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 1^53 
 
 
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 THE 
 
 FIRST LIEUTENANT'S STORY 
 
 BY LADY CATHARINE LONG, 
 
 AUTHOB OF 
 "sib ROLAND ASHTON," &C. 
 
 Take care that the standard of thy »oul wave from the loftiest battlementg. 
 
 PBOVEBBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHEES, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1853.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 
 ns 
 
 
 /gb'3 
 
 
 /,/ 
 
 r 
 
 TO LIEUTENANT 
 
 THE HONOURABLE FREDERIC WALPOLE, R.N., 
 
 AND TO CAPTAIN 
 
 SIR WILLIAM HOSTE, BART, R.N., 
 
 AS SAILORS, AND DEAR RELATIVES, 
 
 !. 
 •^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 5 
 
 Efjig Book 
 
 18 
 
 APPECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 f 
 
 ^
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In putting forth another " Religious Novel," 
 1 would fain say a few words in — not excuse — 
 but justification of such works ; being aware 
 that many excellent persons object to them. 
 
 It was through "Fiction" that our Lord 
 conveyed many of His heavenly truths; intro- 
 ducing even supposititious appeals to God, and 
 prayers for His mercy ; and surely we cannot be 
 wrong in venturing to follow his steps ! 
 
 But it is the " Love" I am aware that is 
 most objected to ; but that objection I should 
 like to be allowed to meet by repeating a few 
 words of conversation on the subject, which 
 proved effectual with a young " objecting " 
 clergyman.
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 "Would you tell me — which, — Religion, or 
 Love, you would wish left out of your own 
 life?" 
 
 " Neither, certainly." 
 
 " Then if not out of real life, why out of the 
 portraiture of real life ?" 
 
 With regard to the present volumes in par- 
 ticular, I cannot but anticipate one — (there may 
 perhaps be many,) animadversion likely to 
 be made : that there are too many conversions. 
 But let it be considered in excuse, how delight- 
 ful it is to convert when we have the power, — 
 to bring before oneself, even though only in 
 imagination, the glorious burst of joy there is 
 in Heaven "over one *man* that has repented." 
 In more solemn guise, I would say too, that I 
 cannot but think that if real Christians would 
 more frequently speak, in truth, and earnestness, 
 and love, and gentleness, of the beautifvd things 
 of God, to those around them, they would find 
 conversions, not of so rare occurrence as now 
 perhaps they think. It cannot have been to 
 cast aside their labours, that our Lord has bid 
 us pray that more labourers might be sent into 
 His vineyard ; and I cannot think that any who
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 have zealously and lovingly worked for God in 
 this life, will have to say, — when they have 
 entered on the " deep dawn beyond the grave :" 
 " Lord, we have toiled all night and yet caught 
 nothing." 
 
 LONDON, 
 DKCEXBICB 31, 1852.
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM SIR ROLAND ASHTOX. 
 
 The shade by which my Ufe was crest. 
 Which makes a desert in my mind. 
 Has made me kindly with my kind. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 / 
 Among all Henry Ashton's companions, there 
 was but one who excited any interest in him, 
 and that was Mr. St. Clair, the First Lieutenant. 
 He was a middle-aged man, with a grave but 
 pleasant countenance ; and though he was one 
 who spoke but Uttle, yet that httle was inva- 
 riably kind and conciliating. A laugh or joke 
 seldom indeed passed his Hps, but no officer 
 on board was more tolerant of the laughter and 
 jokes of others. Even when the " sky-larking " 
 of the half-crazy " mids " passed almost all 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bounds of endurance, and called forth hard 
 words and severe looks from others in the 
 ship, his indulgent smile, and kind excuse were 
 ever ready. 
 
 " There's a great noise below there, Mr. St, 
 Clair," the Captain would exclaim. 
 
 " Young spirits, Sir, young spirits ; all the 
 better when work comes," would be the kind- 
 hearted answer. 
 
 Yet when in passing along the decks, his 
 " Have a care, young gentlemen," was heard, it 
 was invariably treated with respect ; and the 
 " Ay, ay, Sir," was never more cheerfully 
 returned than to him ; while quiet would be 
 for a moment restored. 
 
 The light-hearted beings over whom he exer- 
 cised this " mild control," used among themselves 
 to call him " St. John St. Clair," John being 
 one of his Christian names ; but the appellation 
 was given in all kindhness, for he was greatly 
 beloved ; and the strong religious opinions 
 which suggested the name, bringing with them 
 no harshness, were tolerated for his sake, and 
 in many instances indeed, became, through him, 
 reverenced for their own. 
 
 Under circumstances of less intolerable suffer-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 ing, Henry Ashton would often have gladly 
 conversed with him ; but it was impossible for 
 him to talk much on indifferent subjects ; and 
 the source of his affliction was one which he 
 could lay open to no human eye, nor could he 
 seek comfort under it from any human voice. 
 Scarcely indeed to Heaven could he, at that 
 distressful time, look for consolation, " II etait 
 triste de la tristesse, qui etait alors le fond 
 de sa vie," and all his energies seemed 
 gone. 
 
 After cruising about for some time, the ship 
 touched at Malta ; and when there, Mr. St. 
 Clair received a letter from a friend of his who 
 had formerly sailed with Henry Ashton, and 
 who made particular inquiries after him, asking 
 if he were still the life of the crew as he 
 had formerly been. Surprised at receiving a 
 character of him so unlike what his present 
 appearance waiTanted, Mr. St. Clair watched 
 him more closely ; and he soon became con- 
 vinced that it was trouble of heart which had 
 converted the once gay and high-spirited young 
 sailor, into the silent, melancholy being who 
 then trod the deck with so abstracted an air. 
 This conviction aroused all his kindly feelings,, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and made him anxious, if possible, to assuage 
 the sorrow of so young a heart. 
 
 When Henry's turn therefore came for keep- 
 ing the first watch, he lingered some time on 
 deck, waiting for an opportunity of quiet con- 
 versation with him. Henry, unaware of his 
 object, took no notice of him ; but continued his 
 monotonous walk up and down in silence ; till 
 at length, full of his own sad thoughts, he 
 stopped, and leant over the gangway, his face 
 buried on his arm. A strong, but kind hand 
 laid on his shoulder, soon roused him from his 
 reverie. He started, and was rather surprised 
 at finding it was Mr. St. Clair's ; for he had 
 scarcely exchanged a syllable with him, except- 
 ing on matters of duty, since he had been on 
 board. 
 
 " These night scenes waken melancholy 
 thoughts, Mr. Ashton," said the First Lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 " Not more so than sunshine," replied Henry, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Not if we like holding silent communion 
 with the Father of our spirits," said Mr. St. 
 Clair ; '* but otherwise darkness is generally felt 
 to be a dreary thing."
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 " All times are much alike, I think," replied 
 Henry. 
 
 "To me, I confess," said Mr. St. Clair, 
 *' these tranquil hours, when most of the poor 
 fellows are below in their hammocks, are parti- 
 cularly delightful ; the unusual quiet makes one 
 more mindful of Him ' ne'er seen, but ever 
 nigh.' " 
 
 Henry was silent, and again leant down his 
 head. 
 
 *' Has the thought of Him no charm for you, 
 Mr. Ashton ?" continued his kind companion. 
 
 " It used to have," answered Henry, without 
 raising his head. 
 
 " You have not the look of one whom sin 
 has separated fi'om his God," said Mr. St. Clair, 
 in a tone which would have unlocked the 
 closest heart. 
 
 " No," said Henry ; " I have sins enough 
 certainly, but I have no fears of God's anger, 
 though I cannot just now enjoy His love." 
 
 His young heart was touched by Mr. St. 
 Clair's manner ; and with that yearning for 
 commiseration so natural to all, especially to the 
 young, when affliction is new and bewildering to 
 them, he longed to pour forth all his miseries.
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 But that was impossible. His troubles did not 
 belong to himself alone ; the most sacred feel- 
 ings of others were involved in them ; and those 
 he could not betray. 
 
 " Prayer will bring back God's light into your 
 heart, young man," replied Mr. St. Clair, in a 
 softened voice ; " no sorrow can withstand His 
 gracious presence there. You have found that, 
 I dare say, at times." 
 
 " I have never known sorrow till now," re- 
 plied Henry. 
 
 " Then you must have had the life of one of 
 a million," sighed his companion ; " but never- 
 theless the burden is not the lighter, because 
 our shoulders are unaccustomed to bearing it. 
 I don't seek your confidence as to your earthly 
 trials ; you can tell them to your God ; and it 
 is but poor pleasure to hear the record of suffer- 
 ings which make one's heart bleed, while one 
 cannot raise a finger in help. But a little word 
 of God's peace will sometimes cheer a drooping 
 spirit, if Satan's power be not too hard upon it. 
 You seem, I am happy to see, to have some 
 hope beyond this world." 
 
 " I had ; but everything now seems gone !" 
 
 " Oh, that must not be," said Mr. St. Clair,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 with cheerful warmth ; " you must rouse your- 
 self, and not let the evil one gain so much 
 advantage over you. Remember, doubting of 
 God's mercy is a sore sin ; and so is rejecting 
 His consolations." 
 
 *• I used to think," said Henry, " that sorrow 
 would always raise the heart to God ; but I find 
 it far otherwise." 
 
 The recollection of his conversation with Lady 
 Constance, when he was walking with her on 
 the first day of his arrival at Llanaven, rushed 
 over his mind at that moment, and completely 
 overwhelmed him. He remembered so well 
 his own words : " Joy on the one side, sorrow 
 on the other, lift the soul to God ;" and as he 
 felt how little that was now his own experi- 
 ence, and the memory of that delightful hour 
 flashed across him, his spirits completely gave 
 way, and a deep burst of grief broke for an 
 instant the silence of the night. 
 
 Mr. St. Clair felt a painful compassion for 
 this young and sorrowing heart ; and spoke 
 words of kindest sympathy. After a few 
 moments, Henry became more composed. 
 
 " I am very weak," he said ; " but I trust 
 I shall be able to look more to God than I
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 have done lately, and then I shall be strength- 
 ened." 
 
 Mr. St. Clair remained with him during the 
 whole of his watch, walking up and down with 
 him. In the course of their conversation, he 
 adverted to circumstances in his own life, which 
 had shown forth the power of God to sustain 
 under trial and affliction ; and as Henry Ashton 
 expressed a wish to know what they were, he 
 gave him the outline of a life, which did indeed 
 show that God is " a very present help in time 
 of trouble." 
 
 The outline of his life, which Mr. St. Clair gave that 
 night to Henry Ashton, was afterwards more fully filled 
 up during frequent conversations which they had toge- 
 ther. For the sake of convenience, these detached 
 accounts have been connected in a continuous form ; 
 while many events, with which it was impossible for 
 Mr. St. Clair to be minutely acquainted, have been sup- 
 plied from other sources.
 
 THE 
 
 FIRST LIEUTENANT'S STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 The Gods themselves throw incense. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Love at first sight, first-born, and heir to all. 
 
 TENNYSOX. 
 
 **You have heard the youngsters on board 
 here," said Mr. St. Clair, as he began his nar- 
 rative, " call me by the name of John ; to which 
 they have added the blessed epithet of * Saint \ 
 but ill borne out, I fear, by any great holiness 
 in me. But that is not my first christian 
 name ; Wilfred is the name by which I used to 
 be called ; but I had a fancy — a silly one per- 
 haps — which made me shrink from hearing it
 
 10 THE FIRST 
 
 used now, so have always called myself by my 
 other. I only mention this, because in saying 
 what I am about to say, you might be puzzled 
 in hearing of me with an ' alias.' 
 
 Well, you must know that some years ago — 
 it was in the year twenty-five — when I was little 
 more than a lad, our ship was cruizing in the 
 Mediterranean, and, running up the Gulf of 
 Genoa, anchored for a time off Nice ; where 
 we all of course in turn obtained leave to go 
 ashore. 
 
 I was wandering about there alone one beau- 
 tiful summer's evening, delighted to have the 
 springing grass once more beneath my feet, 
 and to exchange the tarry atmosphere of the 
 ship, for the scent of the wild flowers which 
 bloomed in profusion all around. The sun was 
 sinking ; and I had been watching its downward 
 course, and the red clouds that followed its 
 disappearance, when through the thickening 
 gloom, my eye caught another light, which I 
 perceived must proceed from some burning 
 building. I rushed up the little knoll which 
 hid that part of the town and shore from me.
 
 lieutenant's story. 11 
 
 and then saw that a solitary house, standing 
 near the sea, was in one blaze of fire. 
 
 In a moment I was before it, in the midst 
 of a motley crowd of sympathizing, but para- 
 lized spectators, who were venting in the wildest 
 exclamations their grief and horror at the work 
 of destruction going on ; which feelings were 
 raised to frenzy a moment after, by the sight of 
 an old man, and a young girl* suddenly coming 
 out on one of the stone balconies which belonged 
 to each window, their figures clearly defined 
 against the glowing fire, which seemed to fill 
 the whole interior of the house. 
 
 Exclamations of " Salvate la," " La poveretta," 
 " La Bella," resounded on all sides, accom- 
 panied by the frantic gesticulation, and vehement 
 action natural to the ItaUan ; while no one seemed 
 to do anything, or to know indeed what to do. 
 No ladder was at hand ; so I ran down to some 
 boats which were Ipng on the shore, intending 
 to unstep one of the masts, and see what I 
 could do with that. There I found som.e of 
 my own men bound on the same errand ; so in 
 a few moments we had secured two of the 
 highest we could find, and carrying them up to 
 the burning house, we spliced them strongly to-
 
 12 THE FIRST 
 
 gether, to make them reach the window at which 
 the old man and girl were standing; when I 
 swarmed up them, as none hut a monkey or 
 sailor can do ; and having reached the balcony, 
 jumped over it, and without wasting a moment, 
 was about to put my arm round the girl to 
 carry her down, when she drew back, exclaiming 
 in English, " Save him first ;" and pointing in 
 frightful agony to her father. 
 
 I tried still to save her ; but she kept re- 
 treating backwards, almost into the flames ; till 
 seeing that time was being lost, I took hold of 
 the old man, who being thin and emaciated, was 
 happily of light weight, and without the least 
 warning, lifted him over the balustrade, to which 
 I left him to cling by natural instinct, till I could 
 get over myself, and prepare to slide dow^n the 
 mast with my burden. 
 
 Difficult at all times it would have been to 
 have slid down from such a height with the 
 weight of another person on one's arm, on such 
 poles too, with their splicing cords tearing one's 
 hands to pieces ; but with that old man I 
 thought I never could have reached the ground 
 in safety ; for he struggled the whole way so 
 violently, as made it almost impossible to hold
 
 lieutenant's story. 13 
 
 him ; while he poured forth such volleys of 
 execrations in" my ear for having saved him 
 first instead of his child, that had it not been 
 for that child's sake, I think I should have 
 complied with his ceaseless orders to " let him 
 go," and have shaken him off as one would a 
 cat that was scratching one. However, I held 
 him firm till we came within a yard of the 
 ground, when letting him drop, without waiting 
 to see what happened to him, up I was again, 
 in an agony to save the devoted girl who had 
 risked her life for her parent. 
 
 Seeing that my hands were bleeding, one of 
 my sailors called to rne to let him go aloft 
 this time ; but nothing could have induced me 
 to have given up the joy of rescuing a being 
 in whose safety 1 then felt such an intense 
 interest. It was no thought, however, of love, 
 which at that moment influenced me ; for had it 
 been a boy who had acted in that way, I should 
 have felt just the same ; and as to beauty, I had 
 seen nothing of that to inspire me ; for even if I 
 had had time to look, her clothes and face were 
 all so covered with smoke, that she might have 
 been as fair as an angel, or as black as a Kaffir, 
 for anything that I could see.
 
 14 THE FIRST 
 
 Her situation was indeed most perilous at 
 that moment, for the flames had gained such a 
 height that they burst out incessantly through 
 the window before which she was standing. 
 She had had sufficient presence of mind, how- 
 ever, to get on the outside of the balustrade, 
 wrapping close round her the folds of the large 
 shawl she had on ; and then clinging on for her 
 life, she endured with wonderful fortitude the 
 raging heat; sheltering her face as best she 
 could, but being forced to allow her hands to 
 be scorched terribly by the flames. Her head 
 was so covered up, and the roar of the fire was 
 so loud, that she did not know I was near her 
 again till I put my arm round her, and told her 
 to let go, and trust herself to me. At the sound 
 of my voice she lifted up her head ; and then 
 indeed, spite of the smoke and dust, I met a 
 look that sank for ever into my heart. 
 
 In a moment I began my second descent; 
 but how different were my feelings to what 
 they had been before ! Instead of a furious old 
 man, strugghng with rage, and pouring forth 
 abuse in the shrill voice of querulous age, I had 
 one who, save from her slight weight, added 
 nothing to my difficulties ; but who, clinging to
 
 lieutenant's story. 15 
 
 me with self-preserving impulse, breathed into 
 my very heart words of gratitude and blessing, 
 as the saviour of her father and herself. I felt 
 then, through all that pain and peril, what I 
 have never ceased to feel — the blessedness of 
 loving, and of being able to help those one loves ! 
 Yes, at that moment I felt as if my fate were 
 bound up with. that heroic girl's for ever ; and 
 though, I dare say, had we parted immediately 
 after, that feeling would have passed off, and 
 have been remembered merely as the fleeting 
 emotion of an excited moment, yet as we were 
 not so soon to part, it deepened on till, it became 
 the life of my life — the joy of my life — the sor- 
 row of my life ! 
 
 During our descent, there was not a breath 
 heard among the dense crowd below; though 
 at the moment that I had taken my charge 
 from the scorching of the flames, a wild cry 
 of exultation had arisen ; but when, having 
 successfully performed the difficult descent, I 
 gave the girl into the outstretched arms of her 
 father, such acclamations as I had never before 
 heard, rent the sky. 
 
 Ungracious as the old man had been before, 
 the moment that his child was in safety, his
 
 16 THE FIRST 
 
 gratitude seemed to know no bounds. He 
 seized my bleeding hands, and kissed them 
 convulsively; whilst he called me by every 
 good name his grateful heart could suggest. 
 At length I disengaged myself from him, for 
 I ought long ago to have been back on board 
 ship ; and stammering something about " plea- 
 sure at having been of service, &c.," I turned, 
 with rather a heavy heart, to make my way 
 back to my boat. But that was not to be — 
 quietly at least ; for the people who had pressed 
 closely around us, set up another deafening 
 shout as soon as my intention was perceived ; 
 and in a moment I found myself hoisted up 
 aloft on the shoulders of the nearest men, and 
 about to be carried in triumph to the shore. 
 
 I was nothing loth, for I was young and full 
 of spirits, and thought it very pleasant to be the 
 hero of the moment. I had been full of sweet 
 and gentle emotions a moment before; but 
 my old light'heartedness returned in an instant, 
 when I found myself thus suddenly " famous ;" 
 and as I looked back in triumph at those I was 
 leaving, I was more than amused, I was pleased 
 to my heart, by the joyous look of the girl, 
 whose animation beamed through all the dis-
 
 lieutenant's story. 17 
 
 figurement the fire had made, with a charm 
 no look had ever before possessed for me ; while 
 the old man seemed to forget everything in his 
 enthusiasm, and waved his hand on high, as his 
 voice was raised above that of the whole crowd, 
 in loud and long hurras. At length I was 
 quietly seated in my boat, and my fine fellows 
 W'cre pulling away with all their strength, to 
 make up for the lost time. 
 
 So rapidly had nightfall succeeded the setting 
 of the sun, that by the time we reached the 
 ship, everything was nearly enveloped in dark- 
 ness, save from the ruddy glow^ of the still flam- 
 ing house, whose fierce reflection lay broken 
 and dancing on the waters astern of the boat ; 
 and which lit up every rope and spar of the 
 frigate, when we approached her, as clearly as 
 dayhght. The other side of the vessel lay in 
 deep shade ; and the calm waters of the bay 
 received, and returned faithfully the perfect 
 shadow of her beautiful proportions, as they 
 were cast on them by the bright flames from 
 the shore. 
 
 Very different w^as the tone of feeling with 
 w^hich I was received on board, from that which 
 I had left on shore. The Captain — Captain 
 
 VOL. 1. C
 
 18 THE FIRST 
 
 Normanton — was a jealous-spirited man; and 
 enough had been visible of what had gone on 
 at the fire, through the ship's glasses, to make 
 him fully aware that I had borne rather an 
 active part there ; and my triumphant mode 
 of conveyance from the flaming pile to the 
 boat, seemed to have raised a feeling of great 
 displeasure in his breast. My reception, there- 
 fore, was by no means a gracious one; and 
 instantly dashed to the ground all the high 
 spirits with which 1 had run up the ship's side. 
 
 " You have broken your leave, Mr. St. Clair," 
 he said, in a quiet, cutting tone. 
 
 " I am very sorry, Sir ; but just as I was 
 going to join my boat, I saw that house on fire 
 yonder, and I thought you could not be dis- 
 pleased — " 
 
 " But I am displeased. Sir !" he exclaimed, 
 in an angry voice ; " nothing can be said in 
 excuse of disobedience. The discipline of the 
 service is at an end, if the catching fire of every 
 Italian vagabond's house is to put a com- 
 manding officer's word aside. I give up my 
 command if that is the case. Sir !" And he 
 tossed up his hands, as if he were casting his 
 commission to the winds.
 
 lieutenant's story. 19 
 
 " I am very sorry, Sir," I began — 
 
 " You are not very sorry. Sir," he interrupted. 
 
 " Indeed, Sir — " I attempted again to begin. 
 
 " Don't contradict me, Sir ! Go below, Sir ; 
 you shall hear of this again. Go below, Sir." 
 
 I descended the hatchway as fast as I could, 
 as much pleased to get out of his sight, as 
 enraged at the manner of my dismissal. 
 
 The next day I longed to go on shore, for I 
 had an intense wish to see the old man, or at 
 least his daughter again. I had, as I have said, 
 but little idea what she was hke ; and I had 
 a hope, not to be wondered at, of finding her 
 lovely and delightful, so that nothing might 
 break the charm with which my present 
 thoughts of her were filled. But I might as 
 well have expected to have been made Grand 
 Seignior, as to have been allowed to put foot 
 on shore for days to come ; and T had just 
 wisdom enough to keep me from asking it. 
 But I could not repress a feeling of annoyance, 
 when I heard the Captain order out his boat to 
 take him on shore, and saw him go down the 
 ship's side; the measured strokes of the oars, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE FIRST 
 
 all cleaving the waters, as if worked by but one 
 pair of hands, falling painfully on my ear. 
 
 As the boat neared the shore, an apprehension 
 seized me, lest the Captain should see her, of 
 whom I was thinking so much, and whom I 
 felt a selfish wish at that moment to hide from 
 every eye. I seemed to have a right to her 
 beyond all others ; and fretted myself into a 
 fever of irritation and jealousy on the subject, as 
 foolish as it was painful. 
 
 The Captain returned to the ship in a mood 
 not much sweeter than that in which he had 
 left it. He went on shore again the next day, 
 and the next, and the next ; while I was forced 
 to remain on board, in a state of irritation and 
 vexation, difficult to describe. I dreaded, too, 
 that we might leave the place without my being 
 able to go again on shore ; and such was the 
 fever of excitement to which I worked myself 
 up, that all sorts of wild ideas crossed my brain ; 
 and I determined that should that be the case 
 I would desert — swim ashore in the night 
 time, and lie hid till the vessel was gone — any- 
 thing, in short, rather than leave the place with- 
 out again seeing her whom I had saved. More 
 rational ideas, however, returned in a short time ;
 
 lieutenant's story. 21 
 
 and before doing anything desperate, I bethought 
 me of using the simple expedient of asking 
 leave again. 
 
 I did so the next day, and was not refused. 
 The Captain's countenance, however, betrayed 
 displeasiu'e and annoyance, even to a more than 
 usual degree ; and I was struck by a restlessness 
 and anxiety in his look and manner, which I had 
 never observed before. 
 
 As the time for my going drew near, his 
 uneasiness \isibly increased. He stopped seve- 
 ral times in his ceaseless pacings up and down, 
 as if with an intention of speaking to me ; but 
 glancing round and always seeing some one else 
 near, he passed on again. At length, with an 
 evident effort, he bade me follow him to his 
 cabin. I did so with a trembling heart ; but 
 when the door w^as shut behind me, I am mis- 
 taken if his pulse beat not three to one of mine. 
 Well I know, at least, that while my eye was 
 raised steadily to his, his fell beneath mine, and 
 he seemed anything but at his ease. 
 
 " Mr. St. Clair," he began, in a deprecating 
 manner and in the mildest tones I had ever 
 heard come from his lips, " you were rather over 
 your leave the last time you w^ent on shore,"
 
 22 THE riUST 
 
 " I was, Sir," I answered ; all my irritation 
 vanishing in an instant under his kindness of 
 manner ; " I was very sorry for it, and will 
 take care it shall not be the case again ; but, in 
 fact, I thought of nothing, when I saw human 
 lives in danger." 
 
 " Quite right, quite right," he replied ; " I 
 should have done the same in your place. I 
 was angry at the time — perhaps rather too much 
 so ; but discipline must be maintained, and I 
 did not then know all the circumstances. I 
 have since learnt them — for I met — accidentally 
 one day — those whom you saved — and they 
 spoke very handsomely of your conduct." 
 
 This was said with a degree of hesitation and 
 embarrassment which I should have been at a 
 loss to account for, had not my jealous fancy at 
 once taken fire, and convinced me that it pro- 
 ceeded from the Captain's having not only seen, 
 but fallen in love with the young lady. 
 
 The fury that possessed me at this idea, I 
 cannot describe. I was like a hungry wolf 
 from whom the prey had been snatched ; the 
 lioness robbed of her young ; — anything in short 
 blind with fury and revenge. Evil passions rose in 
 my breast like a whirlwind, and shook my whole
 
 lieutenant's story. 23 
 
 frame. I had no internal principle then to 
 oppose to the violent feelings of my violent 
 nature, hut was a perfect slave to them ; and 
 nothing but the severe discipline which, happily 
 for me at that moment, the Captain certainly 
 maintained, could have prevented me from some 
 furious outbreak. I could have rushed upon 
 him, strangled him, chucked him through the 
 window, or performed any, or every other prank 
 of absurd insanity and horror. 
 
 And all for what ? I have often thought of 
 it since. Because the poor man told me he 
 had seen a young girl, whom I could scarcely 
 have been said even to have seen myself; but 
 to whom I chose to fancy I had an exclusive 
 right ! 
 
 But it is useless to argue these matters. It 
 is not the thing, as it seems, in outward appear- 
 ance alone, that constitutes the thing as it really 
 is. The feelings on which it falls characterize 
 it. " La chose actuelle, et la chose sensible," 
 are often mightily different things. A note of 
 music, a flower, a sunset, are matters of indif- 
 ference to some — rapture to some — agony to 
 some. Yet it is but one note, one flower, one 
 sunset. Truly, " the heart knoweth its own
 
 24 THE FIRST 
 
 bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not 
 with its joy !" 
 
 And yet it was not merely that Captain Nor- 
 manton had seen this object of my imagined 
 love ; for had he said freely and openly that he 
 had done so, 1 should have thought nothing of 
 it, but perhaps been rather gratified at thinking 
 that something might have been said in my 
 favour ; but it was his concealing it at first, and 
 then speaking of it with such confusion, that 
 disturbed my mind; and which gave to the 
 whole thing a character of importance in my 
 eyes, which time, alas ! proved that it too truly 
 possessed. 
 
