ennui.

Ralph maketh acquaintance with bloody instruments, and boweth to the iron messengers of death; and is taught to stand fire, by being nearly knocked down.

It’s well to have a long spoon when one sips soup with the Devil—The captain’s shot seldom misses.

A naval dinner, with its consequences—A naval argument, with its consequences, also—The way down the river paved at last, and the process and the person of the unfortunate paviour finally arrested.

The palisade banquet, and Major Flushfire’s anthem to Yellow Jack—Who’s afraid?—The sands of life’s hour-glass will run out rapidly, unless well soaked with wine.

Insubordination followed by elevation—A midshipman triced up in mid-air, affording a practical lesson on oscillation—All truck and no barter.

Ralph entereth into the regions of romance and privateering, carried thither by a pilot, malgré lui—An inopportune visit.

Treats of kind intentions frustrated—A visiting party prevented by one ball too many having been given—And ready-made domestic happiness for strangers.

Liaisons dangereuses—Ralph diveth into the dilemma of love, and admireth the fatherly conduct of the parent of his Dulcinea—Yet rageth and weepeth that she is a slave who hath enslaved him.

Ralph deserteth his duty—All for love, or “the world well lost,” with his wits into the bargain—Very nice disquisitions on honour.

Ralph falleth into the usual delusion of supposing himself happy—Wisheth it may last all his life, making it a reality—As yet no symptoms of it dispelling; but the brightest sunset may have the darkest night.

A short chapter and a miserable one—The less that is said of it the better.

The captain taketh to tantrums—And keepeth on board monkeys, bears, and discipline—It is feared, also, that the moon hath too much to do with his observations.

A fever case, and a potion of love, if not altogether a love-potion—What are the doctors about when men die despite of their knowledge, and are cured without it?—Ralph knoweth not.

A new character introduced, who claimeth old acquaintanceship—Not very honest by his own account, which giveth him more the appearance of honesty than he deserveth—He proveth to be a steward not inclined to hide his talent in a napkin.

The art of mischief made easy—Rather hard upon the experimented—“Heaven preserve me from my friends! I’ll take care of my enemies myself,” say the honest Spaniards, and so says honest Ralph.

An anticipated dinner—All the enjoyment spoiled by the first cut—A suit of clothes ill-suited for wearing—And Joshua Daunton trying on a pair of iron leggings—More easily put on than shaken off.

The cat-of-nine-tails begets a tale the most annoying to Ralph—the story of the three crows beaten hollow—Seven’s the main and a losing cast—A promised treatise on ornithology put an end to rather abruptly by the biplumal resolving themselves into the mere bipedal.

Distressing disclosures, and some very pretty symptoms of brotherly love—With much excellent indignation utterly thrown away—Joshua Daunton either a very great man or a very great rogue—Perhaps both, as the terms are often synonymous.

listeners seldom hear good things of themselves—Ralph at a dreadful discount with his messmates, but contrives to settle his accounts with his principal debtor.

Soft tack, one of the best tacks, after all—That legs of mutton sometimes produce friendships of long standing completely proved, as well as the value of good grain best ascertained after it has been well thrashed.

Ralph is placed in an awkward predicament being put upon his trial to prove his identity, and having no witnesses to call but himself—All voices against him but his own.

The confessions of a madman, which, nevertheless, embrace a very wise caution—Ralph gets his liberty-ticket—Very needless, as he is determined henceforward to preserve his liberty—And, being treated so uncivilly as a sailor, determines to turn civilian himself.

Ralph finds everywhere great changes—Gives way to his feelings, and makes a fool of himself—This chapter will be found either the worst or the best of Ralph’s confessions, according to the feelings of the reader.

Ralph appears before a magistrate, and proves to be more frightened than hurt, though frightened as little as a veritable hero should be—A great deal of fuss about a little dust, not kicked up, but finally laid down.

Ralph, finding himself in pleasant places, prepareth a love-speech which is not uttered in this chapter—Ralph describeth only.

Ralph beginneth a conversation totally beyond his comprehension, and yet comprehendeth more than the conversation is meant to convey—He feeleth some inclination towards love-making, but checketh himself valiantly.

The veil is fast dropping from before Ralph’s mysterious parentage—Strange disclosures, and much good evidence that this is a very bad world—Ralph’s love-symptoms are fast subsiding.

Ralph thinks seriously about changing his name—Gets a little unwilling justice done to himself, and gains much information—The whole wound up suddenly and sorrowfully.

Mr Pigtop believeth in ghosts, and hath some trust in witches, but none at all in lawyers—A consultation after supper, and, after supper, action.

Conclusion.