 I had, however, to answer him ; which I did 
 by uttering some unintelligible sounds, about 
 " duty" and " happiness," and so forth ; my 
 voice trembling so with suppressed emotion, that 
 I was in terrible fear lest he should observe it. 
 He seemed to make out more of my meaning, 
 however, than I did myself; for he told me "my 
 sentiments did me honour," and that " he should 
 not fail to remember my conduct ;" and so dis- 
 missed me, nothing loth, to go on shore.
 
 lieutenant's story. 25 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 They that love early become like-minded — 
 
 They grow up leaning on each other, as the olive 
 
 and the vine. 
 Youth longeth for a kindred spirit, and yeameth for a 
 
 heart that can commune with his own. 
 
 PROV. PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I WENT on shore, and lost no time in trying 
 to discover my new friends ; and after a few 
 inquiries, I found myself opposite the new abode 
 of " General Sydney" and his daughter. 
 
 But how unlike the old one ! That had been 
 a large, fine, ornamented house, standing alone, 
 looking on the bay in front, and with beautiful 
 gardens behind ; all speaking of wealth, and even 
 grandeur. This was a retired dwelling, in a 
 dark street, having an air scarcely of respecta- 
 bility, certainly not comfort, and surrounded by
 
 26 THE FIRST 
 
 a dense and shabby population. I stood a 
 moment at the door, thinking it impossible that 
 it could be the house ; then determining in my 
 heart that it should not be, I was turning 
 away, when a little Itahan barber opposite, — 
 having been watching me it seemed, and having 
 with the intuitive quickness of his nation, 
 gathered from my dress and countenance the 
 story of my expectation and disappointment, — 
 rushed across the narrow street ; and with nods 
 innumerable, showered w-ith a rapidity I had 
 thought human muscles incapable of, assured 
 me that it was the house I was seeking. 
 
 ** La case del Generale Sydney !" I exclaimed ; 
 less in a tone of inquiry, than of indignant 
 remonstrance. 
 
 " Sicuro, sicuro, 'cellenza," he replied ; re- 
 commencing the incredible nods, which my 
 speaking had suspended for a moment ; while 
 stepping quickly forward, he briskly rang the 
 bell, to prove his moral certainty of the fact ; his 
 countenance all the while beaming with delight 
 at the pleasure of knowing he was right, and of 
 setting me so too. In a moment, however, 
 the bright look faded, and the nods became 
 " rallentandi/' intermingled with gentle shakes ;
 
 lieutenant's story. 27 
 
 as in a feeling, sympathising tone, he began 
 speaking of their late misfortune ; going on with 
 a rapid harangue, of which, with my then very 
 imperfect knowledge of his language, I could 
 merely catch a few^ words, such as " disgrazia, 
 incendio," &c. 
 
 I could have hugged him for his kind feeling 
 for them ; but at that moment the door opened, 
 and his vivacity instantly again returning — 
 before I could speak a word — he had asked 
 whether, "II SignorGenerale," or "La Signorina," 
 were at home; and receiving a reply in the 
 affirmative, he turned on me a look of ineffable 
 triumph, and making me welcome by a flourish 
 of his hand, to the entry of the dark door and 
 darker passage, he bounded again across the 
 street ; and by the time I had turned to thank 
 him, he was again encadre in his own door- 
 way, amid his " cinque perruche e pomata 
 fina." 
 
 How^ strange it seems now ! But in going 
 over these things again, I feel for the moment 
 quite like my old self. I seem to take myself 
 by the arm as it were, and walk with myself 
 through these scenes, just as one might accom-
 
 28 THE FIRST 
 
 pany any other friend ; but with this notable 
 difference, that it is only the outward things 
 in which one can accompany another ; whilst, in 
 accompanying one's past self, all the feelings 
 and emotions of the then heart, all the sorrows 
 or brightness of the then spirits, rise up into 
 life once more, and become, for the moment, 
 one's own again. 
 
 I see that little barber standing in his door- 
 way as distinctly, now that I am talking of him, 
 as if I were still talking to him ; and the merri- 
 ment he caused me, flashes up again once more, 
 as if there had not been since, mountains of 
 trouble, and rivers of tears to crush and extin- 
 guish it. 
 
 I was at that time so very high-spirited, that 
 the merest nothing would send me off into fits 
 of laughter. I don't think that up to that time 
 I could ever have been said to really think of 
 anything ; though I was always fond of reading, 
 of poetry, of music, of the beautiful of all kinds ! 
 But as to feeling, I was like a dog, or a cat, or 
 a robin, or wren, or anything that just feels 
 what it feels at the minute, and forgets it the 
 next ; and being full of life and spirits, mirth 
 and merriment had formed the main part of my
 
 lieutenant's story. 29 
 
 waking existence. I don't often feel inclined to 
 laugh now, but I thank God from my heart for 
 the cheerful spirit He still gives me ; and am 
 glad always to sympathise with every burst I 
 hear come from hearts as yet unsubdued by 
 trouble. 
 
 Well ! after losing sight of my animated, but 
 tender-hearted barber, I followed the serv^ant 
 along the gloomy passage. My thoughts had 
 been a little distracted by my colloquy at the 
 door, from the anxious anticipatio.ns which had, 
 for days before, occupied them ; but now again 
 they rushed upon me with that force which 
 every one with strong feelings has probably felt, 
 but of which to others it is vain to speak ; and 
 when 1 got to the door, which was as the veil 
 which divided the imaginary from the real, my 
 heart literally ceased to beat. 
 
 It seems all very foolish now, but imagination 
 has wondi'ous effect, and there is but one power 
 that I know of, that can control its exciting 
 force. Of that power I knew nothing then !
 
 30 THE FIRST 
 
 When the drawing-room door opened, I 
 found it an apartmenj: far better than the en- 
 trance-side of the house would have led me to 
 suppose; and the windows, opening to the 
 ground, showed a cool and leafy garden beyond, 
 whose grateful fragrance was delightful, as I left 
 the dark, dank passage, and entered again " the 
 warm precincts of the cheerful day." The 
 objects of my search were not in the heated 
 room, they had wisely sought the green shelter 
 of the garden. 
 
 The servant having pointed them out to me, 
 left the apartment, rather to my dismay, leaving 
 me to introduce myself; and, after pausing a 
 moment, in great perturbation, I summoned up 
 courage, and stepped out on the little terrace 
 which was under the window. The sound of 
 my footsteps caused the old man's daughter — 
 for as yet I had not learnt to think of her by 
 any other name — to turn her head, as she was 
 sitting reading under the flickering shadow of 
 some flowering tree — the profile of the whole 
 figure so beautiful ! On seeing me she started, 
 though almost imperceptibly, the faint colour 
 leaving her cheek, and her countenance showing 
 fear and trouble. In another instant, however,
 
 lieutenant's story. 31 
 
 the whole expression of her face changed ; the 
 crimson blood flushed .up again to her very 
 temples ; and hastily rising, she flew past the old 
 man, who was sitting with his back towards me, 
 and meeting me just as I had descended a few 
 steps of the terrace, caught my extended hand 
 in both of hers — forgetful, as she afterwards told 
 me, of everything but that I had saved their 
 lives — and burst into tears. 
 
 I did not know what to do ; I was young 
 and unmannered, and I remember I could only 
 keep repeating : " Oh don't, don't," in the 
 utmost distress. But my embarrassment was 
 soon relieved by the old man's suddenly turning 
 round in his chair, having been awakened from 
 his noon-day sleep by his child's dress brushing 
 past him ; when seeing her in tears by my side, 
 he exclaimed, in a shrill tone : 
 
 "Eh! what? What's the matter— what's 
 the matter ? What are you crying for there with 
 that young man ? Who is he ? How came he 
 here ?" 
 
 His daughter, who could not help smiling, 
 spite of her tears, went up to him, as he still 
 kept angrily eyeing me, and said something
 
 32 THE FIRST 
 
 to him in a low voice, I standing meanwhile 
 where she left me, frightened out of my 
 senses. 
 
 *' Eh — what ?" he exclaimed again hastily. 
 
 " The young officer," I heard her say, her 
 voice tremhling between laughing and crying, 
 " who saved us from the fire." 
 
 " Eh ! you don't say so !" And putting his 
 two hands on his knees, he sprang up Hke a 
 grasshopper, and bounding towards me, quicker 
 than even his daughter had done, he in his 
 turn grasped my hand in both of his ; then 
 put his arm round my shoulder, patting me on 
 the back, and striving by dumb show, to express 
 the emotion and pleasure which his agitated lips 
 could not speak. 
 
 I too felt choking ; so for a time not a word 
 was spoken, as we all three stood together 
 smiling through our tears, and crying through 
 our smiles ; till at last the old man suddenly 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " How are your hands, though ? you had torn 
 the skin all off them." 
 
 " Oh, they are quite well now," I answered ; 
 disengaging them from his firm hold, and
 
 lieutenant's story. 33 
 
 stretching them out to show how perfectly they 
 w^ere healed. 
 
 "And yours?" I added, turning to his 
 daughter. 
 
 She extended hers too, to show that they 
 also had recovered all ill effects of the fire ; and 
 the contrast between her small white ones, and 
 my large sun-burnt ones, as we stretched them 
 out together, was so strange, that it turned the 
 scales quite to the side of smiles, and in a 
 joyous peal of laughter we found relief at last 
 for our excited spirits. 
 
 We now unreservedly wiped our eyes, and 
 sat dow^n together to be very merry; but a 
 wearied, abstracted air soon stole over the old 
 man's face, and in a little w^hile he had fallen 
 asleep again. 
 
 " He gets tired so soon," said his daughter, in 
 a low voice ; " and since that frightftd day he 
 has seemed much shaken." 
 
 " How did the fire happen ?" I asked. 
 
 *' No one know^s ; but it was so rapid that we 
 lost almost everything. But, however, all lives 
 were saved, so we should be thankful. The 
 servants were all below, and easily got out; 
 and — you saved us." 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 34 THE FIRST 
 
 Her eyes met mine as she said this, and her 
 lip again quivered. I looked away, and could 
 not answer her ; for I had entered on a new 
 existence, whose language I did not know. 
 After a time I stammered out : 
 
 "Your father is General Sydney, is he not?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 " And your name is — ?" 
 
 " Mary Teresa Sydney." 
 
 "Why do you call it Teresa, and not 
 Theresa?" 
 
 " Because it is Teresa, and not Theresa," she 
 replied, with an amused expression of counte- 
 nance. " It was my mother's name : she was 
 an Italian." 
 
 " An Italian !" I exclaimed ; betraying in 
 my tone somewhat of my English prejudices. 
 " However, that accounts for it." 
 
 '' Accounts for what?" 
 
 " For your dark eyes, and your way of 
 speaking many words not quite like other 
 people." 
 
 " I am sorry you say that," she replied, rather 
 mortified. " I thought I spoke quite like an 
 Englishwoman. I have tried very much " 
 . " Why ? do you like the English ?"
 
 lieutenant's story. 35 
 
 " Surely I do ; my father is English. Yet I 
 love the Italians too." 
 
 This was said with a little look and emphasis, 
 which clearly established her claim to her foreign 
 origin ; while it also proved that she had read 
 my prejudices but too clearly in my tone. 
 
 " Of course you do," I said, trying to mend 
 the matter a little ; " why should you not ? But 
 I never knew any Italians." 
 
 " I consider myself, however, more English 
 than Italian," she added ; " though I have never 
 yet seen England." 
 
 " Why, has your father always lived here ?" 
 
 " Always since my birth. My mother died 
 here, ten years ago, when I was but seven years 
 old, and he could never afterwards bear to leave 
 the place ; though he has often talked of going 
 to his own country." 
 
 " And have you always lived alone with that 
 old — I mean, with your father ?" 
 
 Her eye had glanced up quickly at my first 
 irreverential term ; but seeing that I had cor- 
 rected myself, she took no notice of it ; but 
 looking at her father as he slept, with great 
 affection, she answered : 
 
 " Yes, always ; his relations were far off, and 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE FIRST 
 
 SO were mine ; but then he never left me, and I 
 was quite happy." 
 
 " Had you no companions living with you ?" 
 
 "None, but him." 
 
 " But you lived in such a large house ?" 
 
 "Yes; and it was very pleasant. We had 
 our winter, and our summer rooms. Oh ! I 
 was so happy there !" and a sadness overspread 
 her face. " But it is very foolish," she added, 
 " and very wrong to grieve, for we are so 
 comfortable here ; and if I did not think about 
 the old house being gone, it would be just the 
 same to me now in this little garden, as it used 
 to be, when, as a great pleasure, my father used 
 to bring me here sometimes, and we had a little 
 feast — for this is my nurse's house — and she 
 loved to have me here ; and my father liked 
 better to come to her, for a time, than to take 
 another house just at this moment. So the 
 only difference lies in my foolish thoughts; 
 except, to be sure, you were not here, 
 then." 
 
 " And does that make it more disagreeable ?" 
 I asked, wanting her to say something pleasant 
 to me. 
 
 " No," she said, colouring a little ; " I only
 
 lieutenant's story. 37 
 
 meant that you were not here then, and that 
 that was a difference." 
 
 " It makes a great difference to me, I know, 
 being here or not." 
 
 She seemed embarrassed, and so was I ; and 
 there was a dreadful pause. At last she asked me : 
 
 "Have you a father?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor brothers or sisters ?" 
 
 " No ; nothing but a mother." 
 
 " You were as lonely then as I, with only 
 her?" 
 
 " Yes ; but then I have never been much at 
 home, of late years ; always at school or at sea." 
 
 " How sad your mother must be then, living 
 all — quite alone ?" 
 
 "1 suppose she is; but somehow, I never 
 thought of it before." 
 
 " Not think of your mother !" she exclaimed, 
 looking at me with astonished eyes. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I always thought of her, of course ; 
 but I never thought whether she was happy or 
 not. I am sure if I had thought she was un- 
 happy, I would have done anything for her." 
 
 " I dare say you would," she said ; " you don't 
 look unkind."
 
 38 THE FIRST 
 
 1 was pleased at her saying that, and was 
 silent for a moment, when she said : 
 
 " You asked me my name, just now, and I 
 told you ; will you tell me yours ?" 
 
 " Wilfred John St. Clair," I said. 
 
 She smiled, as if she liked the name ; and 
 certainly it had never sounded so well to my 
 own ear before. 
 
 "Your father must have been very much 
 older than your mother," I then said ; " at 
 least I should think so ; you seem so very 
 young to be his child ?" 
 
 "Yes, he was many years older. But he 
 had been very kind to her family during the 
 troubles in her country, and they were all so 
 fond of him ; and though not young, he was 
 still so handsome they have told me, and loved 
 her so very much." 
 
 " Ah ! then I don't wonder at her marrying 
 him. I could marry any one that loved me 
 much." 
 
 " That is saying a great deal," she observed, 
 with rather a heightened colour. 
 
 " Oh ! I mean, of course, any one that I 
 loved too." 
 
 " Why, yes ; so, I suppose, could any one."
 
 lieutenant's story. 39 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," I said ; rather confused 
 at finding that I was putting forth inevitable 
 truisms as original discoveries ; and troubled 
 still more at perceiving the quiet suppression 
 of a half-smile on my companion's sweet, hila- 
 rious countenance. 
 
 I was not easily daunted ; but I cannot say 
 how completely that little half-smile overset me. 
 I should not have minded it near so much if 
 she had laughed openly ; but the consideration 
 which she in her kindness showed for my 
 feelings, hurt them all the more, and vexed 
 me unreasonably. 
 
 Oh ! how often did that same touchiness 
 of temper which I then chose, as so many others 
 do, to dignify by the name of sensitiveness and 
 delicacy of feeling — how often did it afterwards 
 grieve and wound that gentle, playful being, 
 w^hose ow^n blessed temper was ever as far from 
 taking, as from giving offence ! 
 
 I sat silent, half-confused, half-angry, till the 
 striking of one of the church clocks reminded 
 me that the time allowed for staying on shore 
 was fast passing away. I had other things to 
 do before returning on board, but I could not
 
 40 THE FIRST 
 
 bear to go with an unpleasant feeling on my 
 mind. I strove for something to say, but could 
 find nothing. At last, to my great relief, she 
 asked : 
 
 " Do you go soon from this place ?" looking 
 rather sadly at me. 
 
 " I do not know ; we may be off to-morrow, 
 or we may stay a month. It all depends on 
 the good pleasure of our Captain." 
 
 A sudden flush of colour on her cheek, as 
 I said this, recalled in an instant all the sus- 
 picions I had formed concerning her and him. 
 They had never once occurred to me before, 
 during my visit ; but now they pressed so 
 thickly on my mind, that my breath came 
 quick and short ; and by one of those flashes of 
 thought, which throw a sudden light on past 
 things, which have been unobserved at the 
 moment, 1 immediately connected his idea 
 with the little start and change of colour I 
 had observed on my first entrance into the 
 garden. I resolved instantly to ascertain the 
 state of the case ; though the bare thought of 
 mentioning it threw me into such an agitation 
 that I trembled all over. I had no genius
 
 lieutenant's story. 41 
 
 for diplomacy; and the only way that ever 
 suggested itself to my mind of finding out a 
 thing was asking about it, so I said : 
 
 " There is one thing that I want very much 
 to ask you, if I may." 
 
 *' What is it ?" she said, with a quickness 
 which yet suited well with her childlike sim- 
 plicity of manner. 
 
 "It is : why did you start, and change colour, 
 and look frightened, when you first saw me 
 here in this garden ?" 
 
 " I did not know that I did change colour, 
 and look frightened," she repUed, the blood 
 again flushing her cheeks ; " though I remember 
 starting." 
 
 " But why did you do that ?" 
 
 " I only saw the colour of your uniform at 
 first, and I thought it was your Captain." 
 
 " And w4iy should you start at seeing him ? 
 Don't you like him ?" 
 
 My breath came quite cold through my lips 
 as I listened for her reply ; but not very long 
 had I to wait, for she answered quickly : 
 
 " No, I do not like him much." 
 
 " Thank God !" I exclaimed, drawing a long 
 breath of relief.
 
 42 THE FIRST 
 
 " Why ?" she asked, looking at me in anaaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; only I felt that your 
 liking him, would have made me very mi- 
 serable." 
 
 " Is he then so bad a man ?" 
 
 " Oh no ! not exactly bad ; but we don't 
 like him very much on board. But why don't 
 you like him ?" 
 
 " Oh, for nothing particular ; but I don't 
 like his conversation, or manner. I always feel 
 frightened when I am with him, though I reaUy 
 don't know why." 
 
 *' Does he come here often then ?" 
 
 " No, I have only seen him here once ; but 
 he has come several times to a friend's, where I 
 often spend my mornings." 
 
 " And you are sure you don't like him ?" 
 
 " Quite sure." 
 
 " Then I don't care if he likes you ever so 
 much ; for he does like you, doesn't he ?" 
 
 *' I think he does a little," she replied ; " and 
 sometimes that frightens me. But I ought not 
 to have said this perhaps, so I beg you, very 
 much, do not repeat it to any one. I am sure 
 you will not."
 
 lieutenant's story. 43 
 
 " Not for worlds," I replied ; my heart bound- 
 ing with happiness at what she had told me ; 
 and touched to the quick too, by the confidence 
 she had shown me. Her colour had become 
 much higher from the httle excitement of this 
 conversation ; and when she raised her eyes with 
 grateful kindness to mine, I thought I had 
 never — and I never had — seen anything so 
 beautiful. 
 
 As I assured her that, " not for worlds 
 would I repeat what she had said," I invo- 
 luntarily held out my hand, half in pledge of 
 my truth, and half in — I know not what — of 
 feeling towards her. She rose, seemingly not 
 liking to understand my action but as a fare- 
 well ; yet her countenance showed that she felt 
 it w^as not meant for that. With some emotion 
 she said : 
 
 " We shall, perhaps, see you again before 
 you go ; but if not — remember that you saved 
 us, and that — we are grateful." 
 
 " If I may come again," I replied, much 
 moved, " I shall most joyfully do so." 
 
 " Come again !" exclaimed the old General, 
 starting up, suddenly wakened by our rising ;
 
 44 THE FIRST 
 
 " oh ! to be sure, whenever you like ; we shall 
 always be delighted to see you." 
 
 Thanking him most sincerely for his cordial 
 words, and shaking hands with them both, I 
 then took my leave ; joyful, oh ! how joyful, at 
 having found the bright image of my imagi- 
 nation more than answered by the brighter 
 reality, and gratified and enchanted beyond 
 words, at the gracious reception I had met with.
 
 lieutenant's story. 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 That I have loved — that I have known the love, 
 Which troubles in the soul the tearful springs, 
 
 Yet with a colouring halo from above. 
 Tinges and glorifies all earthly things ; 
 
 Whate'er its anguish or its woe may be, 
 
 Still weaving links for intercourse with thee, 
 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 That by the passion of its deep distress. 
 
 And by the o'erflowing of its mighty prayer. 
 
 And by the yearning of its tenderness. 
 
 Too full for words upon their stream to bear, 
 
 I have been drawn still nearer to thy shrine. 
 
 Well-spring of love, th' unfathomed, the Di^dne ! 
 I bless thee, O my God ! 
 
 MRS. REMANS. 
 
 Dependance is his strength, and behold ! he prayeth. 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Captain Normanton continued frequently 
 to go on shore ; and emboldened by my late
 
 46 THE FIRST 
 
 success, I asked to do so also several times ; 
 and getting leave, paid regular visits, of course, 
 at General Sydney's. Each tinme that I saw 
 Miss Sydney, I felt more for her than before ; 
 but as my visits were often, as it would so 
 happen, paid at an earlier hour of the day than 
 on the first occasion. General Sydney was always 
 awake, and alive ; which, though he was clever 
 and agreeable, and had much to say, did not 
 please me so well as being able to talk to his 
 daughter alone. I tried therefore to make my 
 next trip on shore at a later period of the day ; 
 and happily succeeded. 
 
 On arriving at the house, I found them sitting 
 as usual in the garden ; and was rejoiced to see 
 that the old man was again sleeping in his chair. 
 
 " Do hot wake him for me," I said to his 
 daughter, as she was about to rouse him ; " it is 
 such a pity to disturb his rest." 
 
 " It is," she replied ; and she quietly sat down 
 again, and took up her work. 
 
 I sat down too ; but of all the thousand 
 topics that the world contains, not one could I 
 find to touch upon ; and I began to fear that 
 this longed-for visit would pass away without 
 any of the pleasure I had promised myself in it.
 
 lieutenant's story. 47 
 
 After some little time, however, Miss Sydney 
 said: 
 
 " Is not your vessel staying here longer than 
 you at first expected ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied. " You will remember that 
 when you asked me, on my first visit, about 
 the length of our stay, I told you that it all 
 depended on the good pleasure of our Captain. 
 It seems now, that his good pleasure is that we 
 should remain, for which I am not disposed to 
 quarrel with him ; though you probably, Miss 
 Sydney, know better than any of us what keeps 
 him here." 
 
 She did not answer directly, but her colour 
 rose, and continued mounting higher and higher. 
 But after a few moments she raised her eyes, in 
 w^hich there was an expression of trouble, and 
 somewhat of displeasure, and replied : 
 
 " I once foolishly answered a question, Mr. 
 St. Clair, which you asked me, concerning 
 Captain Normanton ; but I do not like to hear 
 his feelings spoken of lightly, even if they are 
 not returned." 
 
 " If they are not returned 1" 1 exclaimed, with 
 bitterness ; " is there then a doubt in the case. 
 Miss Sydney — are you so much changed '?"
 
 48 THE FIRST 
 
 " No," she replied, raising again her softened 
 eyes, " I can never change ; but I have learnt 
 to feel for him more than I did ; and am often 
 unhappy about him now. But I am afraid I 
 spoke too angrily." 
 
 " No, you did not," I replied, " the fault was 
 all mine. I ought not to have spoken so lightly ; 
 for I can well feel what it must be not to be 
 loved by you. — Miss Sydney," I continued, with 
 sudden and violent impulse, *' you do not love 
 Captain Normanton ; but you must — you must 
 love me — for I love you so very much ! so 
 very much 1" 
 
 She seemed excessively startled by my sudden 
 avowal ; and I confess I was myself terrified the 
 moment after, at the audacity and precipitation 
 with which I had made it. She sat silent — 
 evidently could not speak. 
 
 " Will you not answer me ?" I said, after 
 waiting a moment in mortal fear ; " will you 
 not give me a hope that you will return my 
 love?" 
 
 " I have thought of you and of your kindness 
 so often," she replied, gently, " that, next to 
 my father, there is none I do like so much as 
 
 you."
 
 lieutenant's story. 49 
 
 I was deeply touched by so undeserved an 
 answer, made in the simple truth of her beau- 
 tiful nature ; and was too happy to be vexed, 
 even at the reservation she had made ; loving 
 her indeed the better for that sweet constancy of 
 mind which would not let her give up one, who 
 had been all to her for so long, for me, the 
 acquaintance of a day. 
 
 " And will you then mam* me. Miss Sydney," 
 I said, in an almost inarticulate tone, " when we 
 are old enough ?" 
 
 " If my father will let me, I will," she replied, 
 earnestly and solemnly. 
 
 She rose, and stooped over him again, to try 
 and awaken him ; but his sleep was sound, and 
 she could not rouse him by her gentle efforts. 
 
 " Don't disturb him," I said ; " I shall, please 
 God, see you and him again, and then I will ask 
 his consent. I hope I have not done wrong. 
 Miss Sydney, in speaking as I have ; I did not 
 mean it when I came here, but somehow I could 
 not help it." 
 
 " No, you have not done wrong," she replied, 
 raising her large eyes, full of feeling, to mine ; " I 
 have only promised in case of his consent ; and 
 
 VOL. L E
 
 50 THE FIRST 
 
 if he gives it, we know it will be right. Good- 
 bye now," and she held out her hand to me, 
 
 " Good-bye," I said. " You have been very 
 kind to me ; much kinder than I deserve, or 
 could have thought possible ; but I hope I shall 
 never be unworthy of it. I am sure I shall 
 never cease to love you. But — before I go, will 
 you give me something to keep for your sake ? 
 — anything." 
 
 She thought for a moment; then turned to 
 the little table which stood by with her work, 
 and gave me a letter-case of her own embroidery. 
 She had been working it, she said, for her father, 
 but would do him another. I took it; and it 
 has never left me from that hour. 
 
 I rushed down to the shore, having hur- 
 riedly got over a few other things I had to do ; 
 and finding my men ready, pushed off directly, 
 and arrived at the ship's side just in time not to 
 be too late. 
 
 Captain Normanton happened to be on deck 
 as I mounted the side, so could not avoid seeing 
 my arrival. I observed a cloud pass over his 
 face ; but in a voice which I think he tried to 
 make kind, he said :
 
 LIEUTENANT S STORY. 5 1 
 
 " You are back in good time to-day, Mr. St. 
 Clair." 
 
 " Barely, I am afraid, Sir." 
 
 " Have you ordered the case, and told the 
 man about the desk?" he asked, speaking of 
 things which he had commissioned me to do 
 for him. 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " Thank you," he said ; then remained stand- 
 ing, as if he had something else to say ; but 
 nothing seeming to occur, he again said : 
 " Thank you," and walked away. 
 
 Captain Normanton was a handsome man ; 
 but the workings of an imperious temper spoiled 
 his countenance. I was, however, at that moment 
 in such a state of happiness, that everything was 
 beautiful in my eyes ; and I set about my various 
 duties, wearisome as they often were, as if they 
 had been the chosen joys of my heart. I longed 
 though for my night-watch, that I might, with- 
 out interruption, think over again the events of 
 the day, hoping for as much happiness in their 
 recollection, as I had had at the moment of 
 their occurrence. 
 
 LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 THE FIRST 
 
 That blessed night-watch came at last ; such 
 a night as one often has in those delightful 
 climates — warm, soft, and starry ; and if ever 
 there was a happy being on earth or sea, it was 
 I, as I mounted the companion that night, and 
 came up into the fresh, balmy air, preparing for 
 my solitary pacings up and down. 
 
 Oh ! even now, I can look back upon that 
 hour, and bless God who, even as to earthly 
 things, '* giveth such gifts unto men," such gifts 
 of pure, warm, heartfelt happiness ! — gives them, 
 too, in His most tender love to those who re- 
 gard Him not ; who, receiving them with eager 
 hands, yet pause not to inquire what heart of 
 love it was which prepared them for them, and 
 chose them with so great a care ! 
 
 I was not disappointed in thinking that the 
 retrospect of what had passed would bring 
 happiness to my heart. It did so, unspeakably ! 
 When we are the busy actors in a scene where 
 the great interests of our lives are concerned, 
 we are too anxious and nervous — uncertain as 
 we are as to the result — to be able to enjoy the 
 course of the stream which sweeps us on with 
 such whirling rapidity ; and though at last we
 
 lieutenant's story. 53 
 
 may be safely landed on a happy shore, and the 
 object of our desire placed within our grasp, 
 yet the struggle and the striving have left our 
 spirits so excited, that though we may feel joy, 
 yet it can hardly claim to be called happiness. 
 But when, in the calm of our stilled hearts, 
 w^e again float down in memoiy the same stream 
 of events, we can then with delight revisit each 
 Httle sunny eddy, bright with a thousand joys, 
 and each nook where we know the flowers grow, 
 though we passed them almost unheeded before; 
 for the blessed result being known, we can afl'ord 
 to linger by the way. and gather all the sweets 
 which lie scattered on its happy course. 
 
 Unspeakable indeed was the happiness I en- 
 joyed that night ! Yet, after a time, in recalling 
 all that passed, I began to tremble at what I had 
 done. Not that one misgiving for an instant 
 crossed my mind, as to my own blessed share in 
 the compact into which Mary Sydney and I had 
 entered ; but I began to feel, for the first time, 
 how utterly unworthy I w^as of her. " What 
 was I that I should think myself fit to be en- 
 trusted w^ith her happiness ? Whose happiness 
 had I ever sought before in life ? What
 
 54 THE FIRST 
 
 motive of action had 1 ever had, but my own 
 most wilful will?" 
 
 These thoughts thronged thickly upon me, 
 and oppressed my mind with a weight I had 
 never experienced before. It was the first time 
 that I had ever really considered that I was a res- 
 ponsible being ; and that responsibility, involving, 
 as it now did, the happiness of another, filled 
 me with alarm and self-condemning fears. I had, 
 I thank God, been preserved from much of the 
 vice with which I was but too continually sur- 
 rounded; but still I was wholly thoughtless, 
 and careless of every principle ; and what there 
 might happen to be in me of good, was purely 
 the result of accident, — as people call it. But 
 now I felt the most earnest desire to become 
 worthy of her who loved me ; and from my 
 inmost soul, I prayed to God to help me, and 
 to teach me what I should be, and what I should 
 do. 
 
 It was the first time I had ever prayed in my 
 life ; though as a child I had been taught to say 
 my prayers ; and though there was no distinct 
 wish of pleasing God mixed with my desires for 
 improvement, yet I cannot doubt but that my
 
 lieutenant's story. 55 
 
 prayer was heard ; and that this sense of my 
 utter helplessness was a lesson — the first — I was 
 receiving from His gracious teaching; and if 
 I went below again that night a less light- 
 hearted being than I had mounted on deck, I 
 was certainly a more thoughtful, and, I think, a 
 better one.
 
 56 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Light as the angel- shapes that bless 
 
 An infant's dream ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 A soul too, more than half divine ; 
 
 Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, 
 
 Religion's softened glories shine, 
 
 Like hght through summer-foliage stealing ; 
 
 Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
 
 So warm, and yet so shadowy too. 
 
 As makes the very darkness there. 
 
 More beautiful than light elsewhere. 
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Oh ! be sure, 
 Beauty less triumphs in a world of slaves. 
 Than in one heart she raises and reclaims. 
 
 WESTLAND MARSTON. 
 
 The next day Captain Normanton went 
 again on shore; and for many succeeding days.
 
 lieutenant's story. 57 
 
 There was no sign of our going away ; and 
 surmises, and surprises, went on all around. I 
 of course, neither surmised, nor was surprised ; 
 I knew well the cause of our detention, and did 
 not marvel at it ; nor repine ! 
 
 I can look back to that time with deep 
 thankfulness of heart ; for, from the moment of 
 my ascertaining Miss Sydney's feelings towards 
 me, and also towards Captain Normanton, 
 not one unkind thought respecting him ever 
 crossed my breast. In feeling my great gain, I 
 could but feel his great loss ; and from my very 
 soul I felt for him. I took his part whenever I 
 heard him abused, and often got laughed at for 
 my sudden change of tone towards him ; for at 
 first, after the affair of the fire, I was loud in my 
 abuse of him, and did not attempt to conceal 
 my dislike. 
 
 All my consideration for him, however, could 
 not prevent my longing impatiently to go on 
 shore again; and I soon obtained leave to do 
 so ; and a very few minutes after my boat had 
 touched land, I found myself again in the little
 
 58 THE FIRST 
 
 street, and at the door of the little house ; and 
 looking over the way, again saw the little barber 
 in his shop, who, on recognizing me, sprang, as 
 at the first time, across the street at a bound, 
 exclaiming, in answer as it were, to the bell 
 that I had rung : 
 
 " Sono a casa ; si, si, sono a casa." 
 We exchanged animated salutations ; half of 
 his, however, being sent after me down the 
 dear old damp passage ; for not a moment did 
 I lose when the door was opened ; but rushed 
 in as if the house had been my own, and I was 
 sure of finding myself at home. 
 
 Miss Sydney was not in the garden as usual, 
 only her father. He did not see me at first, so 
 I had leisure to observe him more than I had 
 ever chanced to do before. He was thinner 
 than anything I had ever seen — all joints and 
 angles ; yet without the slightest appearance of 
 ill health. His hair was very grey ; but his 
 hawk-like eye, and well-cut features, fiiUy bore 
 out the account of the past beauty, which had 
 helped to win for him the heart of his young 
 bride. He was wholly unlike his child, how- 
 ever ; for her beauty was more that of her 
 mother's land. Her slight figure was perfect
 
 lieutenant's story. 59 
 
 grace ; her soft, long- cut eye was fringed with 
 dark lashes ; and her pale cheek was less white 
 than her lovely brow, only when feeling sent the 
 blood up to it in a flush of more than mortal 
 beauty. 
 
 After studying the old man for a moment, 
 I descended the steps of the terrace ; but with 
 far different feelings from those which had 
 agitated me on my first visit there. Then all 
 had been a sort of vague tumult within me, 
 more of expectation than of real feeling; and 
 had Mary Sydney that day disappointed my 
 hope as to what I had pictured her, I should 
 probably have walked up those terrace-steps 
 again with a heart as tranquil and as " fancy- 
 free," as that which I had earned within me 
 when I used to pace up and down in my 
 mother's garden at home. But finding her all, 
 and more than all, my fancy had imaged forth, 
 and loving her as such a being deserved to be 
 loved, I now stood again in that garden, and in 
 the presence of that old man, with feelings Hke 
 those of a criminal whose hopes and fears were 
 hovering between life and death. 
 
 Though I had had misgivings before, yet 
 never till that moment had I fully felt the
 
 60 THE FIRST 
 
 presumption of what I had done ; never fully 
 felt the immeasurable distance between myself — 
 well born certainly, but poor, and thoughtless, 
 and unpolished — and that rich and beautiful 
 girl, — child almost, but with all the refine- 
 ment and gentle grace of womanhood ! How I 
 dreaded meeting the glance of that old man's 
 keen eye; and worlds would I have given to 
 have sunk into the earth ere I was forced to 
 hear the withering words of scorn and rejection 
 which I felt sure he was going to speak. I 
 stood for a moment incapable of seeing or 
 hearing anything distinctly ; but I was soon 
 relieved ; for, perceiving me, he instantly rose 
 from his chair ; and advancing towards me with a 
 grave, but kind countenance, held out his hand, 
 and said he was glad to see me. The revul- 
 sion in my feelings was so great, that I could 
 only answer by a sailor's grasp of the hand, 
 which made the old man draw his back with a 
 smile, as he led the way to the shelter of the 
 trees, and with the polished manner of the 
 vieille cour, offered me a chair. 
 
 We talked a little on indifferent subjects ; but 
 he soon began upon that which was occupying 
 all my thoughts, and spoke with equal good
 
 lieutenant's story. 61 
 
 sense and kindness. He told me that his 
 daughter had informed him of what had passed 
 at my last visit, and had asked him for his 
 sanction to our engagement. He said that 
 under ordinary circumstances he should have 
 refused to listen to anything of the kind between 
 " children like us ;" but that bound as he was 
 by ties of the deepest gratitude to me, he could 
 not treat me as he would have done another ; 
 that he had therefore made all possible inquiries 
 concerning me, — my conduct and character, 
 &c. ; and finding that all the accounts he received 
 were, he was pleased to say, in my favour, he 
 had determined to give our attachment a fair 
 trial ; and that if our minds remained the same 
 till I was of age, — at which time his daughter 
 would be nearly nineteen, — he would then consent 
 to an engagement between us, which might end 
 in marriao^e whenever circumstances admitted 
 of it. He then spoke most kindly of w^hat he 
 called his obligations to me, and added, that he 
 had no doubt that the remembrance of them 
 had influenced his daughter very much in the 
 answer she had given to my proposal. 
 
 I was much hurt at this ; and replied, rather 
 indignantly, tliat if I thought that, I should
 
 62 THE FIRST 
 
 desire instantly to release her from her engage- 
 ment ; for that my love was far too earnest and 
 too true, to be satisfied with anything but love in 
 return. 
 
 He begged my pardon with a smile, and said 
 he was sorry to have hurt my feelings, which he 
 was far from intending ; that he could well 
 imagine that it was pleasanter for me to think 
 that it was for myself, and not for my deeds that 
 I was accepted, and sincerely trusted that it 
 was so. 
 
 "But here she comes," he added, gaily ; " so 
 you may ask her herself." 
 
 " No," I said hurriedly, lowering my voice ; 
 " I need not ask, I shall soon feel which it is." 
 
 Though I knew she was coming, I could not 
 turn to greet her, my mind was so disturbed ; 
 and when at last my eye did meet hers, there 
 was so much of trouble in it, that, as she told 
 me afterwards, her heart sank within her, think- 
 ing that something unpleasant had occurred 
 between me and her father. Tliis gave to her 
 countenance so anxious an expression, that I 
 was in a moment reassured ; for I felt convinced 
 that mere gratitude could never have produced 
 so much emotion as she showed. A thrill of
 
 lieutenant's story. 63 
 
 joy — so quick in their transition are our feelings ! 
 — lighted up my countenance into instant hright- 
 ness — I felt that it did so ; and hers reflecting 
 its expression, she advanced again towards me, — 
 for in the moment of her terror she had paused 
 with her hand resting for support on a stone 
 vase of flowers, which stood in the midst of the 
 garden, 
 
 " Mary," said her father, " I have spoken to 
 Mr. St. Clair, and have told him the same as I 
 told you ; that if, when he comes of age, you 
 are both in the same mind as you are now, and 
 all else concurs to make my consent advisable, I 
 will then give it. Meanw^iile, it is not probable 
 that you will meet often, though I shall not deny 
 your doing so ; for I think it but right and rea- 
 sonable that those who are to judge of each 
 other should learn to know each other ; but cir- 
 cumstances will probably divide you ; Mr. St. 
 Clair having his home upon the waters ; and you, 
 — wherever fate may cast your lot and mine." 
 
 He paused, for his voice faltered ; his daughter 
 stooped down and pressed her lips to his fore- 
 head, murmuring lovingly : " Come w^hat may, 
 never let me leave you, my father 1" 
 
 She sunk on her knees by his side, and. he,
 
 64 THE FIRST 
 
 throwing his arms round her neck, cried like 
 a child. 
 
 At length raising his head, he held out his 
 hand to me, and said that I must forgive him, 
 for he was a weak old man, shaken in mind and 
 body ; that the thought of any change in the 
 fate of his child was trying to him ; but that I 
 must not think that his emotion proceeded from 
 any mistrust of me, only from anxiety for her. 
 
 I said I know not what, of " watching over 
 her happiness ;" I felt it would be but watching 
 over my own ! 
 
 Great was my enjoyment that day ; and 
 much improvement did I always derive from 
 my conversations with Miss Sydney ; for there 
 was a charm in her w^ords which dropped into 
 my heart like dew, and brought forth blossoms 
 of thought and feeling, of whose germ even 
 I had never been conscious before. Not that 
 she then meant to teach, for she was very young, 
 and in the simplicity of her heart knew not that 
 to her a treasure had been committed, unknow^n 
 to most others ; but her thoughts were so purely 
 sweet, her feelings so holy, her mind so elevated,
 
 lieutenant's story. 65 
 
 that one imbibed from them health to one's soul, 
 without knowing scarcely how it came, or what 
 had brought it. Her spirits too were so light 
 and gay, that trouble vanished from ihe heart 
 almost at sight of her ; she was as " sunshine 
 walking through the earth," and clearing away 
 its clouds and mists. Yes ! 
 
 "Her's was life's enjoyment, offering still 
 The tribute of her happiness to Heaven ;" 
 
 and her bright gratitude, and unyielding faith 
 animated all she did, and gilded every path 
 in life. 
 
 Hers was true faith ; actual, simple belief 
 in the w^ord and the goodness of God ; and 
 when she found, as she soon did, that this was a 
 thing unknown to me, how painful was her 
 surprise ! Then, indeed, did she become a 
 teacher intentionally, of my dark soul; and 
 though I was the first on whom her lo\ing 
 zeal expended itself, yet it then grew large 
 and w^ide ; till it urged her gentle but cou- 
 rageous spirit in every w^ay to try and conquer 
 souls for Christ. 
 
 " Legitime conquete ! oil il y a deux vain- 
 queurs, et ou il n'y a point de vaincu !" 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 66 THE FIRST 
 
 Never, perhaps, of mere earthly happiness did 
 I enjoy so cloudless a time as I did then. It 
 was not merely that I was with her whom I 
 loved, but it was the power, new to me, of loving ; 
 — of living out of the narrow bounds of one's 
 own poor, selfish self. I seemed almost to look 
 about me to find new objects to love, so large, 
 though so full, did my heart seem ! To the 
 thought of my mother I turned wdth an affection 
 I had never even imagined before ; and instead 
 of the almost schoolboy letters I had been used 
 to send her, I now poured forth volumes from 
 out of the full store of my inward heart. I told 
 her, of course, instantly of my conditional en- 
 gagement, hoping it would meet with her fullest 
 approbation ; and, in the joy of my heart, calling 
 upon her to rejoice with me in my blessed pros- 
 pects. Conditional indeed, I could not feel it to 
 be; for unread in the mysteries of the frail 
 human heart, I never dreamt of love like ours 
 fading away, or changing its object. A blissful, 
 an eternal " now " seemed stamped upon it ! 
 
 It was a delight to try and please even the old 
 General, towards whom I felt the greatest grati- 
 tude; and though the captious irritability, 
 which was the first quality I had observed in
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 67 
 
 him, continually broke forth in our after inter- 
 course, yet it was seldom a difficulty to me 
 at that time to bear with it ; nor did it fret 
 my temper, when I found it did not vex his 
 child. The first time indeed that I heard him 
 speak unkindly, as it seemed, to her, I involun- 
 tarily started up, and could have annihilated 
 him ; but her calm countenance undergoing 
 no change, and her manner of answering being 
 only, if possible, more gentle and affectionate 
 than before, I restrained my wrath, and sat 
 down quietly again. But when he was at some 
 distance from us afterwards, I asked her if 
 she did not feel angry when he spoke to her 
 in that way. 
 
 " Angry with my father !" she rephed, in 
 astonishment ; " no, I have never felt anger 
 towards him in my life. I used to feel un- 
 happy sometimes, when I was very young, if 
 he spoke in that way, for I thought he must 
 mean it unkindly ; but now I know he does 
 not ; and I feel great pity for him when those 
 moods come on him, for they must fret him 
 like an illness. When he speaks so before 
 strangers indeed, I cannot bear it, fearing they 
 should think ill of him, as they cannot know 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE FIRST 
 
 the father he is in reality to me; but I did 
 not feel that just now with you, for I could 
 not think of you as a stranger." 
 
 The idea of being thus linked in her mind 
 with herself, was inexpressibly delightful to me ; 
 and from that hour I tried to think with her, 
 to feel with her, to act with her in all things. 
 But it was, after all, but as a dim shadow, uncer- 
 tainly following a bright and glorious substance.
 
 lieutenant's story. 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Lord is swift to hear 
 The solitary sighings of distress ; 
 
 The comfort of His presence is so near 
 To such as be in pain and heaviness ! 
 
 UNPUBLISHED lOEMS. 
 
 Life has spread out a page for me. 
 The fairest of her history. 
 
 TEGNER. 
 
 A FEW visits, I have said, I paid, after that 
 first happy one which had settled my fate, when 
 one day, just as I was about to ask leave to go 
 again on shore, the order was given for sailing. 
 1 was, as you may suppose, distracted at the 
 thought of having to go away without seeing 
 Mary again; without being able even to write to 
 her ; and with a heavy heart I set about my 
 odious duties. I was thankful, however, to find 
 how far less a degree of irritation now mingled
 
 70 THE FIRST 
 
 with my feelings, than did in former times, 
 under contradiction ; and in blessing her for the 
 benign influence she had over me, I felt that to 
 approach nearer to her perfection was an object 
 worthy of any exertion ; and the thought that 
 she would be pleased with me could she see the 
 effort I was making, sweetened that effort so 
 much, that I half forgot my sorrow in the 
 animated use of the new powers which she had 
 called forth within me. 
 
 As soon as the bustle of getting under way 
 was over, and I had a moment's leisure, I sat 
 down to write to her. As I did so, and remem- 
 bered that months — years perhaps — might pass 
 away before we met again, my saddened feelings, 
 which I had kept down for a time with so 
 strong a hand, rose rebelliously against me ; and 
 bitter regrets — the bitterness of a first grief — 
 pressed heavily on my heart. I thought this 
 sudden separation a cruelty ; and murmured 
 against the decrees of God. The influence 
 which the thought of Mary had had over me 
 for a time, though salutary, was but of mortal 
 power, and could not long stand against natural 
 feeling ; but finding my misery increase as my 
 patience diminished, I was driven to the only
 
 lieutenant's story. 71 
 
 source of real peace and strength, and praying, 
 found that my upward appeal, was heard and 
 answered from on high. 
 
 Oh ! how often have I found it so ! " God 
 waiting to be gracious !" His 
 
 " Winged blessings standing by, 
 In act to part."* 
 
 To me — unworthy as I then was, and ever 
 must be, of the least of all His mercies — to 
 me, even as of old to him who was called 
 " greatly beloved," the ministering angel might 
 often have said : " At the beginning of thy sup- 
 plications the commandment came forth, and I 
 am come ;" for never did I send up a glance, a 
 thought, an inarticulate \vish to heaven, but 
 what its golden peace was sent down in answer. 
 In this case, howxver, not only was inward 
 peace given, but an immediate relief to my 
 trouble ; for scarcely had I become more com- 
 posed, than the Captain's coxwain came to me 
 with a letter, which he begged my pardon 
 for not having delivered sooner, saying it had 
 been given him by some gentleman's servant 
 
 * In the hope of disarming criticism, the Author 
 acknowledges to fearful anachronisms in quotations.
 
 72 THE FIRST 
 
 just when getting into the boat the last time he 
 came from shore ; but that in the bustle of get- 
 ting off he had quite forgotten it. 
 
 I was too much rejoiced at receiving it at all — 
 for I saw the handwriting was a woman's, and 
 felt sure it was Mary's— to be angry at the 
 delay ; so dismissing him with a kind nod, I tore 
 my letter open in an instant. 
 
 No words can describe my astonishment on 
 reading its commencement. Instead of the sor- 
 rowful parting lines I had expected, I found 
 expressions of happiness at the prospect of see- 
 ing me again so soon, and being so much with 
 me. In bewilderment I raised my eyes as if 
 to question earth, sea, sky, as to what she could 
 mean; and catching the sound of the rippling 
 waters as they passed rapidly by the ship's side, 
 I sadly felt how little they spoke of near meet- 
 ings. I then again turned to the letter, fancying 
 she must have been unaware, when she wrote, 
 of my approaching departure. But I soon 
 found that that was not the case ; and with a 
 surprise, equalled only by the trembling joy that 
 seized me, did I read that Captain Normanton, 
 having met her and her father the day before, 
 and hearing the latter say that he had determined
 
 lieutenant's story. 73 
 
 on visiting England the ensuing spring, had 
 offered them a passage on board his ship, which 
 was to take her homeward course about that 
 time. 
 
 I could scarcely believe my senses ! She was 
 going to England ! — going with me ! going, 
 too, at a time when, as our ship was to be paid 
 off, I should have perfect liberty to be with her 
 continually ! I could not contain my joy ; I 
 jumped up in an ecstacy, then sat down again, 
 and once more opened and read her letter, with 
 less surprise perhaps, but not less joy, than 
 before. 
 
 As I looked up at last, I caught the eye of 
 one of my messmates, who had come in without 
 my hearing him, and who had been watching 
 me, he said, for some time with infinite amuse- 
 ment ; for while I held my letter in one hand, I 
 had it seemed, been gesticulating with the other 
 in a wonderful manner. As soon as he saw he 
 was perceived, he darted forward, and with the 
 agility of a monkey seized my letter, and held it 
 aloft over his head. I rushed upon him, and 
 dragged his arm down with all my strength ; but 
 when just within my reach, he caught the letter 
 in the other hand, and again flourished it on high.
 
 74 THE FIRST 
 
 I was furious ; but felt the ridicule of such a 
 chase, so gave it up ; though I stamped on the 
 deck, raved at him, and insisted on his instantly 
 returning it to me. But he, continuing his 
 exulting laugh, told me, " I should never have 
 it tiU I told him who it was from ; that if I did 
 not tell him quickly, he should proceed to inform 
 himself by the simple process of looking at the 
 signature ; and that if it promised any amuse- 
 ment, he should read the whole epistle aloud, 
 for the benefit of all the juniors in the ship." 
 
 Knowing that he was perfectly capable of 
 executing his threat — being always bent on 
 mischievous fun, though otherwise the best- 
 natured and kindest- hearted fellow in the world 
 — remembering also that it is generally those 
 who guess your secret, not those who know it, 
 who are the ones to betray you — I thought my 
 best way was to cease the contest, and yield 
 with as good a grace as I could ; so telling him, 
 that if he gave me my letter, I would tell him 
 who it was from, I held out my hand for it, 
 and was not a httle rejoiced when I again felt it 
 in my possession. 
 
 " And now," he said, seating himself close to 
 me, and looking at me with a hidicrous length
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 75 
 
 and solemnity of face, "my dear fellow! I am 
 all ear, all impatience, all — all sorts of things ; 
 so begin — begin." 
 
 " I shan't say one word," I replied, " or tell 
 you anything, till you put your fiice into proper 
 shape again, and sit a little further from me. 
 But seriously, if you wish not to make my 
 keeping my promise most excessively irksome, 
 promise me in your turn, not to repeat a syllable 
 of what I am going to say ; and try, will you, 
 not to turn it into ridicule." 
 
 " If it is anything really serious, my good 
 fellow, I wouldn't either repeat or ridicule it for 
 the w^orld," he rephed ; drawing himself a little 
 away, and letting his handsome face become 
 handsome again. 
 
 " You are the best fellow in the world," I 
 said ; " or I would rather have taken the chance 
 of being knocked on the head in the scuffle, than 
 have promised to tell you a word about it." 
 
 He w^as indeed the " best fellow in the 
 world ;" and when I had given him an outline 
 of the case, he entered heart and soul into my 
 feelings ; and many a time afterwards did he 
 stand between me and trouble, and help me in 
 a thousand ways.
 
 76 THE FIRST 
 
 Not a word, however, of Captain Normanton's 
 liking for Miss Sydney did I breathe. My 
 promise to her could not be forgotten ; and 
 even had I not given it, the feeling that I was 
 his successful rival would effectually have sealed 
 my lips. I felt so much for him indeed, that 
 not only could I not have borne to mention 
 the thing myself, but I could not even have 
 endured the idea that others should suspect 
 it. When therefore my companion expressed 
 his surprise at the unwonted civility of the offer 
 made to General Sydney and his daughter, I 
 merely said that the acquaintance having been 
 formed under peculiar and distressful circum- 
 stances, and the General being an old man, I 
 did not think there was anything X^ery re- 
 markable in it ; but that, however that might 
 be, I of course, was very glad, though I begged 
 him not to say a word on the subject till Captain 
 Normanton himself should mention it. 
 
 On we went, moving majestically before a 
 light breeze, and coasting along Italy's beautiful 
 shores ; then round by Sicily, Malta, Greece, &c. 
 Weeks and months passed rapidly by, but still
 
 lieutenant's stor^'. 77 
 
 Captain Normanton spoke not a word. Winter 
 — such winter as is known in those delightful 
 climes — was almost past ; and as we neared 
 shore occasionally, we could see the fresh green 
 of the early foliage spreading its mantle over 
 the woods and hills. How lovely it was ! and, 
 gilded by the light within my heart, it seemed 
 to me lovelier than to any one besides. 
 
 At length there was a stir in the ship. The 
 carpenter was put into requisition, and sundry 
 alterations and improvements were made in the 
 Captain's cabin, &c. ; and at last, when the 
 time approached for our return to England, we 
 were ordered to run once more up the Gulf of 
 Genoa, which being so completely out of our 
 course, gave great surprise on board. Still not 
 a word was said of the reason of this pro- 
 ceeding; till as we drew near to Nice, it was 
 at last announced. Great was the surprise 
 expressed ; not so much at the circumstance 
 itself, as at the mystery that had so long 
 enveloped it; and suspicion once awakened, a 
 thousand tributary observations and remem- 
 brances came pouring in to swell the flood of 
 conjecture; all pointing,. of course, to the only 
 probable, and in this instance, true solution of 
 the case.
 
 /» , THE FIRST 
 
 It was insufferable to me to have the subject 
 mentioned in that way ; to hear that name 
 bandied about from mouth to mouth, which I 
 could almost have wished should never have 
 been breathed but by " the pure lips of angels 
 only ;" — to hear it too, coupled jestingly with 
 that of another ! 
 
 For that other too, as I have said, I felt 
 deeply. I knew that the whole ship's company 
 thought he was attached to Miss Sydney ; and 
 knew too, that they must all hereafter hear of 
 the failure of his wishes. I felt as if I were 
 wronging him — disgracing, mortifying him ; as 
 if I were the cause of all the contemptuous 
 words which were spoken of him now, and of 
 all the heart-misery which I feared might be 
 his hereafter. I could have done anything for 
 him — endured any treatment at his hands ; and 
 if even his voice was heard, I, involuntarily 
 started forward, anxious to perform the least of 
 his wishes. Oh ! could he have read my heart, 
 how differently perhaps would his own have 
 felt towards me ! Could he have known how 
 careful I was of his feelings, he might perhaps 
 have lig-htened a little the hand which after- 
 wards lay so heavy upon mine 1
 
 lieutenant's story. 79 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I ask no line — no written line. 
 
 For thy dear hand to fill, 
 By which thy absent soul with mine. 
 
 Might commune still. 
 
 Dear are such signs to those who fear 
 
 That they can be forgot ; 
 And I too own them dear, most dear, 
 
 Yet need them not. 
 
 No signs those faithful instincts need, 
 
 By which I feel thee mine ; 
 And in my own true heart can read 
 
 The love of thine. 
 
 UNPUBLISHED POEMS. 
 
 At length the day came, so fraught with 
 emotion ! 
 
 It had been General Sydney's desire that 
 nothing should be said of my engagement
 
 80 THE FIRST 
 
 to his daughter, till the time arrived when it 
 was to he definitively settled ; so that in the 
 eyes of the world, I had no further claim upon 
 her than that of a common acquaintance ; 
 except, perhaps, such as my little service to 
 her might he considered as entithng me to. 
 I knew not, therefore, in what manner to accost 
 her on her arrival; and when at last I saw 
 her, assisted by Captain Normanton, mounting 
 the ship's side, I longed to rush away, fear- 
 ful lest I should betray some of the many 
 tumultuous emotions which swelled within me. 
 But I felt rooted to the spot. 
 
 I had written to General Sydney several 
 times during our cruize, but had not received 
 a line from him, not knowing where to tell 
 him to direct his letters. It was not needed 
 however, as far as my reliance on his daughter 
 was concerned, much as I should have de- 
 lighted in hearing; for no doubt of her con- 
 stancy could ever have crossed my mind ; and 
 had it ever done so, her glowing and agitated 
 recognition of me, as, on ascending the ladder, 
 she chanced to look up, and caught my eye, 
 would have dispelled it in a moment. I no 
 longer wished to fly, for such a deep peace
 
 lieutenant's story. 81 
 
 fell on my heart as completely restored my 
 self-possession. 
 
 It was not so with her, however ; and trem- 
 bling and frightened at appearing among so 
 many strangers, she became confused ; and her 
 foot slipping as she stepped on deck, she w^ould 
 have fallen, had not my hand caught and saved 
 her. She did not at the first moment see to 
 whom she was indebted for this slight service, 
 and was beginning to thank me as a stranger ; 
 when perceiving who it was, she suddenly 
 became silent ; but in that eloquent silence 
 what was left unsaid ? 
 
 Captain Normanton, whose arm she was 
 holding, also started forward to save her, and 
 caught sight of her countenance at the moment 
 of her recognising me. My eye glanced on 
 him, and a look of more mortal agony I never 
 saw. It withered for a moment all my joy ; 
 and I felt as if I could have fallen at his feet, 
 and implored his forgiveness for all the ill which 
 I had wrought him. And yet it was not I, 
 for if I had never existed, I feel sure that she 
 would never have Hked him ; though to see her 
 prefer another must have been misery indeed ! 
 
 I thought I must speak, so saying a few 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE FIRST 
 
 words, I left them to pursue their way, and 
 went to help the old General. He was very 
 kind, and pressed my hand with great warmth ; 
 but as I gave him my arm to steady him against 
 the rolling of the ship, I felt that he was very 
 tremulous, and he seemed more shaken than 
 I had ever seen him before. He told me after- 
 wards what a great and painful effort it had 
 been to him to leave Nice, with all its charm 
 of recollections ; and that the needful prepa- 
 rations for his removal had very much ha- 
 rassed and wearied him. 
 
 When I had conducted him to the door 
 of the cabin, he begged me to come in ; but 
 seeing the Captain there, I felt I had better 
 not : so returned on deck. 
 
 As soon as I got there, Bruce — the ship- 
 mate I have mentioned — took my arm, and 
 walked off with me, away from the others. 
 
 "Lies the wind in that quarter?" he whis- 
 pered. " I thought as much, but chose to 
 wait a little before I hazarded my guess. I 
 suspect by this time however, that it is past 
 guessing work with any in the ship." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" I asked ; unwilling 
 to corroborate the truth of his suspicions.
 
 lieutenant's story. 83 
 
 " What do I mean, most innocent ? Wliy 
 that our Captain's in love with your love, 
 and that you'll have a stout battle to fight for 
 her before you win her ; that's what I mean." 
 
 " What makes you think so ?" 
 
 " Think that he is in love with her ! I don't 
 think it, T am sure of it ; and if I wasn't sure 
 of it, there's his cox wain's sure of it, and 
 Parkins is sure of it, and Smith's siu-e of it, 
 and Lawson's sure of it, and Saville's sure of 
 it, and—" 
 
 "Well, never mind," I said. But on he 
 went. 
 
 " — And Booth is sure of it, and Harris 
 is sure of it, and, " raising his voice higher 
 and higher, the more he savr I wanted to 
 stop him, " Streatfield's sure of it, and Raikes 
 is sure of it, and — " 
 
 *' There's one on board at least, who is not 
 sure of it," I said, when at last he stopped, 
 pretending to be out of breath. 
 
 " Is there ?" he exclaimed ; " then all I can 
 say is, that man's a — " 
 
 "Thank you," I replied, laughing at his 
 amiable, implied compliment, and willing he 
 should imagine it was myself I meant ; though 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE FIRST 
 
 in fact it was the General, who I knew was 
 wholly ignorant on the subject. 
 
 " But now, Bruce," I continued, " pray do not 
 go on in this way. You know my secret and 
 hers — not that you won it very fairly either; 
 but you do know it, and I feel sure will keep 
 it. But if you have any regard for the Captain's, 
 or for our peace whilst we are here, let matters 
 go on as quietly as possible. Draw the attention 
 of the men and the youngsters off as much as 
 you can, and take no more notice of this foolish 
 idea about the Captain. If a word of it were to 
 reach his ear, you may be sure it would be the 
 worse for us all ; and true or false, he would be 
 annoyed beyond measure, and naturally too." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll be as discreet as possible," he 
 said; "mute as a figure-head; delusive as a 
 dolphin ! But now I must tell you a piece of 
 news : -she's very beautiful !" 
 
 " I am glad you think so," I replied ; " though 
 of course you could not think otherwise. Yes, 
 she is beautiful !" 
 
 "And rich?" 
 
 " t believe so." 
 
 " You're a pretty fortunate fellow, I think ! 
 I only wish the chance had been mine."
 
 lieutenant's story. 
 
 Some contemptuous reply was just on my 
 lips, when looking into his fine face, and knowing 
 what a good fellow he was, I could only exclaim 
 with a smile : 
 
 " I am very glad it wasn't. I should have 
 stood but a poor chance after you." 
 
 " Well now, that's a very pretty compliment," 
 he said, " very — and very handsome of you to 
 make it ; so now I'm your friend for life. Not 
 a very old bird you see, to be caught by such 
 chaff." 
 
 He was indeed a friend to me ! -in after times, 
 oh, how great a friend ! But many also were 
 the services he did me during that trying, 
 but happy — torturing, but delightful passage 
 home; not only as to procuring me many a 
 quiet moment with Mary^for which, in his 
 kindness, he was ever on the watch — but 
 also, in diverting attention from us, and from 
 Captain Normanton also ; which last I cared 
 for almost more than the first. Not that it 
 was possible that any part of the affair could 
 remain much of a secret ; a ship's crew has too 
 little to divert or interest it, for the arrival on
 
 S6 THE FIRST 
 
 board of such a being as Mary to be a matter 
 of indifference. She could not come on deck 
 but what all eyes were turned on her; and 
 there was not one among us, from the Cap- 
 tain to the powder-monkey, who would not 
 have gone bare-headed and bare-footed, day or 
 night to have done her the slightest service. 
 
 But still Bruce, from being a general favour- 
 ite, and one moreover, who did not mind using 
 — though always well — the power he felt he 
 had over the others, stood in the gap in a 
 thousand instances. " Of course the Captain 
 must do this," and "of course he must do 
 that. Wasn't it his own ship ? and mustn't 
 he do the honours ?" And " of course St. 
 Clair has a right to speak to them ;" and " of 
 course he has a right to be with them ! Didn't 
 he save their lives ?" 
 
 This, which I overheard continually, kept 
 the others tolerably quiet; for they none of 
 them liked to come within reach of. his con- 
 temptuous " of courses."
 
 LIEUTENANT^S STORY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The very pleasure of our earthly pleasures, the very 
 affection of our earthly affections, makes the heart 
 quiver with their touch. — c. l. 
 
 There can be no entire satisfaction for our affections 
 in any created thing. Just as far, indeed, as we seek 
 God in them, earthy affections do become a rest for our 
 spirits ; but they can never satisfy all our need. No 
 human sympathy can be perfect ; it cannot come close 
 enough to us, it cannot reach the centre of our being. 
 There are inner, deeper tones in our souls, of which we 
 are at times painfully conscious, to which nothing of the 
 earth can perfectly respond. God has wrought these 
 wonderful powers into our nature, that we might be 
 capable of communion with Him ; and might be driven 
 to Him, by finding short of Him no perfect rest, no true 
 law of perfection. There are deep wants in our nature 
 that none but He can satisfy. — wilberforce's sermons. 
 
 It was beautiful weather when we set sail on 
 our way homewards ; and on the evening of the
 
 88 THE FIRST 
 
 day of their embarkation, General Sydney and 
 his daughter came up on deck with the Captain, 
 and one or two of the officers whom he had 
 invited to dine with them. I did not like to 
 join them, so contented myself with walking 
 occasionally near enough to catch Mary's eye, 
 and once or twice to hazard a whispered word 
 if the Captain was not near. 
 
 She was standing at one time looking towards 
 the receding shores of her native land, and I 
 saw that she was crying. It was very natural, 
 but I could not bear her tears. She did not 
 see that I was near; and as the others were 
 talking together on the quarter-deck, I quietly 
 breathed her name. She started, and seeing 
 me, strove to hide her tears. 
 
 " You are grieved to leave your own country," 
 I w^hispered ; " but you are going to mine." 
 
 " And mine, too," she replied. 
 
 Then seeing her father coming towards us 
 with rather unsteady steps, she went to meet 
 him ; and taking his arm, she led him to where 
 I was standing ; and under his sanction we 
 stayed and talked together for some minutes; 
 but seeing the Captain, who had been examining 
 something through his glass, turn round to
 
 lieutenant's story. 89 
 
 look for them, I took my leave, dreading alike to 
 incur his displeasure and to wound his feelings. 
 
 The ship made but little way for several 
 days, for there was scarcely a breath of wind ; 
 and during that time I had many moments of 
 great enjoyment. Mary remained but httle 
 below, frequently coming up with her father, 
 and w^alking about, induced by one or other of 
 the officers to examine different parts of the 
 ship. For such occasions, when the Captain 
 v^^as not there, Bruce was ever on the watch ; 
 he being, in fact, among the foremost in creating 
 them ; and if I was not on deck when they 
 occurred, he somehow or other always contrived 
 to let me know ; and thus I had many oppor- 
 tunities for conversation with Mary ; broken 
 and interrupted indeed, but still, as may be 
 imagined, delightful to me. 
 
 As she had her pianoforte on board, she 
 agreed, when she was not on deck, to carry on 
 a little intercourse with me through the medium 
 of music, in her talent for which delightful art, 
 as well as for painting and many other accom- 
 plishments, her Italian origin showed itself very
 
 90 THE FIRST 
 
 distinctly. I had heard her sing many beautiful 
 things ; and having got from her a list of them, 
 she let me select such as I wished her to sing 
 each day ; and as I heard her soft, but powerful 
 voice rising from beneath, or running through 
 the cabins between the decks, I felt that she was 
 speaking to me ; her spirit with mine, as mine 
 was with hers ; and though shut from each 
 other's sight, we were together in heart. 
 
 One evening we were on deck, when the sun 
 had given place to the light of the glorious 
 moon which, though not then at the full, yet 
 completely justified the well-known boast of the 
 Neapolitan Ambassador to one of our ministers : 
 "La lune du roi mon maitre, vaut bien votre 
 soleil ;" and as its yellow beams lay on the 
 waters at the ship's side, broken into myriads 
 of sparkles, it seemed as if I had never thought 
 it beautiful before. 
 
 We were making Port Mahon, and hove-to 
 there. The whole thing was so lovely ! The 
 bright heavens, the reflection of the lights from 
 the shore, and the calm outline of the isle itself, 
 as it 
 
 " Basked in the night-beam beauteously, 
 And the blue waters slept in smiles."
 
 lieutenant's story. 91 
 
 I had been invited by the Captain to dinner 
 that day ; and when we went up afterwards on 
 deck, he was happily busy giving some orders 
 elsewhere. 
 
 It was generally at such quiet times as these, 
 that the beauty of Mary's pious mind showed 
 itself the most delightfully ; but this evening 
 she seemed buried in her own thoughts. In 
 general, if she spoke to me of the things of 
 God, I could scarcely answer her a word ; but 
 now as the beauty of that scene, and the joy of 
 having her to look on it with me, pressed on my 
 heart almost to sadness, I felt a longing to hear 
 her speak of what alone could take that aching 
 pain aw^ay. Her holy feelings had alw^ays 
 soothed me ; and truly could I have said to 
 her at such times in the words of another : 
 *' Quand vous parlez, c'est comme de la mu- 
 sique !" I hstened for her to speak, but she 
 remained silent. 
 
 At last, weighed down by the oppression of 
 my overfull heart, I dropped my head on my 
 arms as they rested against the ship's side, and 
 murmured forth : 
 
 " Speak to me of God, Mary." 
 
 She did not answer me for a moment, save
 
 92 THE FIRST 
 
 by laying her trembling hand on my arm ; but 
 then she said : 
 
 " He is speaking to you Himself, Wilfred.*' 
 
 " But He has spoken to me so often by you, 
 Mary ! Let Him do so again now, for my 
 heart is heavy !" 
 
 " Why should it be so ?" 
 
 " I don't know, unless it is that I have more 
 happiness than I deserve, or know how to be 
 grateful for." 
 
 " Perhaps it is because it is only the happi- 
 ness of this world. Join to it the brighter 
 thought of God's heaven, and it will not 
 oppress your heart, I think. I am so sorry 
 that it does, for I have been so very happy !" 
 
 " Do you always think of God when you are 
 happy, Mary ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; but I always feel that the 
 joys of life are foretastes of what the joys of 
 heaven must be." 
 
 " Your's is a happy hfe then ! And why 
 should not mine be so too ? Why, when I have 
 everything to make me happy — happier than 
 ever I was in my life before — should I feel so — 
 almost miserable ?" 
 
 " I do not know, unless, as I said before, it is
 
 lieutenant's story. 93 
 
 because it is this world's happiness only. That 
 we know must perish and pass away, so it has 
 sadness often with it ; but God's joys increase 
 till they are perfect. It is His love which gives 
 us all good things ; and that thought makes 
 them doubly dear. In loving you, Wilfred, my 
 heart perpetually springs up to God with a love 
 I never felt before, because He has made me so 
 happy." 
 
 My heart w^as full — full of her sweet words, 
 and somewhat too of the love of God, which 
 seemed at that moment to mingle itself with 
 my exceeding love for her. I raised my head 
 and looked at her, and the load passed away 
 from my heart. 
 
 " I too, will bless God for His gifts," I said ; 
 " for who has such cause as I ? It is strange 
 that He should give such blessings to me, who 
 never in my life thought of Him till you made 
 me do so." 
 
 " God did that Himself, Wilfred, not I." 
 
 "You seem always to have Him in your 
 thoughts, Mary." 
 
 " I wish I had," she exclaimed, with such a 
 look. " Is it not delightful to have one's heart 
 in heaven, and heaven in one's heart ?"
 
 94 THE FIRST 
 
 "Did you always feel these things as you do 
 now ?" 
 
 " I never felt otherwise ; though of course, in 
 growing older, I feel and learn continually more. 
 But my mother taught me to think of them 
 when I could think at all, so I cannot trace 
 their first beginnings in my heart." 
 
 " Your mother ! was she not a Roman 
 Catholic r 
 
 " When she married, yes ; but when they 
 went to Nice, out of love to my father she 
 would go with him to church as well as to her 
 own service ; and Nice has generally been blessed 
 with good English ministers. One of these 
 was the means of her conversion." 
 
 " By showing her the errors of her own 
 
 faith r 
 
 " No ; I don't think he ever tried to do that 
 — at least, not unless she asked him; but he 
 showed her the truth, and then of course the 
 error fell away. I have heard him say — for he 
 lived long there — that there was no use in 
 emptying a mind of an error unless you put a 
 truth in its place; he thought that that was 
 what made so many Roman Catholics become 
 infidels. Either from their own minds, or the
 
 lieutenant's story. 95 
 
 arguments of others, they saw what was 
 not true in their faith; and then knowing 
 nothing better, they learnt to disbelieve ever}'- 
 thing. He used to say that was the meaning 
 of the parable about the evil spirit going out of 
 a house and leaving it empty ; you know which 
 I mean." 
 
 " Yes, when more evil spirits came in, and the 
 last state of that man was worse than the first." 
 
 "Yes, for he said, any faith, any belief in 
 Christ, however imperfect, was better than 
 none — a wholesomer state for the mind, and 
 might lead to the truth. It signified little, he 
 used to say, by what name men perished, 
 whether Protestant or Roman Catholic — and 
 all must do so, w^hose hearts were not con- 
 verted — turned quite to God ; so he spoke to 
 all alike ; and God blessed him very greatly to 
 those of both religions. He spoke so strongly 
 but so kindly — all loved him." 
 
 " And your father, Mary, does he feel ^sith 
 you ? Surely not." 
 
 Her colour rose painfully, and she looked 
 away as she said : 
 
 " I have hoped so. He went in every- 
 thing with my mother; but since then I
 
 96 THE FIRST 
 
 can hardly say, though still I think he wishes 
 for the truth. And I have prayed so much for 
 him ; and I can see no reason why God should 
 not answer my prayers. He is not all that my 
 mother was; yet to him I owe many good 
 thoughts, and I love to feel that 1 do so. What 
 happiness it will be when I meet my sweet 
 mother in heaven, and am able to thank her for 
 all she has done for me — and him too. Is it 
 not Newton who says : ' The Christian will 
 look back throughout eternity with interest and 
 delight on the steps and means of his conver- 
 sion.' ' My father told me this — my mother 
 told me that.' ^ Such an event was sanctified to 
 me — in such a place God visited my soul.' I 
 have often thought of that. I like to feel that 
 heaven is a continuation of earth, and not a 
 quite fresh, new thing; that seems so cold to 
 the heart." 
 
 " I suppose it is the idea that it was an end 
 of all things here, that has always made the 
 thought of death such a shuddering thing to me. 
 To leave all I have loved, to forget it, to lose 
 sight of this beautiful world, with all its pleasant 
 things and blessed memories, this chills my very 
 heart to think of; and 1 fear I do not as yet
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 97 
 
 value what I shall go to, sufficiently to make 
 me part from what I shall leave, without a pang." 
 
 " It is not parting, Wilfred, it is not parting ; 
 it is getting more in addition. Heaven cannot 
 be as a walled garden, out of which we are not 
 to move. All the universe will be ours to range 
 in and enjoy ; and why should we suppose that 
 earth alone — our own dear, dear earth ! — should 
 be the only spot from which we are to be exiled ? 
 When the ' outgoings of the morning and the 
 evening praise God,' why should we not be 
 there, even as now our voices may be allowed 
 perhaps to join the fervent, loving song of those 
 already before the throne? The church of 
 Christ is all one, Wilfred, whether journeying 
 here, or at home there." 
 
 " That is the most cheerful view, I have ever 
 heard taken of it," I said. '* Generally, people 
 speak of death, as if it were the darkest, dreariest 
 thing in creation ; or at best, a long, dreamless 
 sleep, before being admitted to heaven; and 
 that cold sleep sounds so chilly." 
 
 " The body sleeps, but not we — we are with 
 God ; and have celestial bodies." 
 
 " But it says our bodies are to be raised 
 again, and we to inhabit them again." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE FIRST 
 
 " I know it is said so, and so therefore it 
 must be ; but St. Paul speaks of being ' un- 
 clothed' of our present bodies, and immediately 
 * clothed upon ' by heavenly ones. And Moses 
 and Elias had bodies — visible appearances of 
 some kind; or the apostles could not have seen, 
 and recognised them, v^hen with our Lord." 
 
 " That recognising them, how wonderful ! 
 Men, whom they had never seen !" 
 
 **The Almighty Spirit of course told them 
 who they were. And think of us, Wilfred — you 
 and I, poor, frail things as we seem in compari- 
 son — think of our seeing, and conversing with 
 those holy beings. Oh ! what are we, gracious, 
 gracious Lord ! that we should be admitted 
 among such ; admitted — more than all — to see 
 Thee ' face to face !' Oh, Wilfred ! does not 
 the very thought thrill through the heart and 
 soul?" 
 
 '^ I don't know what it makes me feel — it seems 
 overpowering — so great, so high ! And then 
 that we can sin against God, and be vexed by 
 passing things !" 
 
 At that moment a step approached ; it was 
 Captain Normanton ; and what a comment on 
 what I had just been saying, was the revulsion of
 
 lieutenant's story. 99 
 
 feeling caused by his presence ! How, in a mo- 
 ment, was heaven, with all its heavenly things, 
 expelled from my mind; and earth's poor troubles, 
 and vexing irritations again established there. 
 Mary, too, seemed to participate somewhat in 
 my feelings; for she moved a Httle from me, 
 and spoke to her father, who was sitting near. 
 
 The moon had now quite disappeared ; but 
 her hidden lamp still shed a soft and misty 
 light around the spot where she had sunk. 
 
 " Are you not afraid of staying out so late, 
 Miss Sydney?" said Captain Normanton, in a 
 voice which showed he was trying to restrain 
 some unpleasant feeling. 
 
 " It has been so very warm," she replied, 
 " that I thought there was no danger ; but per- 
 haps it is getting rather late." 
 
 " But as you are here, perhaps you will not 
 mind staying a little longer, as I have been de- 
 tained from you so long," he said ; as he saw her 
 draw her shawl around her, and seem preparing 
 to depart. 
 
 " I — do not mind," she answered, seeming to 
 hesitate between her fear of encouraging, ana 
 her fear of offending him ; " but it does I think 
 get a little cold." 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE FIRST 
 
 " Will you have another shawl ?" he said. 
 " Mr. St. Clair I am sure will be good enough 
 to ask for one." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir," I replied ; amused at his 
 authoritative mode of getting his own way, 
 whether she wished it or not. 
 
 I ran down, and soon reappeared with a 
 shawl, which I was holding out for her to put 
 on, when, taking it from me, he said, rather 
 quickly : 
 
 " Thank you. Good night." 
 
 I was excessively annoyed : but I went to take 
 leave of General Sydney, and then wished Mary 
 good night. She held out her hand to me; 
 and even by that faint light, I could see the 
 sweetness of her look, as if she wished to make 
 up to me for any pain I might have to bear on 
 her account. 
 
 An impatient gesture from Captain Norman- 
 ton prevented my lingering as I would fain have 
 done ; and full of wrath, yet with the blest 
 consciousness of being beloved, I withdrew to 
 my hammock ; and had not been there long, ere 
 to my malicious satisfaction I heard Mary's 
 light footstep enter her cabin.
 
 lieutenant's story. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sweet ideals feed the soul, thoughts of loveliness 
 
 delight it ; 
 The chivalrous affection of uncalculating youth 
 
 lacketh not honourable wisdom. 
 Charge not folly on invisibles that render thee 
 
 happier and purer ; 
 The fair frail visions of romance have a use beyond 
 
 the maxims of the real. 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Human love can do no more than this : sacrifice 
 all for what it loves, and leave the issues to a higher 
 
 power. ELLEN PICKERING. 
 
 Oh I who hath loved, nor known 
 Affection's power exalt the bosom all its own. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 Sorry as I was for Captain Normanton, a 
 new source of anxiety soon arose, infinitely more 
 painful to me. Bruce had been, as I have said,
 
 102 THE FIRST 
 
 most kind in procuring for me opportunities of 
 being with Mary ; and at first he would often be 
 with us, when we went about the ship ; and his 
 spirits being as high as mine, we were certainly 
 a most joyous party. But after a time, though 
 ever faithful in summoning me, he would always 
 make some excuse for absenting himself. Self- 
 ishly full of my own happiness, I had not 
 noticed this, till Mary said to me one day : 
 
 " Why does not Mr. Bruce ever come with 
 us now ? I miss his joyful laugh, and like him 
 so much better than any of the others." 
 
 " I didn't observe that he was not with us," 
 I answered; as a slight feeling of jealousy passed 
 my mind (for, as I have told you, my wayward 
 temper often troubled her). "His absence seems 
 to make more impression on you than on 
 me." 
 
 She smiled ; but her smile had so much of 
 pain mingled with it, that I was sorely ashamed 
 of myself. 
 
 " I will go and see for him," I said. 
 
 She smiled again, and this time there was no 
 pain in her sweet look ; and wondering that she 
 could be so kind to one so unworthy of her love, 
 yet full of happiness, I bounded along the deck,
 
 lieutenant's story. 103 
 
 and in a moment had dived down into the lower 
 regions, 
 
 I found Bruce alone in the berth, sitting with 
 his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Bruce," I cried, " what are you doing here ? 
 Why don't you come up to us ?" 
 
 He had looked up sideways on hearing my 
 step ; but then relapsed into his former attitude. 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " Why don't you come up ?" I repeated. 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 " Bruce," I said in astonishment, " what is 
 the matter with you ?" And I went up and laid 
 my hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Go away, can't you," he said, shaking my 
 hand off, yet without raising his head. 
 
 " Yes, I can," I replied ; " but I don't choose 
 to, till you come with me." 
 
 " Then you may stay," he growled ; " for I am 
 not commg. 
 
 " But we want you." 
 
 " Not a bit of it !" 
 
 " We do, I tell you. Miss Sydney sent me 
 to say she wanted you." 
 
 " Did she ?" And he raised his head sud-
 
 104 THE FIRST 
 
 denly ; then dropping it again, murmured : " No, 
 she didn't." 
 
 " She did, I tell you !'* 
 
 *' She didn't, I tell you !'' 
 
 " I teU you, she did ! Come don't be obsti- 
 nate, and so very lazy ; get up, and come. She 
 wants to hear your joyous laugh again, she 
 says." 
 
 " I dare say she does," he repHed, with a 
 little taunt in his tone ; " but I'm not going 
 to laugh for hers or anybody's amusement. So 
 you may say I shan't come, or cant come ; I 
 suppose that would be civilest." 
 
 " Why can't you come ? What's the matter 
 with you ?" 
 
 " My grandfather's dead." 
 
 " But your grandfather's been dead these ten 
 years ; so that won't do," 
 
 " I didn't say when he died ; I only said he 
 was dead — and so he is." 
 
 " Bruce, are you gone mad ?" 
 
 " I don't know, and I don't care much," he 
 replied ; his pretended crossness giving place to a 
 tone of real sadness. 
 
 The pang that shot through me, as a sus- 
 picion of the truth all of a sudden flashed on
 
 lieutenant's story. ]05 
 
 my mind, I cannot describe. If there was a 
 being in the world I loved, next to Mary, it 
 was Bruce; if there was one, in the way of 
 whose happiness I would not for worlds have 
 stood, it was he. Yet here, all of a sudden, 
 I found myself, as I thought, between him 
 and his best wishes — him and his love ! I 
 stood looking at him in consternation for a 
 minute ; then, incapable of saying another word, 
 I left the berth. 
 
 I felt my mind in such disorder that I could 
 not immediatelv return on deck: and while I 
 was lingering below, I heard Mary's voice in 
 conversation with the Captain, so knew it was 
 in vain for me to go up then ; and for once 
 in my life I was glad of an excuse for not 
 joining her. 
 
 I sat down at the foot of the companion and 
 tried to arrange my thoughts. I was always 
 rather given to day-dreams ; things which, if 
 often of dangerous tendency, are not always 
 without their use ; — at least I have found it so. 
 In my reveries I had often liked to fancy myself 
 in such and such situations, and to think what 
 would be my feelings, and course of action under 
 them. Amongst other things I had tried to
 
 106 THE FIRST 
 
 fancy what I should do, if ever I found Mary 
 liking any one better than me; or if I saw 
 any one liking her, whom I thought more 
 worthy of her; and in both cases I had 
 imagined myself acting the most magnanimous 
 part, and sacrificing my own happiness to 
 promote theirs. 
 
 And now I really found myself in such a 
 case. I had not the smallest doubt but that 
 Bruce had fallen in love with her; and no 
 presumption of self-complacency, could make 
 me but acknowledge that he was infinitely 
 my superior in many ways, and infinitely more 
 worthy of her affection. What then should 
 I do? Should I conceal his love from her? 
 Or should I tell her of it, and offer to give 
 up my own claim, if she thought she could 
 like him best ? 
 
 But how could I give her up ? How even 
 bear to run the chance of doing so? The 
 thought seemed to drive me mad ! Yet where 
 then was all the splendid generosity with which 
 I had always determined to act ? Was the first 
 trial to overthrow it ? 
 
 I could not endure that thought ; and in a 
 transport of self-devotion I rushed back to the
 
 lieutenant's story. 107 
 
 berth where I had left Bruce ; determined to 
 ascertain whether my suspicions were, or were 
 not, correct ; and if they were, instantly to inform 
 Mary, and give her her perfect freedom. 
 
 Had I allowed myself a moment's pause, I 
 do not think I could have done it ; and perhaps 
 there was after all, more of chivalry, than of 
 sound sense in it altogether. But be that as 
 it may, in I went, and found Bruce sitting 
 exactly as I had left him. 
 
 " Bruce," I said, almost before I had shut 
 the door, " will you treat me as a friend, and 
 answer me one question ?" 
 
 ''That is as it may be," he replied, raising 
 his head, and stretching himself with a rather 
 affected vehemence, as if he wished to deceive 
 me into the belief that he had merely been 
 idle, or sleepy ; " a question is an easy thing 
 for such a lively fellow as you to ask, but an 
 answer is not always so easy for an idle dog 
 like me to give." 
 
 " Don't joke, Bruce !" I cried, " for I reaUy 
 want to talk to you. I am sure you are not 
 happy. We've always been friends — more so 
 than any in the ship — and I can't be happy, 
 while I see you are not so."
 
 108 THE FIRST 
 
 "Why should you suppose I am not so?" 
 he replied ; getting up, and brushing some piece 
 of imaginary dust from his trowsers. 
 
 " I'm sure of it," I said ; " and I fear greatly 
 that I am the cause." 
 
 " You ?" he said, stopping short in his 
 operations for a moment; and then resuming 
 them with redoubled energy. 
 
 **Yes, I feel sure that it is I who cause 
 your unhappiness; and the thought of that 
 makes me miserable. Now do sit down, and 
 let me speak to you quietly while I can." 
 
 He sat down, and again resumed his old 
 attitude, but said nothing. I took his silence 
 as encouragement, so went on. 
 
 " You know, and none but you," I began, 
 " that Miss Sydney is engaged to me ; condi- 
 tionally only indeed, as far as formality goes, 
 though an engagement of the heart I fully 
 believe it to be on both sides now. But I 
 was hasty in speaking to her; and she is 
 young, and hasn't seen many people; and 
 before the time comes for our being quite 
 — for everything to be settled, she might, you 
 know — perhaps, see somebody she might like 
 better than me — who might deserve her better,
 
 lieutenant's story. 109 
 
 and who might like her — not better — but as 
 well as I do ; and I only wish to say," and 
 I hurried on as if I feared dying before I could 
 get it out, " that if that ever w^ere so, I should 
 not wish to stand in their way — I should wish 
 her to be happy in her own way." 
 
 " And why do you wish to tell me this, in 
 particular?" said Bruce, without altering his 
 attitude, though his voice trembled as he spoke. 
 
 " Because you are the only person in the 
 world that I know of, who, if he did love her, 
 could love her, I think as well as I do ; and de- 
 serv^e her better ; and because I think you do 
 love her." And I felt as if I must have dropped 
 dead when I ceased speaking. 
 
 " I once read of a man," said Bruce, still 
 leaning down, " in some review it was — whose 
 horrid hatred to another was so great, that 
 though he meant to kill him, he would not do 
 so, till he saw him in the act of committing a 
 murder, which he himself had worked him up 
 to ; in order that he might be at the acme of his 
 enormities at the moment that his atrocious soul 
 was hurled into perdition. Now, being your 
 friend, St. Clair, if I had intended to murder 
 you, I would have waited till you had uttered
 
 110 THE FIRST 
 
 the words you have just spoken — the brightest, 
 and best that ever fell from niortal lips !" 
 
 He raised his head as he spoke, and grasped 
 my hand, while his features gleamed with his 
 high feeling, though they quivered with emo- 
 tion. 
 
 The tears sprung into my eyes as I re- 
 turned his grasp ; for I was overcome by his 
 words, and the great effort I had made ; though 
 I felt that he estimated my action far above its 
 due praise. 
 
 " There is nothing wonderful in what I have 
 done," I began after a few moments ; " nothing 
 but what you, Bruce, would have done in my 
 place." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," he replied more 
 lightly ; " I am not sure that I shouldn't have 
 followed the less generous but perhaps more 
 sensible course (and he smiled kindly) of allowing 
 my friend to keep his love to himself, and him- 
 self out of the way." 
 
 " Well," I said, " it might have been the 
 more sensible course perhaps ; but somehow I 
 could not have been happy in pursuing it. 
 What should I have felt, if in after times, I saw 
 I did not suit Miss Sydney as she expected ; or
 
 lieutenant's story. Ill 
 
 make her as happy as I should wish ? and then 
 remembered that, but for me, she might have 
 loved, and married you, who always make every 
 one happy about you ?" 
 
 " Why — I don't know," he replied ; " it would 
 have been painful to be sure ; but however as 
 Miss Sydney does love you, and doesn't love 
 me, she may be happy with you, but wouldn't 
 with me ; so that settles the matter as far 
 as she is concerned; and for myself, why I 
 must do the best I can, since I have chosen 
 to be such an incomparable idiot as to fall in 
 love with a girl who I knew was in love with 
 another. I only wonder, that instead of making 
 these romantic offers, you haven't given me my 
 choice of ' slugs in a sawpit,' or * hatchets in a 
 cellar ;' or snugly consigned me, like some poor 
 Bosphorian heroine to expiate my sins in the 
 cool grottos of Father Ocean's pleasure-garden. 
 I, spite of right, and might — for I shouldn't like 
 to come to a tussle with you — have often 
 longed to pitch you over the chains — that I can 
 teU you — when I have seen you, where I would 
 have given worlds to have been myself — fool 
 that I am !" 
 
 Forgetful of the mortal agony his success
 
 112 THE FIRST 
 
 would have given me, I again urged his trying 
 at least, his chance. 
 
 " What ! and throw you over !" he exclaimed. 
 " Nenni Seigneur, vous remercie, honneur vaut 
 bien maint amour. Remember what Landor 
 says : * He who is inspired by love in a great 
 degree, is inspired by honour in a greater ;' and 
 I trust it will ever be so with me." 
 
 " But for her sake !" I madly continued, " give 
 her the option ! let /ier judge ! I told you at first 
 that I shouldn't have liked you to have had 
 my chance, for I knew that I should have had 
 none afterwards myself; and even now she 
 seems to like you so much, that if she knew that 
 you loved her — " 
 
 " She never shall," he exclaimed, vehemently, 
 starting up ; " I'd blow my brains out first." 
 
 " Suppose I chose to tell her." 
 
 "Do so if you dare !" he said furiously, 
 seizing me by the collar, as if purposing to shake 
 the life out of me. 
 
 " Come, come," I said, half angry, half 
 laughing, laying my hands on his shoulders, 
 " be quiet, will you ; and be reasonable for once 
 in your life. You know I cannot wish to lose 
 her, no! the thought is dreadful!" And I
 
 lieutenant's story. 1 1 3 
 
 shook off his hands, and turned away in gi*eat 
 agitation ; striving to quell the storm of feeling 
 which rose within me, as for the first time I 
 really felt what the subject of our controversy 
 was. 
 
 " It is dreadful !" I heard him murmur, as 
 again he sat down, and resumed the attitude 
 of desponden(;y which seemed almost to have 
 become habitual to him. 
 
 " Yes ! dreadful to one of us it must be," 
 I continued. " The question therefore is, or 
 ought to be, what will be most for her happi- 
 ness ; for if you love — as I believe you, Bruce, 
 are capable of doing — you must know that true 
 love seeks the happiness of its object, and not 
 its own selfish pleasure." 
 
 " I know it — I know it," he replied, hurriedly ; 
 " but self will— will feel." 
 
 "It will, God knows how much ! But 
 ought we not to give her the option ?" 
 
 " Certainly not," he repUed again quickly ; 
 " for even granting — which I do not grant — 
 that I were likely to make her happier than you, 
 still she is pledged to you ; and if she is the 
 being whose idea I love, she would never be 
 
 VOL. L I
 
 114 THE FIRST 
 
 happy under a consciousness of having acted ill 
 by you, or any one. No, St. Clair, leave her 
 with the best happiness — a clear fame, and pure 
 conscience, and let me take my chance. I have 
 been a fool — I have fallen into the snare with 
 my eyes open ; and I deserve to suffer for my 
 pains. And as for you — if I do sometimes — 
 and I do — long to pitch you, as I said, over 
 the chains — yet you are the dearest jfriend I 
 have on earth ; and not the less so, for knowing 
 that — of friends — I hold first place with you." 
 
 '' You are a generous fellow to speak so to a 
 rival," I said. 
 
 " I don't call you a rival," he replied, a little 
 haughtily. " It is not as if we had entered the 
 lists together, and you had cloven crest and 
 helm, and made me bite the dust ; then I might 
 have felt a little sore ;" (and his look, and tone 
 showed that he would not in truth well have 
 borne that). " But now it is no such thing. I 
 have never appeared in the field : Fve only 
 taken a look at her, who is the priceless prize, 
 and suffered for it — that's all ! But now Fm 
 keeping you down here, when you ought to be 
 up there with her."
 
 lieutenant's story. 1 15 
 
 " No, when I went out just now, I heard our 
 Captain talking to her, so you know it would be 
 useless my going." 
 
 " You haven't offered to give her up to him, 
 have you, on the score of his happiness-giving 
 propensities ?" he said ; as one of his old, half 
 contemptuous, half playful smiles, crossed for a 
 moment his expressive face. " But I'm really 
 heartily sorry," he added, " for having wasted 
 all your time by my stupid folly." And he 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 " Anything but wasted," I replied ; " for no 
 time so well spent as that which shows us the 
 deep riches of a noble heart ; and turns a liking, 
 into a friendship for life." 
 
 " If you've found silver, I'm sure I've found 
 gold," he replied ; " so if you are satisfied, I 
 am." 
 
 How drossy was the " gold " he thought he 
 had found, God, and my own heart, only knew. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The pause of anxious fear, awaiting soon 
 The dimly-visioned object of its dread; 
 
 While the hushed bosom fears to pant or sob, 
 And the heart dares not throb. 
 
 UNPUBLISHED POEMS. 
 
 From the day we had that conversation, I 
 saw that Bruce's feelings acquired greater and 
 greater power over him — as is generally the case, 
 when once a thing is spoken of ; and I saw too 
 that Mary was aware of it. I perceived this the 
 day after I had spoken to him. 
 
 He had told me she was on deck; — and 
 how it went to my heart, when I thought what 
 it must have cost him to do so ! — and hurriedly 
 finishing what I was doing helow, I ran up, and 
 joined her, and her father, just as they were 
 passing him. She stopped to speak to him,
 
 117 
 
 asking him some simple question. He became 
 pale, then crimson ; and stammered out some- 
 thing of an answer ; while I turned away, 
 thinking that the consciousness that I was wit- 
 ness to his confusion, was partly the cause of it, 
 or at least increased it. In doing so, I caught 
 the expression of Mary's countenance. She 
 seem.ed wonderstruck as she looked at him; 
 then a deep suffusion covered her whole face, 
 and her manner too became agitated. 
 
 What a moment that was for me ! Millions 
 of agonies crushed into one point ! I felt dizzy, 
 and leaving her side, went and leant against one 
 of the masts. I could not look at either of 
 them ; yet could not let them out of my sight. 
 That Mary had read Bruce's feelings I felt 
 sure; and what might not be the effect upon 
 her? I felt suffocating, I could not breathe. 
 Hitherto I had had no rival but Captain Nor- 
 manton ; and I knew from the first that she 
 disliked him ; but now, here was one so made 
 to please, so winning, so full of feeling, so good ! 
 — would she not regret that she had so easily 
 given way to my wishes ? that she had so 
 hastily pledged herself to me, when she saw
 
 118 THE FIRST 
 
 that he loved her ? Might she not even now 
 involuntarily be led to love him, and find too 
 late, that her feeling for me was but a delusion 
 — a dream, which could satisfy her awakened 
 heart no longer ? Ah ! the sharp agony of that 
 thought ! 
 
 But what if it should be so ? Was not that 
 the very thing I had contemplated in idea but 
 the day before? Was not the likelihood of 
 her preferring him, the very thing which had 
 weighed on my conscience with such over- 
 powering force, and caused me to speak to 
 Bruce ? What then made so great a difference 
 between yesterday and to-day ? Wherein did it 
 lie ? Alas ! between the ideal and the real ; 
 between the distant and the near ; between the 
 resolve, and the performance. 
 
 Oh ! weakness of human nature, how great 
 art thou ' Oh ! strength of Divine grace, how 
 greater still ! In a moment there flashed across 
 my mind, the memory of the first prayer, which 
 I had ever offered up to God ; offered months 
 ago, near that very spot : the prayer that I 
 might become worthy of Mary's love. As the 
 thought of it darted through my heart, it be-
 
 119 
 
 came again a prayer ; and again peace, strength, 
 and courage, descended on my soul. 
 
 " One prayer ! what mercy taught us prayer ?" 
 
 I left the place where I had been standing, 
 and advanced to where Mary, and General 
 Sydney were speaking to some of the men — 
 Mary having as I had dimly seen, soon parted 
 from Bruce, who had gone below. She coloured 
 deeply as she met my eye, and turned her head 
 as if to examine something near. I stood by 
 her, but could not speak, so wild a tumult had 
 again returned upon my heart. I tried to do so, 
 that by a word or look in answer, I might 
 judge of what I had to hope, or fear ; but, 
 as is constantly the case, the more I sought 
 for words, the less could I force thena from my 
 lips. 
 
 To my great relief, however. General Sydney 
 soon spoke to me. The necessity of answering 
 seemed to break the spell which had lain 
 on me so painfully, and to take some of the 
 suffocation from my breast ; and at the sound 
 of my voice, Mary looked up ; and though she 
 coloured again, yet her blush was accompanied 
 by a smile so reassuring — conscious indeed —
 
 120 THE FIRST 
 
 yet so sweet, so confiding, that I could have 
 fallen at her feet, and implored her forgiveness, 
 for having for a moment mistrusted her con- 
 stancy and truth. 
 
 All was in an instant right between us ; and 
 in silent happiness we walked up and down the 
 deck. Both were conscious of possessing a 
 secret ; but the time and opportunity were not 
 such as to enable us to enter on it. Both felt 
 too, in the midst of our own happiness, a deep 
 sorrow for the noble heart whose feelings at 
 that moment were of so different a hue. 
 
 When I went below again, I found Bruce 
 with several of our messmates, seemingly ab- 
 sorbed in a volume of Lord Byron. I said not 
 a word, nor did he, till the others, one by one, 
 had walked away. Then, throwing down his 
 book with a considerable noise, he started up ; 
 and said, with a nervous attempt at a laugh : 
 
 " I'm a pretty keeper of a secret, St. Clair, 
 am I not ?" 
 
 *' Not very," I replied. *' But to say truth, 
 I shouldn't have thought your feelings very
 
 lieutenant's story. 121 
 
 strong, if you could have kept them from her 
 knowledge." 
 
 " But do you really think she observed any- 
 thing ?" he asked, with some confusion. 
 
 " I'm sure she observed something," I re- 
 plied; " and as she couldn't have suspected you 
 of having suddenly committed murder, or of 
 having abstracted a plank in order to sink us 
 all, she must, I imagine, have given the other 
 more probable solution of your agitation." 
 
 " I am such a fool !" he exclaimed; " such 
 an insufferable, unmitigable fool ! Why couldn't 
 I have kept out of her way ? How shall I ever 
 command a ship if I am to let my own flesh and 
 blood rise in mutiny against me in this ^vay ? I 
 would, as some one said, 'have paid a handsome 
 difference to have exchanged with the man in 
 the Black Hole at Calcutta ' — I would have 
 given all my year's pay — and yours too if that 
 hadn't been enough — to have been buried alive, 
 with the old Begum of something or other, eat- 
 ing her dinner at the top of me to keep me 
 down, rather than have stood upon that deck, 
 the li\ang idiot that I was !" 
 
 " Well, never mind," I said, " there was no 
 one to observe you, but her and me ; for the old
 
 122 THE FIRST 
 
 General sees nothing. I knew it before, and for 
 her, I don't think you need fear death from her 
 hands." 
 
 He was silent a minute ; then turning his 
 back to me, he said, in a nervous voice : 
 
 " If ever she mentions the subject, do you 
 mind telling me what she says ?" 
 
 " That depends," I replied; " if I feel that I 
 can, and ought, I certainly will — even — should 
 it be more encouraging than I might like." 
 
 " You're a good fellow !" he said, still with- 
 out looking towards me ; " but there's no fear 
 of that. But don't you begin on the subject ; 
 remember that ; give me a last chance of escap- 
 ing disgrace." 
 
 '* Disgrace ! where's the disgrace ?" I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " None to you ; I grant, success alters a case 
 mightily. But no man, St. Clair, depend upon 
 it, likes to have it known that he loves in vain." 
 
 " But with Mary and me, Bruce, you know 
 that such knowledge would only enhance our 
 regard for you." 
 
 " By adding pity to it, I suppose. I hate 
 your pity !" 
 
 " But as you said yourself, it is not as if you
 
 lieutenant's story. 123 
 
 and I had entered the lists together, and I had 
 won the prize from you. She was vowed mine, 
 before she ever saw you. Don't, my dear fel- 
 low !" I continued, " don't let hard thoughts 
 spring up in your mind towards me, or her ; it 
 would be a great misery to all if you did." 
 
 " No, no, St. Clair," he said, as turning 
 round he grasped my hand ; " I'll not do that ; 
 I owe you both too much ; far too much 1"
 
 124 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We love Thee, Lord, because when we had erred or gone 
 astray, 
 
 Thou didst recall our wand' ring souls into the heaven- 
 ward wa5^ 
 
 When helpless, hopeless, we were lost in sin, and sor- 
 row's night. 
 
 Thou didst beam forth a guiding ray of thy benignant 
 light ; 
 
 Because when we forsook thy ways, nor kept thy holy will. 
 Thou wast not an avenging Judge, but a gracious Father 
 
 still. 
 Because we have forgotten Thee, but Thou forgettest not; 
 Because we have forsaken Thee, but Thou forsakest not. 
 
 UNPUBLISHED POEMS. 
 
 Then love your gracious Father, child of man ! 
 Strive to perform His will, not that you fear, 
 But that you love. Love has a willing heart ; 
 Fear is the bond of slaves — and perfect Love 
 Casteth out fear. 
 
 TEGNER (bETHUNe's TRANSL.) 
 
 Free as our intercourse was together, it 
 was impossible but that the subject of Bruce*s
 
 lieutenant's story. 12 5 
 
 attachment should soon be mentioned between 
 Mary and me; though how it occurred I can 
 scarcely remember. 
 
 " I am very grieved about it," she said one 
 day. " Oh, that mv father would but let me 
 tell that I am engaged to you ! 1 1 would be 
 so much, much better. Then this would never 
 have been." 
 
 " Bruce knew that we wxre engaged," I said. 
 And I told her how that had happened ; adding ; 
 " Had he not known it, why should he have 
 kept out of your w^ay ?" 
 
 " But knowing it, how could he let him- 
 self—" 
 
 " How indeed ! unless he could not help 
 it ;" and I smiled, as, looking at her, I felt how 
 natural it was. 
 
 " I have felt much about Captain Nor- 
 manton," she said ; " but this is far sadder 
 to me ; for he should be loved so much !" 
 
 "You think so, Mary?" I said; a blackness 
 gathering at my heart. " TeU me then, if you 
 had not been engaged to me, could you have 
 loved him ?" 
 
 " If I had not loved you," she replied, lifting 
 her dark expressive eyes to mine, with calm
 
 126 THE FIRST 
 
 confidence and affection, " I could have loved 
 him, I think, very much ; hut that makes all 
 the difference." 
 
 " But if you saw much of him, and always 
 found him what you now think him, do you 
 feel as if you could love him — better than 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't think I could," she answered ; adding 
 with a smile : " and I don't mean to try. But 
 I see fully, and feel deeply, your motive in 
 asking me ; and I shall never forget, Wilfred, 
 that you were willing to sacrifice yourself for 
 me. 1 know it is not want of love, but great 
 love, which makes you willing to give up all your 
 happiness for mine." 
 
 "It is," I replied; "and I thank God from 
 the bottom of my heart that I can now love 
 you, and see you love me, in peace. For Bi*uce, 
 however, I feel very much ; and wish heartily 
 we were on shore that he might leave a place so 
 trying to him." 
 
 " If you feel for him — as I know you do — 
 and wish to do him good, you have much in 
 your power that you might do." 
 
 "What?" 
 . " I have often grieved in thinking of him,
 
 127 
 
 that so little of godly feeling seemed mixed 
 with his many delightful qualities ; and if you 
 could but lead his mind to the knowledge, and 
 love of Him, ' whom to know is life, and to love 
 is bhss,' you would be making up to him a 
 million-fold, for any passing sorrow of this 
 passing life, which we might have given him. 
 Do try, dear Wilfred ! Lead him to see the 
 lost state of his soul, and — " 
 
 " Lost state of his soul !" I exclaimed, in- 
 dignantly ; " what can make you use such an 
 expression with regard to him? Of all crea- 
 tures in existence, next to yourself, I am sure 
 that he is most certain of heaven. Who is 
 there like him? So generous, so frank, so 
 warm-hearted ! If he is lost, who can deserve 
 to be saved ?" 
 
 "None certainly," she replied; "for does 
 not ' bein^ saved,' infer that there is some- 
 thing to be saved from? namely: the 
 punishment due to our sins ? We cannot 
 then deserve punishment, and yet deserve to 
 be saved from it !" 
 
 " No, certainly," I replied ; " I did not think 
 of that ; for one so often hears the expressions 
 of ' deserving heaven,' and ' meriting salva-
 
 128 THE FIRST 
 
 tion/ that the idea of its being impossible 
 — which it is — never struck me. But still, 
 how can you call Bruce ' lost ?' Are not 
 his good qualities a proof that he is a child 
 of God?" 
 
 "Not quite," she replied gently. *' Some 
 author says, *A man may obey every law of 
 God, without nevertheless obeying God; for 
 He has told us to do all things from love 
 to Him.' And do you think that it is love 
 to God, which makes Mr. Bruce's feelings so 
 generous, and good? or is not merely that 
 his natural disposition is delightful ?" 
 
 " But if it is even only that, it is God who 
 has given him that disposition." 
 
 " Yes, but if he acts merely to please himself, 
 and not to please God, is not that a proof that 
 he is not God's child ! Did you ever read any 
 of Chalmers' works ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " They are so beautiful I He says in one of 
 them : ' That which makes the moralities of this 
 world nothing but " splendid sin," is that there 
 is nothing of God in them.' " 
 
 " A curious expression ! Why should he call 
 them ' sin ' ?"
 
 lieutenant's story. 129 
 
 " Because, as he says, * there is nothing of 
 God in them.' That is the essence of sin. If 
 you were the most devoted of sons, gi^^ng up 
 everything for your mother, seeking your plea- 
 sure only in hers, yet thought not of God, — does 
 that not prove that you would do for the object 
 of an earthly affection, what you would not do 
 for God ? And is not that sin ? — though being 
 beautiful outwardly, it may be called — as Augus- 
 tin called it first, and afterwards Chalmers 
 — 'splendid sin'? Oh, dear Wilfred! it is 
 the heart's love to God, which alone proves us to 
 be His children ; nothing else ; and that is a 
 feeling that brings all joy." 
 
 " Well then, tell me what I can do for Bruce ? 
 for truth to say, I do not think he has any love 
 to God, such as you describe. I have often 
 heard him say light things on the subject ; and 
 indeed so have we all ; for you have no notion 
 what a set of beings we are in general when 
 together." 
 
 "Have you ever spoken lightly of those 
 things ?" 
 
 " I have, Mary ; but never can again, for I 
 never again can feel lightly ; and it is from that, 
 that all the evil comes." 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 130 THE FIRST 
 
 " I did not think you could ever have done 
 so," she murmured in a low voice. 
 
 " I wish from my soul I never had ; but 
 as I told you, you really have no idea of 
 what creatures like us are, in general. I 
 can't hear to think of it now ; though I will 
 say for Bruce and myself, we are not like 
 many of them ; only so very careless and 
 thoughtless ! But the worse I have been, 
 Mary, the more ought you to rejoice in 
 having done me good, — for you have done 
 me much good, and will, I trust, do me a 
 thousand times more. Yes," I added, after 
 a pause, " you are right in wishing to do that 
 poor fellow good, for if the happy need God, 
 how much more the unhappy ! What shall 
 I do for him then ?" 
 
 " Pray, first, for God to open his heart, and 
 then speak — what you feel. What comes from 
 the heart, goes to the heart. He reads the 
 Bible does he not ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Nor prays ?" 
 
 " I believe not. He said one day ^ he could 
 not fancy himself praying.' " 
 
 She was silent.
 
 lieutenant's story. 131 
 
 " I see you think very ill of us," I said after 
 a time. 
 
 " Not of you, Wilfred ; — for surely you pray, 
 and read the word of God." 
 
 I was silent now in my turn ; for conscience 
 told me, that I had been as neglectful as Bruce 
 in these matters. I saw the grief that shaded 
 her eyes ; and it fell like lead upon my heart. 
 Never had a real sense of sin struck my soul 
 till that moment ; and the effect which the 
 knowledge of it produced on the pure being 
 before me, made me feel in some degree what 
 I must appear before the All-pure himself. 
 
 "Wilfred," she said, after a little while; 
 " it was sinful and careless in me, not to have 
 found out what your feelings were, before I 
 promised to be your wife ; but I did not 
 think you were one who could ever have 
 forgotten to ask the protection of Him, who 
 alone can protect, — or have neglected to use 
 the mighty privilege of seeking peace and 
 joy from the blessed w^ord of God. What 
 would you think, if you had written me a 
 letter full of kindness, and unbounded love; 
 relating sufferings you had endured for me, 
 
 K 2
 
 J 3 2 THE FIRST 
 
 — benefits you had procured me ; asking 
 me too to do such and such things for my 
 own happiness, and your love's sake — and I 
 refused, or neglected to read your letter, 
 throwing it aside with other forgotten things? 
 Would you think highly of my love — my 
 devotion to you ? surely not ! And is not 
 the Bible, a letter, written to each of us, by 
 our heavenly Father's hand? telling us that 
 He * wills not that any should perish ;' and 
 that 'He so loved us as to send His son 
 to die for us,' and speaking so many, many 
 words of peace and joy? And have you 
 neglected it ? — Yes ! I ought to have known 
 your feelings, before I pledged my faith .to 
 you ; but yet I trust — I pray that God will 
 not visit my carelessness upon me; but 
 will grant me the desire of my soul, the 
 agony of my heart — and that you may be 
 saved." 
 
 "You really think I may, Mary," I said; 
 my whole heart melted within me, by the 
 gentle sorrow, yet encouragement of her tone 
 and words ; " that hope then shall be ever 
 before me ; and I wdll pray ; and try to enjoy
 
 lieutenant's story. 133 
 
 fully the privilege of having God to go to 
 as a friend at all times. I have found it, and 
 wonder I have not sought it oftener. His 
 word too I will read. But tell me where 
 to begin, for I am so ignorant !" 
 
 " Read then, dear Wilfred, will you ? to- 
 night, the fourteenth chapter of St. John. I 
 think always that if any one begins there, 
 they cannot stop, or fail to wish for more. 
 The very first words are so cheering, so 
 attracting. * Let not your heart be troubled, 
 ye believe in God, believe also in me.' " 
 
 " Cheering indeed ! But why did our Lord 
 make that distinction : ' Ye believe in God, 
 believe also in me ?' He was God'' 
 
 "I think His meaning must have been, that 
 the belief in God — God the Creator — the 
 Judge — could bring nothing but a sense of 
 condemnation to the sinful soul. But Christ 
 having reconciled God's justice to us, by 
 suffering in our stead, we need not 'be 
 troubled,' for there is henceforth no condemna- 
 tion to them that are in Him; Christ Jesus, 
 having as St. Paul says, 'thrown down the 
 middle wall of partition, making of two, one.' 
 Does not that seem likely to be His meaning ?"
 
 134 THE FIRST 
 
 "Yes, I think so. But will you tell me, 
 Mary — though do not despise me, for being 
 so very untaught in these things — how it was, 
 that Christ reconciled us to God ?" 
 
 " Dear Wilfred, you must know that Christ 
 died for us." 
 
 " Yes, I know that in words, but still some- 
 how, it brings with it no definite idea to my 
 mind. And when one thinks about it, the 
 more He tells us our duty, and what we 
 ought to do, the greater is our sin in not 
 doing it !" 
 
 " He saved us, not by the duties He taught 
 us to do, but by enduring for us the punish- 
 ment we deserve for not having done them. 
 You know, Wilfred, that being God, He could 
 not sin ; and you know too, that without sin 
 there is no suffering. How could then Jesus 
 have suffered, had not our sins been laid upon 
 Him? — he bearing the punishment of them 
 for us? And as by His sufferings He took 
 away our punishment, so by His having kept 
 perfectly the holy law of God in our place. 
 He has deserved for us, and given to us, eternal 
 life." 
 
 " Then all in the world are saved ?"
 
 lieutenant's story. 135 
 
 "Yes, they are all saved^ but they 
 do not all come to salvation, because 
 they do not think about it, or care about 
 it. The pardon is signed, and scaled 
 for all ; but many are not the better for 
 it, because they will not go and ask for 
 it. If a kingdom had revolted, and a free 
 pardon was proclaimed for all who came and 
 sought it, would you not say there was pardon, 
 or salvation for all ? But if some from thought- 
 lessness, and others from an unsubdued wiU, 
 would not seek that pardon, then they would 
 not benefit by it, though it lay there waiting 
 for them ; and on them therefore the con- 
 demnation of the law they had broken, would 
 justly fall. Have I made my meaning clear? 
 for I am but a poor explainer." 
 
 "Yes," I answered, much struck by what 
 she had said. " But yet it seems such pre- 
 sumption ! I should never dare to think I was 
 pardoned — such a sinner as I am !" 
 
 " If you asked it for any merits of your own, 
 it would be presumption ; but your claim is the 
 merit of another." 
 
 " Yes, dear Mary, I understand that ; but
 
 136 THE FIRST 
 
 what right have I to go and ask for It, even 
 though it is for the merit of another ?'* 
 
 "The right of having received a pressing 
 invitation to accept it as a gift. 
 
 ** ' Just as I am, without one plea, 
 
 Save that Thy blood was shed for me, 
 And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee, 
 O, Lamb of God ! I come.' 
 
 These are solemn things," she added , " but 
 full of eternal joy to the pardoned heart." 
 
 " But if I sinned after being pardoned, what 
 then r 
 
 " You grieve for that sin, and, confessing it, 
 ask for more strength." 
 
 " But should I not be condemned for it ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! God when He takes you for His 
 child for Christ's sake, knows you are not per- 
 fect ; He ' accepts you as you are, for you give 
 yourself to Him, and gradually makes you, such 
 as He would have you to be.' Once saved, you 
 are saved for ever ; all your sins, past, present, 
 and future, were all borne by Christ, and are 
 therefore all pardoned. The whole work of your 
 salvation was accomplished when our Lord
 
 lieutenant's story. 137 
 
 bowed His head upon the cross and said : ' It is 
 finished.' " 
 
 " Oh Mary ! can that be ? Why then we 
 might do all that we liked." 
 
 " What would you like to do towards me 
 whom you love, Wilfred ?" 
 
 " You ? Please you of course, in ever}' thing, 
 if I could." 
 
 " And those who love God, like to please Him 
 in everything. W^hen they do not, it is sorrow 
 to them ; and the more they feel the certainty 
 of forgiveness, the more sorrow do they feel for 
 offending Him who has forgiven them. If they 
 kept from evil, for fear of condemnation, they 
 w^ould be working for themselves — an aim, as 
 has been said : * selfish and idolatrous ;' but 
 when they know that all their punishment has 
 been borne for them, that their own concerns 
 are all safe for ever, — then they love to please 
 Him who has done such things for them. ' The 
 love of Christ constraineth us,' St. Paul says, 
 * not to live unto ourselves, but unto Him who 
 gave Himself for us ;' and that love, God puts 
 into the hearts of all His children. In fact He 
 puts Himself there, making us ' temples of the 
 Holy Ghost.' "
 
 138 THE FIRST 
 
 " How wonderful these things seem I" 
 " How wonderful they are ! but not more 
 wonderful, than that men should have such 
 happiness offered them, and reject it." 
 " They do not know it to be happiness." 
 " No ; like the men in Noah's time, * They 
 knew not, till the flood came, and carried them 
 all away ;' yet they had been told of it, for a 
 hundred and twenty years. Oh ! Wilfred 1 
 Christ is the only ark of safety. We seek for 
 peace — we seek for happiness — vainly — till we 
 find Him. 'Those who find Him seek no 
 further.' "^ 
 
 " I will seek Him, Mary, and will begin read- 
 ing to-night where you told me ; and if I can, I 
 will ask Bruce to do so too." 
 
 * Dunnallan.
 
 lieutenant's story. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 That field of Promise ! how it flings abroad 
 Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road ! 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 The pious are slower to help right, than the profane to 
 hinder it. 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The Lord uphold and strengthen ye for your work ; 
 the Lord guide ye with the uplifting of His countenance, 
 and give ye to walk firm in the midst of tribulation, and 
 not to falter, or be weary in the way. — merkland. 
 
 Among all the instruments to our delight, there is not 
 one so potent, during its fugitive controul, or so mys- 
 terious as music. — colloquies, &c. by landor. . 
 
 On leaving Mary I went below; and after 
 having seen to a few things, I took up my Bible, 
 (for though I had never read it, I possessed one, 
 — the gift of my mother), and looked for the
 
 140 THE FIRST 
 
 chapter she had named to me. I expected some 
 jeering from my messmates, should they observ^e 
 my new occupation, but was determined that 
 that should not prevent my doing what I now 
 felt w^as a duty. The thought of pleasing 
 Mary, and the charm of reading words which 
 she delighted in, formed, I was aware, a great 
 part of the motive which determined me to per- 
 severe, but by no means the whole. What she 
 had said, had shown me the sin of treating with 
 such contemptuous negligence, the great ' letter ' 
 of my Heavenly Father ; and I determined that 
 no day of my life should henceforth pass, with- 
 out my enriching my soul with some of its 
 precious stores. 
 
 Little, however, did I anticipate the exceeding 
 preciousness of the words I was about to read ; 
 and as I read them, and somewhat of their spirit 
 stole into my breast, how did I marvel at the 
 bhndness, and folly, which had so long made me 
 shut out from myself such sunny influences, and 
 such heavenly joy ! 
 
 Well indeed had she chosen that portion of 
 God's blessed word, for a young, and thoughtless 
 heart like mine ; for the tenderness, and love 
 there displayed, the power spoken of, and the
 
 lieutenant's story. 141 
 
 peace promised, were supremely calculated to 
 melt the icy breast, and send its gushing feelings 
 upwards to its God ! I read on, and on, — I 
 could not stop. 
 
 I was happily quite alone when I thus took 
 my first draught of the pure * waters of life ;' 
 and it was well for me that the words : 'Be of 
 good cheer, I have overcome the world,' were 
 still echoing through my heart, when I heard 
 some of my shipmates come down. I knew 
 now the value of the treasure w^hich was opened 
 before me, and was not in a mood lightly to 
 have it snatched from me ; and I knew also, 
 on what arm I must depend for gaining the 
 victory. I would not hastily put by my book, 
 for I dreaded beginning by giving way to my 
 own cowardice. 
 
 I breathed a hasty prayer, as I heard the 
 rushing feet of several of the youngsters mnning 
 down the ladder, in wild sport and spirits. I 
 knew them all well, some vicious, some weak, 
 some amiable ; all with their faults, all too, with 
 their better qualities. I could not forget — 
 merely because my own mind was now a little 
 changed — the light way in which I too had 
 been used to \aew these things ; and I could not
 
 142 THE FIRST 
 
 therefore but feel for those who were still 
 unknowing of the vein of gold that had been 
 opened to me. 
 
 I was not prepared before it was needful. 
 They all burst into the berth like boys playing 
 at ' Hare and Hounds,' when on seeing my 
 Bible before me, the foremost of them stopped 
 short with a theatrical start, and silencing the 
 others, advanced on tiptoe, as if about to 
 examine some venomous beast. When he came 
 close, he made a sudden dart at the Bible ; but 
 I having watched him, unable almost to prevent 
 laughing at his absurd ways, saw what his inten- 
 tion was ; and catching it up, instantly deposited 
 it in safety in the chest where I had always kept 
 it. He then, as I was returning, flourished out 
 both his hands, so as to call the others to take 
 hold of them, and sang out : 
 
 " Come let us dance this round-a-round-a- 
 round, &c." 
 
 And all joining hands, they got in a circle 
 round me, prancing with all imaginable antics, 
 till out of breath they stopped, dropping down 
 on chests, the deck, or whatever first presented 
 itself. In the midst of the confusion, in came 
 Bruce.
 
 lieutenant's story. 143 
 
 " Holloa !" he cried, " what's all this noise 
 about ?" 
 
 The prime mover stepped forward in the 
 same theatrical way as before ; and bowing 
 low to Bruce, who looked the picture of scorn — 
 for though full of fun himself, he had a hatred 
 of everything approaching to buffoonery — said, 
 in the most affected of voices : 
 
 " It is only the ebullitions of joy in youthful 
 spirits, Mr. Bruce, at the charming discovery 
 that from amongst us wicked sinners has sprung 
 up a ' Saint '—Clair." 
 
 " St. Clair, do you mean ?" said Bruce in 
 great indignation ; going up to him as if 
 he meant to knock him through the ship's 
 side. 
 
 " My dear Bruce," I said, taking hold of 
 his arm, " we have all been playing the fool 
 together ;" — for I had really laughed as much 
 as the others, they were so very absurd — " and 
 I am so hot that I must get out of this black 
 hole; so come up on deck with me." And 
 I dragged him off, still scowling defiance at the 
 others.
 
 144 THE FIRST 
 
 " What was it all about ?" he said, when we 
 got on deck. 
 
 " Oh ! only they found me at the unwonted 
 occupation of reading the Scriptures," I 
 answered ; "and so they were inclined to 
 make merry a little at my expense. But 
 there was no good in being angry about it ; 
 it will all do very well in a little while ; and 
 I don't care about it much." 
 
 *' But what on earth have you taken to read 
 the Scriptures for?" exclaimed Bruce con- 
 temptuously ; forgetting how enraged he had 
 been with the others but a minute before. 
 " Are you turning Methodist ? You'd better 
 not, or you and I shall soon part company, 
 I can tell you. I hate your canters, and 
 psalm-singing scoundrels !" 
 
 I made no answer, for I did not choose to 
 be spoken to in such a way, even by him. 
 
 He again repeated his question in still more 
 offensive terms ; and I still remained silent. 
 Had I spoken, it must have been intempe- 
 rately — an ill result of reading God's word, 
 he would have thought. 
 
 " Can't you answer a man when he asks
 
 lieutenant's story. 145 
 
 a plain question ?" he said, in a most irritating 
 tone. 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " when he asks it as he 
 ought." And I turned away, and began talking 
 to some one else. 
 
 He stopped in surprise when he saw I was 
 gone, and stood still a moment ; then resumed 
 his walk more rapidly than before ; coming 
 so near me several times, as to brush by me 
 as he passed. I felt my temper getting into 
 a fearful storm ; and I think 1 must have 
 knocked him down, if he had done it again ; 
 but the words : " Peace I leave with you, my 
 peace I give unto you," rose to my remem- 
 brance, and in a moment stilled the tempest 
 in my breast. Oh, how delightful it was to 
 me, thus to have the evidence of God's pre- 
 sence with me ! having begun, as I had, to 
 crave for His love and favour. 
 
 Just then too rose on my ear, that voice 
 which had been the messenger of grace to 
 me; and which then came with an angel's 
 power to soothe and strengthen. At its sound, 
 Bruce stopped short in his walk ; and when 
 he resumed it, it was with a quieter step. He 
 took his line, I evidently saw, wider of me this 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE FIRST 
 
 time ; so as he passed, my anger having 
 vanished, I fell into the step with him, and 
 walked up and down together again, as quietly 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 " What is she singing ?" he asked at length, 
 in a voice whose sadness went to my heart. 
 " ' Ruth,' " I replied. 
 
 *' What are the words ? You know them, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 I repeated them ; when coming to the 
 passage : " Thy people shall be my people, 
 and thy God my God," he interrupted me; 
 saying in a tone vibrating between contempt, 
 and tenderness : 
 
 " Was it that, that set you reading your 
 Bible this afternoon ?" 
 
 " If you mean the wish that Mary's God 
 should be mine," I replied, " yes ; besides that 
 she had herself begged me to read it." 
 
 " And so you think,'' he continued, all 
 tenderness having left his voice, " that the 
 wish to please a woman, and the poor-spirited- 
 ness that makes you do everything that a 
 woman desires you, is religion, do you? / 
 call it contemptible, insufferable cant, and 
 hypocrisy."
 
 lieutenant's story. 147 
 
 I often wonder that I did not strike him 
 to the deck at that moment ; for I felt suddenly 
 on fire with rage ; my blood boiled in my veins 
 till I thought they would have burst. Furiously 
 turning to him, 1 asked what he meant by 
 speaking in that way. 
 
 He did not answer for a moment, checked 
 a little by the storm he had raised in me ; 
 but his countenance instantly resuming its 
 character of contempt — his eye glowing, and 
 his nostril quivering with passion as he tui-ned 
 his ashy face to me, he seemed about to launch 
 forth some new insult, when the voice again 
 sounded ; and the words : " Entreat me not to 
 leave thee," rose almost as an embodied form 
 between us. The current of my feelings 
 instantly changed ; and had I been alone, I 
 could have thrown myself upon the deck, and 
 wept passionate tears in the bitterness of my 
 spirit. I put up my hand vehemently, to stop 
 Bruce's speaking, and said : 
 
 " No more of this." And turning, I went 
 below. 
 
 When there, I paused a moment to catch 
 Mary's voice more distinctly ; and again heard 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE FIRST 
 
 her pronounce the words : " Thy God, my 
 God." 
 
 Oh ! with what soothingness did they come 
 to my heart ! 
 
 " Yes !" I thought, " thy God shall be my 
 God." And I covered my face with my hands, 
 to force back the softened tears which the 
 thought of Him, whom my fierce passion must 
 so much have displeased, caused to gush up 
 from the very bottom of my soul. I dared not 
 stay there, lest any one should see me, so 
 turned into my berth ; and as no one was 
 there — with that craving for spiritual things 
 which the really awakened mind so invariably 
 feels — I again drew forth my Bible, and once 
 more read those blessed words : " Let not your 
 heart be troubled." 
 
 Peace settled down again upon my soul, and 
 under its Heaven-sent influence T wondered that 
 things so light as human words, should have 
 power to lash the mind to such fury. I was 
 young in godly feeling then, and knew not with 
 what mighty power Satan works, when he finds 
 the prey he had thought his own, escaping from 
 his grasp.
 
 lieutenant's story. 149 
 
 Though my soul was tranquillized under the 
 word of God, yet my physical being was still 
 all in agitation from the \iolence of my late 
 feelings; and the thought that it was Bruce 
 who had so insulted me — Bruce, for whom I 
 had been willing to do so much ! — was the 
 bitterest that had ever crossed my mind. It 
 seemed as if I could never call him friend 
 again ; for besides his enmity to religion, his 
 words respecting me and Mary, could not be 
 forgotten.
 
 150 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 His beautiful eyes ! they ill become the flash, 
 That blasts like lightning in its sheer descent. 
 Tears might have trembled on their long dark lash, 
 A seraph's tears ! — 
 
 Or seraph-rapture might have glistened there, 
 When forth on messages of love he went. 
 To snatch the thorn-wreath from the brow of care : 
 Or bring to waiting hope the promised meed of 
 prayer. 
 
 HANKINSON. 
 
 I WAS sitting brooding over Bruce's words 
 in strange disturbance of mind, forgetful of the 
 peace-giving volume which still lay open before 
 me, when Palgrave, the ringleader in the late 
 attack, came again into the berth. I scarcely 
 thought of him, however, for my mind was full 
 of other things ; and I should hardly have 
 noticed him as he came in and went out again
 
 lieutenant's story. 151 
 
 had I not heard a sound of other feet at the 
 half-opened door, and caught the words, spoken 
 in a low whisper by one of the younger lads : 
 
 " No, don't, Palgrave, he was so good- 
 humoured before." 
 
 " Hang his good-humour !" said Palgrave. 
 
 Still, however, I did not think of the Bible, 
 so much did the painful thought of Bruce 
 absorb me ; till Palgrave having re-enterpd the 
 berth, and walked quietly to the table, suddenly 
 snatched it up, and in an instant tossed it up 
 to the beams. It had not far to go, and as it 
 came down again, catching it on his foot, he 
 kicked it up again. In an instant I had 
 stretched him on the deck, and his head coming 
 in contact with one of our chests was cut open, 
 and bled profusely as he lay on his back 
 stunned by the fall. All the others who had 
 been staying behind the door, rushed in, and 
 Bruce, who had just come down stairs, came 
 in with them. I was trying to lift Palgrave 
 up. 
 
 " What's this ?" he exclaimed, his eyes flash- 
 ing fire. " You have murdered him !" 
 
 " i hope not," I said, " for he is in no state 
 to die." I had seen that he was only stunned,
 
 152 THE FIRST 
 
 or I could never have answered with such appa- 
 rent indifference. 
 
 " No, he's not dead/' said Bruce ; as he and 
 some of the others helped to raise him from 
 the deck ; " the better for you. Here, one of 
 you, run for the surgeon, while I go to the 
 Captain. Brutality like this shall not be suffered 
 to pass." 
 
 " Dpn't say a word against St. Clair," ex- 
 claimed the boy, whose voice I had recognised 
 at the door, as expostulating with Palgrave — 
 " for if he hadn't knocked that fellow down, 
 I'd have done it myself." 
 
 I looked at the noble child as he spoke — 
 the youngest, and the deserved " darling of 
 our crew," a little fellow scarcely five feet high, 
 -Bruce being above six — his boyish counte- 
 nance glowing with indignation, as he looked 
 defiance up into the other's face, — a second 
 David, defying a second Goliath ! 
 
 Bruce seized him by the arm with so fierce 
 a grasp as shook his whole frame. The boy 
 compressed his lips, evidently to keep back 
 the cry of pain which that iron gripe almost 
 forced from him, while he kept his kindling 
 eye still proudly upon Bmce's.
 
 lieutenant's story. 153 
 
 I threw myself beUveen them. 
 
 " Stand back," I cried to Bruce, " and keep 
 your coward hands off the boy." 
 
 Bruce's whole fury then turned on me, 
 against whom in fact it was all directed ; for he 
 had no personal spite against young D'Arcy, 
 but had always loved the boy. He threw the 
 child from him with a violence that sent him 
 staggering back against the bulkhead, and rush- 
 ing on me, seized me with, both hands round 
 the throat. I should have been dead in a 
 minute, had I not thrown my arms round his 
 body, and, with a strength I can never think of 
 without astonishment — for he was as tall, and 
 much stouter than I — hurled him to the deck. 
 
 At that moment the Captain entered, having 
 been informed of the affray; and seeing my 
 violence towards Bruce, instantly ordered me 
 into arrest. In vain all voices were raised to 
 say that the attack w^as commenced by Bruce ; 
 the Captain pointed to Palgrave, who was still 
 but partially recovered from his stupor, and to 
 whom the surgeon w^as attending, and said : 
 
 " At any rate, I am informed that Mr. St. 
 Clair knocked this unfortunate young man 
 dow^n first."
 
 154 THE FIRST 
 
 So under arrest I was put. 
 
 I was about to speak in my own defence; 
 but the Captain coldly said that it was too late 
 then, and he could hear nothing that night on 
 any side of the question ; but that he was 
 shocked beyond measure, that such disgraceful 
 outrages should take place in his ship. 
 
 " Let me have a report of Mr. Palgrave's 
 case, Mr. Curtis," he said to the surgeon, " as 
 soon as I leave General Sydney's cabin ; for I 
 must let him know what all the noise has been 
 about, lest he should have been alarmed." 
 
 So saying — and saying so for my special 
 edification I knew — he departed ; and a moment 
 after, we heard him knock at the General's 
 door, and obtain admittance. 
 
 Bruce had risen to his feet the moment 
 almost that he had touched the ground ; and 
 subdued by the Captain's presence, had remained 
 quiet, whilst the latter remained in the berth. 
 He then w^alked out, saying as he passed me : 
 
 " This does not end here, Mr. St. Clair." 
 
 I made no reply, but followed the marine 
 to whom I was given in charge ; having first 
 secured my ill-used Bible, and shaken hands 
 with my messmates; all of whom gave me
 
 lieutenant's story. 155 
 
 some kind word Palgrave had been removed 
 to the sick-berth. 
 
 When I got to my berth, I asked to be 
 allowed to speak to D'Arcy, and after some 
 little time the boy came to me. 
 
 '* D'Arcy," I said, " I'm sorry I've brought 
 you into trouble." 
 
 " I'm very glad if you have," he replied. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because it makes me see what a frightful 
 thing it is for fellows to go on without the 
 Bible, or God, or anything. What would my 
 poor father say, if he knew I'd hardly ever 
 opened a good book since I came on board ; 
 for he bade me never go to bed, let me be as 
 tired as I might, without reading a verse or 
 two, at least, of the Bible. But I found nobody 
 did it here, so I was ashamed, and let it drop." 
 
 " But don't do so any more, my boy." 
 
 " No, I shall take care of that," he answered ; 
 " this has been a good lesson for me." 
 
 " We must strengthen each other, D'Arcy," 
 I said, " and never let bad example get the 
 better of us again ; God help us ! for we need 
 it sorely. I hope Palgrave is not much hurt. 
 I was wrong in what I did, but it was done
 
 156 THE FIRST 
 
 before I had time to think ; his doing that put 
 me in such a rage." 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, whether you were 
 right or wrong," replied the boy ; " all I can 
 say is, as I said to Bruce, if you hadn't done 
 it, I should — or have tried — myself. He's not 
 much hurt though, I heard them say ; and 
 T hope it'll teach him better manners another 
 time.*' 
 
 " Now, D'Arcy," I said, " I want you to do 
 me a service. I want you to take this to 
 General Sydney's cabin as soon as the Captain 
 leaves it. I can't seal it, but you won't open it, I 
 know, for you're as honourable as you're brave." 
 
 " I should hope not," he replied, proudly ; 
 " but thank you for trusting me." And his 
 voice quivered. 
 
 " I would trust you," I said, drawing the 
 little fellow to me, " before almost — aye ! now, 
 before any man alive." And it seemed as if 
 my heart must burst, as the thought of Bruce 
 again flashed across me. 
 
 " Those are great words, St. Clair," said the 
 boy, looking up with flashing eyes into my 
 face ; " and I hope you'll never find you've been 
 wrong in using them."
 
 lieutenant's story. 157 
 
 I had torn a slip of paper out of my pocket- 
 book, on which I had written these words : 
 
 " Forgive me, Mary. I have been very 
 violent ; but I could not see the w^ord of God 
 contemptuously treated, nor a child iU-used. 
 Pray for me, and for the little feUow^ who takes 
 this — and for Bnice. Send me one word in 
 answer." 
 
 " You'll ask if there's anything to bring back," 
 I said, as I gave it him ; " and be quick, my 
 boy." 
 
 When again alone, the realities of my posi- 
 tion for the first time vi\ddly flashed upon me. 
 It was not unusual in such cases, for young 
 officers to be expelled the service, a sentence I 
 ahvays thought — unless under most aggravated 
 circumstances — harsh even to cruelty ; consider- 
 ing the utter ruin it brings in general on their 
 future prospects ; and the little pains that are 
 generally taken by captains of ships, either by 
 precept, or example, to teach them to control 
 their tempers ; and if such a sentence were 
 passed upon me — and that it might be, the 
 Captain's enmity made it, I thought, but too
 
 158 THE FIRST 
 
 probable — what would become of me ? Would 
 Mary marry me with such a blot upon my 
 name ? My heart instantly answered " Yes." 
 But would her father permit it ? Would I ? 
 
 These were terrible thoughts. My poor 
 mother too ! 
 
 But I did Captain Normanton injustice. 
 Though from having been a favourite, second 
 only to Bruce, I had evidently of late become 
 an object of aversion to him, yet he was a 
 strictly honourable man. Hard, and tyrannical 
 he certainly was, and set upon having his own 
 way, even in the merest trifle ; but to have done 
 an ungentlemanlike, or dishonourable action, of 
 that he was incapable. If his decision were 
 stern, it would be the result only of the 
 natural harshness of his disposition, and of 
 what he thought the interests of the service 
 required ; and not a personal vindictive feeling. 
 
 While thinking on this distracting subject, 
 D'Arcy returned, bringing with him, as I had 
 hoped, a line from Mary. 
 
 "You're the fleetest messenger that ever 
 lived," I said. 
 
 " The Captain was gone you see," he replied ; 
 " and I asked her to be quick."
 
 lieutenant's story. 159 
 
 " What made you give my note to Miss 
 Sydney ? I had not directed it to her." 
 
 " I didn't give it her," he repHed ; '* I gave it 
 to the old General, and he gave it her, and bid 
 her answer it. But that doesn't signify," he 
 added smiling, "we all know about that; — 
 thafs no secret." 
 
 " What's no secret ?" I asked, looking at 
 Mary's note, though I could not bear to open 
 it in the boy's presence. 
 
 " It's no secret that you and Miss Sydney are 
 much of the same mind on most subjects ; — at 
 least so they say," he answered. 
 
 "That's what they say, is it?" I repHed 
 lightly. " Perhaps they're right, and perhaps 
 they're wrong. But now I mustn't keep you 
 longer, so good night, my boy ! You're the 
 best fellow I know. God bless you." 
 
 We shook hands heartily, and he left the 
 berth. Then I opened Mary's letter; not 
 without heart-sinkings : for I dreaded lest her 
 mild and gentle nature should have been deeply 
 shocked, and hurt by my violence. How can I 
 desciibe then, the delight — the surprise with 
 which I read these words : 
 
 " I may be wrong for not blaming you
 
 160 THE FIRST 
 
 much ; but from Mr. Bruce's account, 1 cannot be 
 thankful enough for the feeling you have shown. 
 May God strengthen you in aE things. 
 
 " Your's ever, — ever your's, 
 Mary Sydney. 
 
 What blessed words ! 
 
 But — " Bruce's account ?" I exclaimed, 
 " what can she mean ? — She must have meant 
 the Captain's. Yet he was not likely to make 
 out a very favourable account for me." 
 
 "Be it as it might," I thought, " at least she 
 is not angry with me, — she does not blame 
 me much !" And that thought brought calm 
 to my troubled spirits, and allayed a little the 
 burning fever which excitement had brought 
 on.
 
 lieutenant's story. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 If rightly you love God, 
 You love your brother too. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Like you 
 Is he not sailing on a strange wild sea ? 
 Do not the same stars guide his wandering way ? 
 How can'st thou hate thy brother ? Oh! forgive. 
 If he hate thee ; is it not excellent 
 That thou can'st learn to stammer forth one word, 
 Such as is used in Heaven ? in earthly speech 
 It is forgiveness. Hast thou never heard 
 Of One, who, while He wore a crown of thorns, ^ 
 Forgave His foes, prayed for His murderers .'' 
 Do you not know Him ? 
 
 bethune's traxsl. of tegxer. 
 
 The emotion which Mary's note had excited 
 had a little passed away, and I was once more 
 reading, and with what deepened feehng ! the 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE FIRST 
 
 blessed words of eternal love, when the marine 
 who had me in charge came in, and gave me 
 a note which he said had come from Mr. Bruce ; 
 adding that he would call in a few minutes for 
 an answer. 
 
 I took the note, but I could not open it for 
 a time. The sight of his handwriting, brought 
 him so vividly before my eyes ; — him in his 
 bright and generous beauty; him in his dark, 
 insulting ferocity ! — till as I thought of him, I 
 alternately glowed with man's heartfelt friend- 
 ship, and man's indignant scorn. I could 
 scarcely believe it was the same being who 
 could appear in characters so different — dif- 
 ferent as light from darkness ! Then seizing 
 his note, I opened it with a hurried hand. It 
 contained but few words : 
 
 " For God's sake, forgive me, St. Clair ! I am 
 most wretched !" 
 
 Strange as it may seem, not all the thrilling 
 emotions which Mary's affection — life of my life 
 as it was; not all the combined agitations of 
 my existence put together, equalled one half 
 of what I felt at that moment. Strong attach- 
 ment amongst men is perhaps rare, but it can 
 be intense ! 
 
 I snatched up a pen, and had almost illegibly
 
 163 
 
 — so powerfully was my whole frame shaken — 
 written in answer : " Forgive you ! yes ! with 
 heart, and soul, and strength!" when I jumped 
 up, and called the marine, saying : '* I must 
 see Mr. Bruce !" 
 
 In a few minutes he was with me. 
 
 Years might have passed in that brief time, 
 so full was it of feeling ! We wrung each other's 
 hands in silence again and again, as if we could 
 not be thankful enough. 
 
 "You forgive me, St. Clair?" he said, at 
 length. 
 
 " You know I do, Bruce." 
 
 " I cannot account for what I did," he ex- 
 claimed ; " I felt like a madman, — and now I'm 
 so utterly miserable ! I had almost rather you 
 should abuse me for hours, than forgive me." 
 
 ^' You have more than made up for every- 
 thing," I said, " by writing what you did to 
 Miss Sydney." 
 
 " How do you know I wrote to her?" 
 
 " She told me, in a note ; and it has saved 
 me the pain of ha\dng pained her ; and has 
 proved you, too — what I always thought you — 
 the most generous fellow in the world." 
 
 "It was but truth," he said sadly. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE FIRST 
 
 " I was not without my share of blame." 
 
 " You had no blame," he answered quickly ; 
 " none but a dastard coward would have acted 
 otherwise. I cannot teU why I felt in such a 
 fury. I really believe I was possessed by the 
 devil ! Though, I must say, that when I came 
 down, and saw that fellow Palgrave lying, on 
 the ground, bleeding aw^ay, I'd no idea of what 
 he'd been doing; I should never have taken his 
 part if I had. When I found it out, I was con- 
 founded; and could almost have said wdth that 
 fine lad D'Arcy : ' If you hadn't done it, I would 
 myself.' Though I don't read the Bible, yet 
 none but a brute would have used it as he did!' 
 
 "That little fellow is one of a thousand," I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, and if you'd seen him afterwards, 
 you'd never have forgotten him. When I had 
 heard what the thing was, T could not rest 
 without asking his forgiveness for my — what 
 you justly called — ' cow^ard ' attack upon him. 
 He said it was ' nothing — nothing ;' but I 
 forced him to bare his arm, which I thought 
 almost I must have broken ; and when I saw 
 the horrid marks of my brutal violence on his 
 young flesh, my very heart turned sick. He 
 spoke so nobly, and so feelingly, and bade me
 
 lieutenant's story. 165 
 
 think no more about it ; as if I could help it ! 
 You, and he may read your Bibles for ever, as 
 far as I'm concerned, if it is that which makes 
 you have such patience with me." 
 
 " I haven't read it much yet," I replied. " It 
 was only this evening that I had my initiation 
 — a stormy one certainly — into its powerful 
 comforts. But powerful they are ! I wish, 
 Bruce, you would try them. Miss Sydney 
 begged me so earnestly to ask you to do so." 
 
 " Miss Sydney !" and his colour came and 
 went. " Why should she care what I do ?" 
 
 " Of course she feels a great interest in you 
 — naturally. So pray yield to her earnest 
 wish, and read the words she loves so much." 
 
 " If I would, I've got no Bible." 
 
 " I wiU lend you mine," I exclaimed ; 
 glowing mth joy at this unexpected softening 
 of his heart ; " and begin, will you, at the words 
 she pointed out to me. I'm sure we both 
 need them to-night." 
 
 " What are they ?" 
 
 " ' Let not your heart be troubled.' " 
 
 " Need them ! Yes, I think so !" he ex- 
 claimed with a bursting sigh. " But it is very 
 well to say : ' Let not your heart be troubled,' 
 but how is one to help it ?"
 
 1 66 THE FIRST 
 
 " Only by prayer, I think." 
 
 " Prayer ! what do you know of prayer, St. 
 Clair r 
 
 " Not much certainly ; but just enough to show 
 me, that it gets for one what one wants. I 
 do not mean always earthly things, I mean the 
 wants of one's spirit : peace, strength, and 
 comfort." 
 
 " They are indeed needed," he exclaimed, 
 clasping his hands above his head agonizingly 
 for a moment. 
 
 " I'm a great fool," he then said ; " and I 
 suppose shall be so all my life. I shall be better 
 of this folly though, when I am ashore, and away 
 from her, with no chance of seeing her, or again 
 hearing that voice of hers, that tears my heart 
 to pieces. It was what she sung T really believe 
 this evening, that put me at last into such a 
 phrenzy. At first it softened .me; but when 
 you told me the words, and I knew she was 
 singing them — speaking them to you — I felt as 
 if I could have killed you ! God forgive me ! it 
 is very terrible to be the slave of such passions !" 
 
 " It will be better when you get home, and 
 are amid new scenes, and old friends. But now 
 — think I beseech you, on what Miss Sydney 
 called the ' lost state of your soul.' "
 
 lieutenant's story. 167 
 
 " Lost ! Did she call me lost ?" he exclaimed 
 in evident agitation. 
 
 " She did, and I felt indignant at first ; but 
 she soon showed me that, though a person may 
 be excellent, and delightful as far as this world 
 goes, yet if they have not a greater love for God 
 than for all else, it proves they are not His 
 children, and consequently must be lost." 
 
 He made no answer, but I saw by the expres- 
 sion, and w^orking of his features, that he was 
 ill at ease. 
 
 " Her saying this," I added after a few minutes, 
 " proved to me that I was not His faithful serv^ant, 
 any more than you, Bruce. But somehow I cannot 
 but feel that of late there has been a great change 
 in me. I delight in these things now, more than 
 in anything else ; for I am not always happy, 
 even when with Mary, unless she speaks to me 
 of them ; and it was, I think, the great joy I had 
 felt in reading the Scriptures to-night, which made 
 me so very indignant with Palgrave for doing what 
 he did." 
 
 " Palgrave's a brute," exclaimed Bruce vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 " No, not that," I said ; " but he is so accus- 
 tomed to turning things into ridicule, that he
 
 168 THE FIRST 
 
 loses all proper respect for everything ; besides 
 particularly detesting all that is in the least serious. 
 But he is a good-natured fellow." 
 
 " And do you feel easy, St. Clair, under the idea 
 — the possibility even of being lost ?" asked Bruce, 
 recurring to the subject in an anxious tone ; "or 
 do you feel as if something would save you?" 
 
 " I feel certain of nothing as yet," I replied ; 
 " but I seem to get a little higher by degrees, in 
 the scale of existence ; not to be the mere world- 
 ling that I was before; and I feel as if I had 
 something too of the love of God. Still if I 
 were away from those who speak of Him, I might 
 perhaps sink again, as low as I was before. But 
 constantly I use the prayer that Mary asked me 
 to say : ' Oh God, take my heart to Thyself, for 
 I cannot give it to Thee; and when Thou hast 
 taken it. Thou wilt keep it for Thyself, for I cannot 
 keep it for Thee.' " 
 
 " Say it again," said Bruce. 
 
 I did so; and I observed his lips moving as 
 if he were trying to remember it. 
 
 He was forced to leave me, and he took my 
 Bible away with him. I longed for it sorely 
 as I sat alone in my berth, but could not grudge 
 it to him ; and earnestly did I pray that reading it
 
 lieutenant's story. 169 
 
 might be of as great comfort to him, as it had 
 been to me. With what royal munificence was 
 that prayer answered ! 
 
 I occupied myself for some time in such poor 
 thoughts of God as I could command ; and which, 
 blended as they were with the remembrance of 
 Mary's words, and gentle persuasions, seemed 
 inexpressibly delightful to me. As I pondered 
 over all that had passed, I could not acquit myself 
 of blame so completely as Bruce's generous spuit 
 had done. I would not certainly have wished to 
 see unmoved such shameless outrage against God, 
 as Palgrave had been guilty of; but still I could 
 not but feel, that calm remonstrance would have 
 been more in conformity with Christ's mild 
 wisdom, than the passionate outbreak I had 
 given way to ; and I prayed earnestly that never 
 again might I be permitted so to sin against God. 
 " Be ye angry and sin not," I afterwards read in 
 the Scrip tm-e, and found how exactly the injunc- 
 tion suited mv case.
 
 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 To ask Him for counsel — to bend a throbbing head over 
 that wonderful record wherein it stands that never man 
 went unhealed away out of His presence — that never voice 
 of human anguish fell unheeded upon His ear — what could 
 the result be ? — the melvilles. 
 
 To thee God is telling this day, the story of His free 
 love ; that, receiving it, thou mayest not perish, but have 
 everlasting life. That free love thus received into thy 
 heart in believing, would fill thee with joy unspeakable. It 
 would be like fragrance from the flowers of Eden, like 
 sunshine from the very heaven of heavens. It would not 
 call on thee to wait till thou hast made thyself ready for 
 receiving it ; it would come into thee at once, like sunlight 
 into thy lattice, without insisting that thy chamber be 
 adorned for its reception. It would cost thee nothing but 
 the giving up of that which is far better lost ; and which 
 would be but a poor recompense for a ruined soul. — bonar. 
 
 After a sleep unusually sound, for I was 
 thoroughly wearied, body and mind, I was
 
 lieutenant's story. 171 
 
 awakened in the morning by the marine, who 
 came to tell me that Palgrave had had a good 
 night, and that the surgeon said there was 
 nothing but a slight cut on the head, which need 
 not in the least interfere with his duty ; all of 
 which was of course very welcome news to me. 
 
 After a time I was summoned for the exami- 
 nation which was to take place concerning the 
 last night's affray ; and witnesses were called, and 
 accounts given ; and everything took place which 
 usually does take place on those occasions. The 
 result was, that all three of the principals were 
 reprimanded, more or less severely, according to the 
 discretion of the Captain ; but no further punish- 
 ment inflicted. He said that such flagrant breaches 
 of order could not have been passed over by him 
 in so light a manner, had it not been that our mu- 
 tual connection was so soon to cease. That after 
 having had the command for some years, of as nne 
 a crew, and excellent a set of officers — so he was 
 pleased to say — as any in His Majesty's service, he 
 should have felt it a deep wound to his pride, as 
 well as to his feelings, to have had to report his 
 vessel in a state of disorder when he went into 
 port ; or to have parted with old friends, under a 
 sense of painful displeasure. He then proceeded 
 to address each of the offending parties ; and I must
 
 172 THE FIRST 
 
 say that his mode of acting towards me, did him 
 much credit, — actuated as I knew he was, by no 
 internal bias in my favour. He said that, under 
 ordinary circumstances, the violence of my con- 
 duct towards Mr. Palgrave must have been visited 
 with marks of high displeasure ; but that the fact 
 of his having so grossly outraged, not only my 
 feelings, but those of every one who had the least 
 respect for the Almighty, or His holy law, greatly 
 altered the case ; and that though he disapproved 
 the strong measures I had used, he could not but 
 participate in the feelings which had led to them. 
 He spoke also in high commendation of the spirit 
 which young D'Arcy had shown ; saying with 
 much kindness, that he hoped he might live to 
 exhibit equal firmness and courage some day before 
 the enemies of his country. His address to Pal- 
 grave was very severe; tinctured moreover with 
 contempt. 
 
 He spoke to Bruce the last ; and though all he 
 said was just, yet I could not endure to hear him 
 speak to him with such severity before us aU. 
 He knew, perhaps, that he was suspected of favour- 
 ing him in general above the others — and especially, 
 latterly, above me — and he seemed determined in 
 this case to do me even more than justice. I was 
 much struck by Bruce's manner of receiving what
 
 lieutenant's story. 173 
 
 was said ; for it was no small trial to a haughty 
 spirit like his, to have such animadversions made 
 before his shipmates. No trace, however, of indig- 
 nation appeared, though there was deep emotion ; 
 and no words can describe the beauty of his coun- 
 tenance as, raising his eyes, when Captain Nor- 
 manton paused, he said with deep feeling : 
 
 " It is all true, Sir !" 
 
 Captain Normanton was visibly moved ; and his 
 countenance instantly relaxing at this frank avowal 
 of error, he added, " that, notwithstanding what 
 had just passed, he could not withhold his testi- 
 mony as to the perfect manner in which Mr. 
 Bruce had, till that unfortunate moment, conducted 
 himself ever since he had been under his command ; 
 and as this was his first, so, he felt confident, 
 would it be his last ofi*ence, let the term of his life 
 be what it might." 
 
 A murmur of extreme approbation was heard 
 throughout the whole party at this, while Bruce 
 bowed gratefully. The Captain then spoke to us 
 in a way that greatly touched me, and probably all 
 present. He said that he felt sure that after what 
 had happened we should all vie with each other as 
 to which could best maintain the discipline of the 
 ship for the few remaining days we should be 
 together ; and keep unbroken the bonds of good-
 
 174 THE FIRST 
 
 fellowship with those with whom we had been so 
 long on friendly terms, and from whom we were- 
 about to part, possibly never to meet again ; and 
 he hoped that those who had been engaged in the 
 last night's unfortunate affair, would show that all 
 angry feeling had passed away by cordially shaking 
 hands. 
 
 This was immediately done ; and I am sure I 
 was glad enough that Palgrave had a hand to 
 shake ; for, though a favourite with none of us, 
 yet till the last night we had always been very good 
 friends. 
 
 Bruce's manner on this occasion was perfectly 
 characteristic of him. He had had no quarrel 
 with Palgrave, therefore was not called upon to 
 shake hands with him ; but he passed him by with 
 marked contempt ; while in shaking hands with 
 D'Arcy and me, he showed the greatest warmth of 
 manner ; taking his place between us, and resting 
 his arm on D'Arcy's shoulder, during the few 
 remaining words which the Captain addressed 
 to us. 
 
 The boy's face glowed with pleasure; and as 
 I looked at them both, I thought I had never seen 
 two finer, or more noble countenances. The younger 
 of them is now gone to his rest. T was with him 
 at his death, a few years after ; and it was delightful
 
 lieutenant's story. 175 
 
 to see how completely God redeems His word of 
 promise to be with His people at all times ; and 
 how His presence can animate, and illumine the 
 road that leads direct to Him. 
 
 When the trial was over, and the Captain had 
 departed, Bruce took my arm, ?ind we went to our 
 berth. 
 
 " Oh ! St. Clair," he exclaimed, after a minute's 
 silence, " you do not know what a change has 
 taken place in me, since last we met. You gave 
 me the word of God to read, and I did read it ; 
 not only the chapter you pointed out, but many 
 more — I could not stop. The incidents of the 
 evening, and the wretchedness I felt from many 
 causes, had perhaps prepared my mind, for receiv- 
 ing with solemnity the words of heavenly truth ; 
 but instead of finding them as I expected, hard, 
 and full of condemnation, I found them full of a 
 charm I cannot describe ; and as you know, full of 
 love, and peace, and pardon. I felt as if in a new 
 existence, so holy an atmosphere seemed to be 
 around me. The world, its jars, and jealousies, 
 almost its loves, and affections, seemed to sink 
 away too far beneath me to ruffle, or disturb ; and 
 I was able to pray, long and earnestly — a thing I 
 had never done before in my life. At first I felt 
 such a sense of sin as quite overpowered me ; but
 
 176 THE FIRST 
 
 at last the thought of Christ's perishing for sinners, 
 was brought to my mind, and in an instant the 
 burden on my heart was gone. I felt at peace — 
 and pardoned." 
 
 *' Bruce 1" I exclaimed, in extreme surprise, 
 " what can you mean ?" 
 
 " T mean what I say," he replied ; " I felt as if 
 my spirit was washed from all its stains, and my 
 soul pardoned all its sins ; and that through the 
 blood of Christ." 
 
 I was bewildered. I have said that often when 
 talking to Mary, I could not understand the mean- 
 ing of many things she said ; for, though I had 
 begun to feel the deepest interest in the subject, I 
 was still very dark as to the way of salvation. And 
 now, when I heard Bruce, — Bruce, who but yes- 
 terday was reviling me as a hypocrite, and de- 
 spising my weak efforts after godliness — heard 
 him speak things so contrary to all he had ever 
 felt, or thought before, — it seemed as if I was 
 under some spell of necromancy. Had not my 
 mind become accustomed to Mary's pious, God- 
 fraught feelings, I should have fancied he was 
 raving; but recognising in his new expressions, 
 the same thoughts, and high feelings, which seemed 
 ever the native air of her soul, I could not but 
 believe them to be words of truth, and workings 
 of the Spirit of God.
 
 lieutenant's story. 177 
 
 I sat dumb under this evidence of His mighty 
 power ; stupified at the feeling, that wondrous 
 things w^ere passing before me, without my being 
 able to see them — marvellous sounds rushing by, 
 without my hearing them — overpowering influ- 
 ences shedding themselves abroad, without my 
 feeling them ! 
 
 It was but a few short hours since I had sat in 
 that same spot, endeavouring to persuade Bruce 
 to take for the first time, into his reluctant hand, 
 the page of inspiration ; and now he was in sun- 
 shine on the mountain-top, while I was stiU toihng 
 my darkling way up its steep, and often rugged 
 sides ! All the joy, and sweetness I had so often 
 felt in the thought of those heavenly heights to 
 w^hich love divine — through the sanctified medium 
 of earthly affection — was slowly leading my weak 
 and wavering soul, seemed gone from me ; and I 
 felt depressed, and abandoned ; as I could imagine 
 the solitary Elisha would have felt, when he saw 
 his master borne off to heaven in his fiery chariot, 
 had he not had the mantle of his spirit, sent down 
 to raise his own soul to the same glorious regions. 
 I was not envious of Bruce's happiness, but I sat 
 there with a soul-sinking sense of spiritual aban- 
 donment. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE FIRST 
 
 He put his kind hand on my shoulder, and said 
 in a cheering voice : 
 
 " Why so silent, St. Clair ? I thought you 
 would have heen the first to help me to praise 
 God for His wondrous mercy to me." 
 
 "I do from my soul thank Him," I replied ; 
 "but I feel left so far behind myself, that all 
 energy and spirit seems gone from me." 
 
 " Surely, St. Clair," he said, " when you see 
 what God's mighty power can do in subduing so 
 worthless, and rebellious a spirit as mine was, but 
 a fleet twelve hours ago, you cannot despond ! 
 You ! the fearless champion of His honour ! the 
 faithful preacher of His love ! Was it not you 
 that persuaded me to read His word ; — you who 
 placed its precious pages within my hand ? Have 
 you not been the minister of salvation to my soul ? 
 the being w^ho has snatched me from destruction, 
 and led me to Him who says, not in vain : 
 ' My peace give I unto you ?' And is it for you to 
 despond ?" 
 
 His animated words cheered me a little, and I 
 replied : 
 
 " No ! I do not despond, or doubt God's 
 merciful intentions towards me ; and when listening 
 to Mary, I have always felt peace and joy foUow
 
 lieutenant's story. 179 
 
 her words into my heart. But she leads me on 
 line by line, word by word ; and though even then 
 I cannot always foUow her. yet there seems always 
 something, which by prayer, and patience, I may 
 attain in time. But to see you, all of a sudden, 
 from such desperate darkness, rush into such light ! 
 to see you, who but yesterday despised the whole 
 thing so thoroughly, now admitted to the full joy 
 and privilege of a child of God, while I can still 
 only look, and long, and feebly strain after some 
 httle glimpse of heaven — all this seems to throw 
 me back, fathoms deep into the shade ; as if I had 
 but little part in the thoughts, or heart of God !" 
 
 " It is not so, St. Clair ! I am sure it is not 
 so ! I feel convinced that you are much, much 
 higher in God's love than I am. His mercy has 
 indeed been wonderful to me, but what — wh 
 have I done for Him ? What has my life been 
 but one dark offence against Him ? Oh ! I cannot 
 bear to think of it !" And he turned away in great 
 agitation. 
 
 " It is marvellous indeed," I said, " that He 
 should have stooped to think of either of us. 
 His mercy being so great, makes our sin the 
 greater ; and at times I feel quite wretched from 
 the sense of it, and the dread that I can never 
 be fit for heaven, so never get there. It seems 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE FIRST 
 
 such a frightful thing to sin again and again as 
 I do." 
 
 " Don't you remember a short prayer, St. Clair, 
 that I found written, and laid in your Bible: 
 * Accept me Lord as I am, and make me such as 
 Thou wouldst have me to be V " 
 
 " Yes," I replied ; " Mary wrote it for me, and 
 I put it where you found it to-night, that I might 
 always remember to use it." 
 
 " Well ! my belief, St. Clair, is, that God has 
 accepted you as you are, and is making you — and 
 quickly too — * such as He would have you to be.' 
 I even, see an immense difference in you !" 
 
 '* Do you ?" I exclaimed — cheered for the 
 moment. " It was much needed." 
 
 " Yes ! we shall all need mending, to our lives 
 end. But what I feel is, that all our mending 
 can never take us to heaven, but that Christ has 
 done that by His own all-perfect merit ; which 
 needs indeed no mending, and no change ! I must 
 try now and work for Him, for He has done all 
 my work for me, and made me His eternal 
 debtor."
 
 lieutenant's story. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Much eloquent thought, and many a cheering word 
 Refreshed the thirsting heart hke early dew. 
 
 TEGNER (bETHUNE's TRANSL.) 
 
 Lord ! Thou know'st full well 
 
 The love I bear to Thee ; 
 Let thy spirit dwell 
 Uadebased in me. 
 Let love of glory, gold, and sin depart. 
 Out of thy kingdom, in my blameless heart. 
 
 TEGNER (bETHUNe's TRAXSL.) 
 
 Soon after this conversation Bruce and I were 
 requested to go into General Sydney's cabin. The 
 kind old man had no idea of the penance he was 
 imposing on Bruce; but it was, I saw, a very 
 trying moment for him. 
 
 In answer to the General's thanks he stammered 
 something of his " deserving nothing but blame ;"
 
 182 THE FIRST 
 
 and turning towards Mary who also thanked him, 
 he hurriedly pressed the hand she held out to 
 him to his lips, and abruptly left the cabin. 
 
 I had not liked to approach her whilst he was 
 there; but the moment he was gone, I was at 
 her side. 
 
 As we were still talking over the late events, 
 we were called up to take a first view of a long 
 ridge of blue land, just visible in the offing ; which, 
 when we had mounted on deck, I pointed out 
 to Mary as the country of her father, and her 
 own future home. She seemed affected, as she 
 fixed her eyes upon it. 
 
 " Had she sorrowful forebodings of what might 
 befal her there ?" I asked ; as she looked so sad. 
 
 " No," she repHed ; " I merely felt as I ap- 
 proached those new scenes, that yearning towards 
 the home of my childhood, which I cannot always 
 repress. No ! I have no forebodings of evil, 
 but have all happiness to look forward to there." 
 
 How many delightful schemes did we plan 
 for ourselves ! Day-dreams of happiness ! real 
 to the heart ! 
 
 I told her then of the astonishing change that 
 had taken place in Bruce's feelings ; an account 
 which filled her with surprise and delight. I
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 183 
 
 mentioned too, the despondency that his rapid 
 progress in the faith of the gospel, had produced 
 in my mind ; and of the generous and kindly 
 manner in which he had endeavoured to cheer 
 me. 
 
 " I am sure that he is right," she said ; " and 
 that your earnest desire to know the truth, and 
 fearless acting up to the knowledge you already 
 have, are as much a proof of God's love, as his 
 quick- sprung zeal and faith can be ; for God 
 says : * With this man will I dwell, even with him 
 that is of a lowly and a contrite heart, and that 
 trembleth at my word.' You do that, Wilfred, 
 surely ! And then remember that it is said : ' If 
 any man wtE do the will of my Father, he shall 
 know of the doctrine, whether it be true or not.' 
 Your will is, I am sure, to do God's will." 
 
 "I think I may truly say," I replied, "that 
 it is ; so I ought to be able to trust Him. Times 
 and seasons are I know in His hands ; and when 
 He thinks it best that I should clearly see my 
 w^ay, He will no doubt send light from heaven 
 to guide me. Now, I must trust Him blindfold, 
 as an infant trusts its mother." 
 
 " Yes !" she exclaimed ; " He is expanding the 
 powers of faith, and trust, and love in you now, 
 my dear Wilfred ; and soon the ' Spirit that
 
 184 THE FIRST 
 
 bloometh where it listeth,' will waft knowledge 
 also into your soul !" 
 
 How soothingly her words always fell upon 
 my ear ! I often felt tempted to exclaim in her 
 own mellifluous tongue : 
 
 , " Al labbro tuo, chi diede 
 Tanta dolcezza ?" 
 
 But " of a spirit pure and musical they were 
 
 the pure and musical . expression." Her voice 
 
 too was so exquisite ! It was " a portion of 
 her beauty." 
 
 '^Like music to the heart it came." 
 
 We scudded up Channel under easy sail ; and 
 glad I was to near the shores of England again. 
 To me the thought of being there was indeed 
 delightful ; for I knew that then I could be con- 
 stantly with Mary, without having our mutual 
 happiness damped by the sight either of the 
 love, or the hate of others. 
 
 General Sydney had no very near relations left ; 
 and his long stay on the continent, and the little 
 intercourse he had kept up with any of his 
 friends in England, had made him nearly a
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 185 
 
 stranger in his own country, which nevertheless 
 as the land of his birth, he desired to return 
 to, and see once more. As therefore the time 
 for his disembarkation drew near, he felt anxious 
 as to what point he should turn his steps. 
 
 I had heard long before from my mother, in 
 answer to the letter in which I had told her of 
 my engagement, when she had expressed her 
 delight at the prospect of my happiness, and 
 her anxiety to become acquainted with Mary; 
 and a little while before we started on our home- 
 ward voyage, I had received another letter from 
 her, saying that she was going to stay for some 
 time at Dover ; and that it was there she wished 
 me to go as soon as my ship was paid off. I 
 mentioned this to Mary, saying what an immense 
 happiness it would be to me, if they would also 
 go there ; where they could become acquainted 
 with my mother, and we could be constantly 
 together. She agreed in thinking that it would 
 be very delightful, and mentioned it to her father. 
 He had been quartered there many years before, 
 and various pleasant recollections it seemed, were 
 attached to the place. He moreover felt rather 
 desolate in returning to a land of strangers ; and 
 seemed to like the idea of going immediately 
 near some one who he thought would feel an
 
 186 THE FIRST 
 
 interest in him ; and having often expressed his 
 desire to become acquainted with my mother, 
 was well pleased that the opportunity should 
 present itself so soon. 
 
 The plan therefore met with his entire approval ; 
 and as our ship was to go into dock at Woolwich 
 for repairs, he asked Captain Normanton if it 
 would inconvenience him, for them to be landed 
 either from the Downs, or if possible, at Dover. 
 Captain Normanton could not refuse; though it 
 was evident he did not like losing their society so 
 soon; and it was therefore agreed that it should 
 
 be so. 
 
 It really pained me to see the exceeding annoy- 
 ance that he felt at this arrangement. His atten- 
 tions never for a moment relaxed towards Mary ; it 
 seemed indeed intolerable to him to be separated 
 from her for a moment. First she must come up 
 and look at the Plymouth Breakwater ; then ad- 
 mire the sloping lawns, and the woods feathering 
 almost to the water's edge in the beautiful grounds 
 of Mount Edgecumbe. Then it w^as Portland Isle 
 — the Needles — the cheerful shores of the Isle of 
 Wight — Portsmouth ! anything in short, and 
 everything which could form an excuse for drawing 
 her forth, whose loved presence was so soon to 
 depart from him.
 
 lieutenant's story. 187 
 
 It was sad to see his almost frantic devotion to 
 her; a devotion which seemed to live upon her 
 coldness, and grow upon her avoidance. There 
 was something so intense in his feeling, that it 
 took an almost heroic character in my eyes ; and 
 even those among us who used to laugh most 
 upon the subject, now treated with respect a senti- 
 ment so strong and deep. 
 
 I kept out of the way as much as I could get 
 myself to do ; and Bruce and I were much together. 
 His happy hope still glowed brightly in his breast ; 
 and often imparted a portion of its warmth to my 
 heart also. Great indeed was the change in his 
 feelings ; and I could have listened to him for ever 
 as he spoke of the love of God, and the joy of sal- 
 vation. But he could not as yet bring those high 
 feelings down to the things of earth ; nor see that 
 they were intended to regulate the whole man, from 
 the greatest to the feast emotion of his heart. He 
 would continue his strong, often offensive way of 
 speaking of persons, and things ; always for in- 
 stance, calling the Captain : " that fellow ;" and 
 Palgrave : " that brute f declaring in answer to any 
 remonstrances, that the Captain was a " fellow," 
 and Palgrave luas a " brute !" Yet could he have 
 hoped to do them spiritual good, he would have 
 exerted himself night and day in their service.
 
 188 THE FIRST 
 
 How various are the ways by which God leads 
 men's souls to His reconciled love, and " teaches 
 them in His way." Bruce had been as it were, 
 almost without one wistful look, one longing aspi- 
 ration, by the power of a mighty arm, snatched 
 from the whelming flood. For a moment only, 
 he had felt the deadly Maelstrom guilt of sin whirl- 
 ing him down to destruction ; but the next he had 
 been upborne in safety ; and triumphantly planted 
 on the " baseless rock of ages." He had attained 
 salvation, before he had made one step in reforma- 
 tion; and all the sanctifying work of the Spirit, 
 had therefore to be begun in him ; and borne 
 away even as his ardent heart was, by the flaming 
 love of God, conscious too as he was of the high 
 aim set before him, it was yet long ere he learnt 
 that the ways of the godly amongst his fellow-men 
 should ever be " ways of pleasantness," and " paths 
 of peace ;" and that he ought to endeavour to 
 " adorn the doctrine of God his Saviour in all 
 things." 
 
 I, on the contrary, was still in mighty darkness. 
 I had begun with the rudiments — the very first 
 letter of spirituality, and gone gradually on, yet 
 without knowing to what glorious heights such 
 teaching was to lead me. My soul, and heart, and 
 mind had all become elevated and refined by inter-
 
 lieutenant's story. 189 
 
 course with her I loved, and by inhaling the pure 
 atmosphere of heaven with which she seemed ever 
 surrounded ; but as yet, no one doctrine of Christ 
 was clearly revealed to my understanding. Yet 
 my conscience had become wakeful ; and I could 
 not but watch over myself lest I should offend 
 that High Being whose purity was one of the 
 things which made His blessed idea so very 
 precious to me ; and continual were my endeavours, 
 not only to pluck from my heart all that could 
 displease Him, but to cherish every high and holy 
 aspiration that might bring me nearer to His di^^ne 
 nature. Yes ! " Pure should be the eyes destined 
 to behold the King on His throne. Pure should 
 be the hands destined to strike the harp of His 
 praise. Pure should be the feet destined to walk 
 the golden streets of the New Jerusalem." 
 
 This " diversity of operation by the self-same 
 Spirit," in those who are saved, should, I think, 
 make us cautious in judging and condemning 
 others, because they cannot always see the same 
 things, at the same moment, in the same way as 
 ourselves. Providing a man be really in earnest to 
 serve God for His love's sake, and place all his 
 trust in Christ — he is sure of coming to salvation ; 
 and though he may not walk by the same hedge- 
 side, or touch one blade of grass, or grain of dust
 
 190 THE FIRST 
 
 that we do — yet, if he be travelling the same road, 
 he must attain the same end ; and why should we 
 be at enmity with those by the way, whom w^e 
 hope to meet in an eternity of never-ending 
 happiness ? — whom we hope to call " friends" 
 when these feeble bodies of death shall be put off, 
 and we shall all be perfected in Christ Jesus ? 
 
 ** Think not that that which seemeth right to thee, 
 Must needs be so for all men. Thou can'st see 
 Footprints of light upon the world's high-way. 
 Left there by Him who had not where to lay 
 His lowly head — the plainest nearest thee. 
 There may be footprints which thou cans' t not see, 
 Made plain by Heaven's light to other men. 
 Jesus went many ways into Jerusalem !"
 
 lieutenant's story. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The human heart ! that restless thing I 
 The tempter, and the tried ; 
 The haughty, yet the suffering. 
 The child of Pain, and Pride ; 
 The buoyant and the desolate ; 
 The home of Love, the lair of Hate. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 Marvel not at life — Patience shall see, 
 The perfect work of wisdom to her given. 
 Hold fast thy soul through His high mystery. 
 And it shall lead thee to the gates of Heaven. 
 
 MRS. BUTLER. 
 
 The day at length arrived for General Sydney 
 and his daughter to leave the vessel. We were 
 already off the point of Dungeness, and the white 
 cliffs of Dover came in sight. The packages were 
 all on deck, ready for removal ; and a hright sun, 
 and gentle wind, offered no hope to Captain
 
 192 THE FIRST 
 
 Normanton of being able to delay their disem- 
 barkation. I could not bear to see his agitation as 
 the hour approached ; and if I left the deck and 
 went below, there I found Bruce much in the same 
 state ; though with this difference, that with him 
 there was the blank of utter hopelessness, while 
 with the other a determined hope gave battle still, 
 and would not be driven from the field. He 
 seemed resolved to leave no chance untried to 
 obtain his object; and torn by disappointment, 
 and maddened with jealousy, he yet seemed deter- 
 mined never to abandon the point. He asked 
 General Sydney's leave to visit him at Dover as 
 soon as his duties would allow him time, and the 
 old man, not having the least idea of the feelings 
 which prompted his assiduity, and being extremely 
 grateful for all the kindness he really had received 
 from him, was warm in his hospitable expressions, 
 and encouraged him by all means to come and visit 
 them as soon, and as often as possible ; assuring 
 him of the extreme pleasure it would give both 
 him and his daughter to see him at any time. 
 
 I was present when he said this one day ; and I 
 saw that Captain Normanton looked anxiously at 
 Mary for a confirmation of her father's v/ords. 
 She was looking down at first, busied with some- 
 thing in her hand; but conscious that his eyes
 
 lieutenant's story. 193 
 
 were on her, she looked up and murmured some- 
 thing indistinctly civil, not to vex her father; though 
 the expression of her eye must have spoken in a 
 language far more plain, and less pleasing to Cap- 
 tain Normanton. His answering look I shall 
 never forget; it was not one of entreaty, or 
 tenderness, or regret, but of appalling determina- 
 tion — of smiling defiance — from which I saw her 
 shrink in terror, while her cheek grew blanched 
 beneath his eye. I saw that he had the fell deter- 
 mination of pursuing her unrelentingly ; and 
 doubtless her father's pressing offers and encourage- 
 ments gave him the idea that in him he should 
 find an irresistible ally. I could scarcely remain a 
 quiet spectator of the scene, so displeasing and 
 intollerable was the expression of his countenance. 
 Yet I dared not interpose, dreading to add to 
 Mary's discomfort instead of relieving it. 
 
 Dungeness Point was passed — and then Folke- 
 stone, and the line of Martello towers ; and the 
 time could not longer be delayed for ordering the 
 boat to be in readiness, and the ship's head to be 
 turned so as to stand in a little for the bay. The 
 wind was so light that we lay almost becalmed. 
 The boat was lowered, amid a painful silence, for 
 the principal actors in the scene seemed but little 
 disposed to speak, and aU the rest were intently 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 THE FIRST 
 
 watching that which has ever so strong and 
 fascinating an interest for all men : the working of 
 human passions, and the play of human feelings. 
 As my eye rested in turn on the many faces 
 assembled round, there was scarcely a look that was 
 not bent with intent scrutiny either on Captain 
 Normanton's agitated countenance, or on the pale 
 face of the fair girl who stood there the object of 
 his sad devotion. 
 
 She too was troubled ; for she felt the pain of 
 parting, perhaps for ever, from those w^ho had 
 been so kind and attentive to her comfort and 
 wishes ; for there was not one in the whole ship, 
 as I have said before, that had not felt the magic 
 of her presence among them ; and who would not 
 have done anything to serve or please her. 
 
 All was in readiness, and the men seated at their 
 oars, when Captain Normanton desired Bruce to 
 go down and see that everything was stowed 
 away properly in the boat. Bruce started at 
 receiving this order ; and turning very pale, looked 
 towards me, as if he feared I might be disappointed, 
 or displeased at his going. But I never had the 
 least idea that the Captain would have wished for 
 my company ; and I only regretted Bruce's having 
 to go, because I knew it would be an additional 
 trial to him. I nodded to him, however, with a
 
 lieutenant's story. 195 
 
 smile, which seemed to set his mind so far at ease ; 
 and he descended the ship's side to do as he had 
 been ordered. Captain Normanton seemed to feel 
 some apology due for not taking me, as I was 
 par excellence the friend of the Sydneys, for he 
 spoke to me, and made some trifling excuse. 
 
 I bowed ; and all being now in readiness. General 
 Sydney and his daughter turned to take leave of 
 their friends. Mar)^ spoke kindly to all, and parti- 
 cularly distinguished young D'Arcy and Palgrave ; 
 the former, because she really loved the boy ; the 
 latter, because she felt a magnanimous desire to be 
 kind to one who had offended me ; as well as 
 really feeling a pity for the poor fellow, as no one 
 had been very cordial to him since the day of the 
 affray. He seemed much touched by her kind- 
 ness ; and I felt comnnced, that if ever he were 
 again inclined to kick the Bible up to the beams, 
 the remembrance of Mary's gently-rebuking kind- 
 ness would deter him fi'om it a thousand times 
 more than all my \aolence. No wiser fable than 
 that of the " Wind and the Sun !" 
 
 Mary had hold of her father's arm ; but Captain 
 Normanton, as she was about to descend, begged 
 her to take his. She did so, but turned at the top 
 of the stair to say " Farewell !" to me. That word 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE FIRST 
 
 was all that passed, and we shook hands and parted 
 (but for a little time, as we hoped) ; yet even that 
 short farewell was more than the Captain's patience 
 could stand. He hurried her down, and placing 
 her in the boat, where Bruce had to receive her, 
 seated himself by her side, after having seen the 
 old General safe in also ; and all being quickly 
 arranged, the oars fell into the water, and the boat 
 began rapidly moving towards the shore. 
 
 As Mary had looked up to me on mounting 
 the ship's side on the waters of the blue Mediter- 
 ranean, beneath the bright sun of her own native 
 land, so did she now look up from that boat as it 
 darted over the green waves that washed the cloudy 
 shores of England; and as I staid watching it 
 till it entered the harbour, and was hid from sight 
 by the pier, I could not but compare my own state 
 then, with what it was before ; and with earnest 
 gratitude did I thank the Almighty for the great 
 change which I felt had taken place in me; a 
 change which, though coming I knew wholly from 
 Him, was yet instrumentally owing to her. The 
 foundation of all my ideas was changed ; and my 
 soul was enlarged by continually dwelling in His 
 presence, who fills all space ; and though even 
 then, and for long after, my views of Christ's re-
 
 lieutenant's story. 197 
 
 demption were ver}' clouded, still my heart was 
 full of His love ; while His joy made everything 
 seem radiant about me. 
 
 When Bruce returned on board he seemed com- 
 pletely spirit-broken. I had not the heart to speak 
 to him ; but in the evening he went with me into 
 our berth, saying he must talk to me. 
 
 " It is very odd," he exclaimed, after having sat 
 some time in silence, " that I should always come 
 to you to pour out my miseries — you who are the 
 cause of them ! However, so it is ! — I've tried 
 to rouse myself from this horrible despondency ; 
 but it falls on me again and again, like dark, dark 
 night. How wrong it is to love anything on this 
 deadly earth as I love her, whom I shall never see 
 again ! What a life this is ! Oh ! St. Clair, I don't 
 know what's come over me — I feel sick to death. 
 I cannot pray. I believe it is that, which makes 
 me so madly miserable. I cannot even wish to 
 be resigred ; I can only feel a heavy longing to 
 die. Life is so weary ! so very, very weary !' 
 Speak to me, St. Clair," he said at last impatiently, 
 for I had been sitting by him, with a feeling as of 
 guilt, unable to say one word, unable even to 
 meet his eye, though I could not but watch his 
 disturbed countenance ; " speak to me, or I shall
 
 198 THE FIRST 
 
 go mad. Can you find nothing to say ? you — out 
 of your detested store of insufferable happiness?" 
 
 " You know full well," I replied, " that it is that 
 which chains my tongue, and clogs my heart, so 
 that I dare not speak. What can I say, unless it 
 is to beg you to implore of God to speak to you 
 Himself, with His voice of comfort, and His 
 strengthening grace." 
 
 " It is useless now," he murmured, as he grasped 
 my hand ; " I feel as if I could not go to Him now ; 
 there is such a tearing, distracting misery in what 
 I feel. I should like to do something desperate ; 
 rush out to wilds and deserts — throw myself from 
 rocks — howl to the waves — shriek to the winds — 
 anything that might relieve the fire and fury that 
 rages within ; while here I am, imprisoned where 
 two strides carry me from wall to wall ; surrounded 
 by creatures who know as little of the torments I 
 endure, as the gull in the shrouds, or the porpoise 
 under our keel. You too ! the only one I can 
 speak to — the only one who could feel as I feel — 
 what care you about it ? You are separated you'll 
 say ! but only for a moment. In heart you are 
 one, and soon in fate." 
 
 " I cannot bear to see you in this state," I ex- 
 claimed ; " yet you must know, Bruce, how almost 
 impossible it is for me to speak of comfort."
 
 199 
 
 " Oh ! I know it — I know it, my good fellow !" 
 he rephed, swinging himself restlessly backwards 
 and forwards. "Then why I, of all creation, 
 was to be chosen to go on shore with her! I, 
 who never on any occasion wish to ' be in the same 
 boat, with that fellow. But he always contrives to 
 do everything he shouldn't." 
 
 " It was a mark of favour, so you must not 
 quarrel with him for that," I repHed ; marv^elling 
 that his mind in the midst of all its agonies could 
 stop to make a joke. 
 
 "And then — couldn't I have drowned him in 
 the harbour ! there was something so insufferable 
 in his manner towards her ! I feel of course a 
 great deal about her liking you best, but that is 
 all right and natural ; and I will say for you, that 
 you * bear your honours so meekly,' that few but 
 such a wretchedly irritable fellow as I am, could be 
 angry with you. But there was something in that 
 man's manner towards her to-day, that was bej^ond 
 all sufferance. He had, I fancy, got encourage- 
 ment from the old General's pressing invitations ; 
 and there was a triumph in his deep, dark eye, as 
 he turned to her, and said in a low voice — though 
 I caught his words : ' I shall hope that my visits 
 will be as acceptable to Miss Sydney as to her
 
 200 THE FIRST 
 
 father' — for which I .could have slain him ! I ex- 
 pected he would have been miserable; and had 
 been giving him what pity I could spare from my- 
 self; but not a bit of it ! he seemed quite a changed 
 being after the old man's civil speeches, and when 
 away from your basilisk presence." 
 
 " I had observed something, of that manner of 
 his on board," I repUed ; " and would that the 
 time were come when I might free Mary from such 
 harassment ! I wonder the old General doesn't give 
 leave for our engagement to be known. How- 
 ever ere very long I trust it will be more than an 
 engagement." 
 
 " T pray God sincerely," said Bruce, " that 
 « 
 you may not have trouble yet, before you get 
 
 into port. That fellow is bent on mischief — 
 
 I am sure of it ; and will leave no stone unturned 
 
 to throw you over, and put himself in your place. 
 
 He's capable of anything in my opinion. Now 
 
 do let me abuse him," — seeing I was about to 
 
 interrupt him; "it is the only thing that does 
 
 me good just now. I must hate — or love — 
 
 and anything but that 1" 
 
 " But I cannot let you say what I am sure 
 
 is not so," I replied. " Iv'e no spare love to 
 
 spend on our Captain, as you may suppose ; but
 
 lieutenant's story. 201 
 
 thougn a hard, and selfish man, I believe him 
 to be as far above a dishonourable action as any 
 one in creation." 
 
 "Aye, anything that his dictionary explains 
 as dishonourable, perhaps. But could any one 
 with only a quarter of an eye in his head, not 
 have perceived that you and Miss Sydney were 
 engaged. Do you suppose that the coxswain 
 and powder-monkey didn't see it ? — that the 
 pigs, and chickens did not see it? Never tell 
 me that that man of the lynx-eye didn't see, 
 and smell, and taste, and hear, and feel it ! 
 Why was the old General always near enough, 
 and never too near? Why were you the only 
 one to talk with her by the hour together, and 
 soothe her when sad tears would sometimes flow ? 
 In your innocence I suppose, you thought your- 
 selves unperceived — alone in a desert ! but let 
 me tell you that one divinity amid a thousand 
 worshippers does not love, or weep unnoticed. 
 No ! St. Clair ; depend upon it, your * secret ' is 
 thoroughly known by the whole ship's crew; 
 and I may say, as thoroughly respected — save 
 and except by one ; and that one — I say it again 
 and again — w^ould, and will — you'll see — do all 
 that man or fiend can do to get her from you." 
 
 " Well ! I have no apprehension. * Fay the
 
 202 THE FIRST 
 
 hathe no feare,' as the old motto says; and my 
 faith is as firm in her love as in my own; and 
 no shadow of fear can cross that." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't fear her changing," said Bruce 
 gloomily. " Married, or not married, she'll never 
 love but you ! I wonder why there is so much 
 misery in the world !" 
 
 " It puzzles me often," I replied ; " but thinking 
 does not help one to answer. We shall know it 
 all by and bye, and see it all to have been right. 
 
 " 'Providence is dark in its permissions ; yet one day when 
 all is known, 
 The universe of reason will acknowledge how just and 
 good they were." 
 
 A few years, Bruce, and all these stirring com- 
 motions of our souls wdll be at rest. That 
 thought often stills the throbbings of my heart. 
 Don't let us forsake our true comfort, and our 
 true Comforter will never forsake us. Raise 
 your heart but for one moment to His high 
 and tranquil presence, and all these tumults 
 and miseries will subside into * a great calm.' 
 Try it, my good fellow, it never fails. Think 
 of the words of God which you read first in 
 this very place; and remember how fully then 
 He took the ' trouble from your heart.' "
 
 lieutenant's story. 203 
 
 " That is true," he said, as he leant his head 
 upon his hand ; " and thank you for reminding 
 me of it. Yes ! God is the very source of peace ; 
 and the farther we swerve from Him, the more we 
 are — and justly — troubled ; but for a time the old 
 habit of unrestrained feeling got the better of me. 
 Yes ! This trial as you say, will pass away — 
 at least with life ! — while the blessed things I 
 have learnt of late will last for ever ! There ! 
 they are calling you ; go up ; I'll come soon." 
 
 I answered the call ; and soon after Bruce 
 followed me. The cloud had passed from his 
 heart ; and inward peace shone out again from 
 his clear blue eye. 
 
 *' It is wonderful certainly," he said, as he joined 
 me, and we w^alked on deck together, " what a 
 perfect change takes place in one's internal life, 
 w^hen one really rises to the presence of God. 
 There is a lightness about one then, body and 
 soul, which makes one seem to go buoyantly 
 over the things of earth, as if they w^ere powerless 
 to move or arrest one. I feel now like the diver 
 w^ho has cut away the weights which kept him 
 down ; and w^ho has sprung up to light and free air 
 again. There is indeed ' no limit unto prayer.' "
 
 204 THE FIRST 
 
 We had passed the hluff South Foreland, and 
 those traitorous sands, rich with the spoil of thou- 
 sands ! and went gallantly on before a fresh 
 breeze, which brought us quickly to our desti- 
 nation. A few days after, the ship was paid off, 
 and I found myself on the road to Dover.
 
 lieutenant's story. . 205 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Silent — abandoned now — yet in its day. 
 
 Oft has it trembled to the legion's tramp ; 
 
 Oft heard the consul's signal- clarion play — 
 
 The hoarse centurion shout — Numidian chargers neigh. 
 
 Where the green waters rolled their waves. 
 And free winds fanned thy cheek ; — blue Alps — 
 The morn — nature — and starry skies — 
 These were the nurses of our love ! 
 
 The old road to Dover ! A road travelled 
 generally without any romantic feelings ; merely 
 as one of the great mediums of communication 
 between London and — the world ! Yet not all 
 the roads in existence can present to the mind, 
 worldly recollections like that ! What various floods 
 of mighty interest have swept along its course ! 
 The armies of the glorious Roman, and those 
 of our second conqueror, thronged and trampled
 
 206 THE FIRST 
 
 down the way. The gallant victors of Cressy, 
 and of Agincourt, with their high chivalry, and 
 belted knights, all passed along it ; and thousands 
 of great, and brave, and noble hearts have year 
 after year swelled the mighty list of those who 
 have swept along its course, till the hand of Fame 
 points to Him who left his country an almost un- 
 known and an untitled man, and who returned 
 at last with the ducal coronet on his brow, and 
 a name whose glorious renown was borne from 
 " Indus to the Pole !" 
 
 I could not but think of those things, as I 
 passed along ; of the many wondrous sights which 
 those silent fields, and unchanged hills and valleys 
 had beheld ; and I longed that some graphic pen 
 should bring them all out in stirring life, and 
 bright reality before the mind. 
 
 It was yet early summer ; and the leaves by 
 the road-side, were still in their brightest green ; 
 the air was soft and I was very happy ! Yet as I 
 got near my journey's end, — spite of my impatience 
 to see those from whom but a short half hour 
 now separated me, I could willingly have paused 
 a moment to admire the scene, which on turning 
 the hill near Dover, presented itself: the rich 
 wooded valley, with the sea beyond — and farther
 
 lieutenant's story. 207 
 
 still the high white cliffs of France ; on the left, 
 the vast outline of the fine old castle crowning the 
 hill, and on the right the heights and batteries 
 of the Fortification. Accustomed as my eye had 
 been so long to the glories of the Alps, the P}Te- 
 nees, the Apennines ! I could not yet see without 
 delight, these humbler beauties of my native isle. 
 
 Arrived at Dover, I soon found out my mother's 
 house. She was at home, and I flew into her 
 arms ^\ith a joy till then unknown. My feelings 
 towards her were so different from what thev had 
 ever been before, that I could hardly believe that 
 she was the same mother as formerly, or that I 
 was the same son who had left her three years 
 before with so much indifference. I found her 
 looking no older than before, and so well ! And 
 her happiness in seeing me seemed unbounded. 
 She could but weep for joy ; for the affectionate 
 style of my late letters, and the pleasure I showed 
 at being with her again, satisfied at length the 
 deep love which had been so continually pained 
 and disappointed before ; and made her feel that I 
 was now indeed a son. How I grieved when she 
 afterwards told me how unhappy my indifference 
 had made her ! How I mourned over the thought 
 that her solitary life had been a sad and sorrowing 
 one, not only from having lost the love of the
 
 208 THE FIRST 
 
 dead, but from having missed the love of the 
 living; and how thankful was I, that time was 
 still left me in which I might prove my repentance, 
 and show the joy that I had in cheering her, and 
 making the remainder of her life pass joyously by ! 
 
 It is the phraseology of books to talk of '• youth" 
 and " tenderness" as almost synonymous terms ; 
 and I have heard it said, " Where are we to look 
 for consideration, if not in the young ?" " In the 
 old — decidedly in the old. In the young last of all." 
 In all natures, the seeds of tenderness are sown ; for 
 all natures retain somewhat of the image of God, 
 — most tender — most compassionate ! and in some 
 few they seem indeed the chosen plants of the soil. 
 But in most, they have their place only in com- 
 mon with pride, and selfishness, and wilfulness, 
 and above all, thoughtlessness; and these last 
 often, for a time, spring so rank and strong, that 
 they crush, if they cannot wholly destroy the other 
 more gentle occupants of the soil. Experience it 
 is which oftenest teaches the heart to feel ; when 
 we have suffered, then we know what suffering is, 
 and can feel for it in others, and watch to allevi- 
 ate it. With me indeed, by a blessed exception, 
 it was the sense of happiness, — the hand of love, 
 which had opened the heart-stores of feeling; but
 
 lieutenant's story. 209 
 
 it is not often so. Some in their infancy have 
 those around them so gentle and so wise, that 
 from their own small stock of infant griefs they 
 are taught to sympathise in the griefs of others ; 
 — from the loss of bird or flower, to estimate the 
 heavier sorrows of the human breast. But healthy, 
 happy children, without this teaching, know^ not, 
 and think not of these things. They are blythe 
 as the bee, light as the wind, and the voice of 
 suffering if heard, is not understood by them. 
 
 Such had been the case with me. My father 
 and mother had been devotedly attached to each 
 other: and had lived so almost exclusively for 
 each other, that even I, though an only child, 
 never for a moment interfered with their mutual 
 devotion. I was greatly beloved, and the object of 
 their fondest care; and w^as always with them. 
 But I was never, that I recollect, much talked to 
 or instructed by either of them. I w^as their bird, 
 their butterfly, their joy ! a thing to dance around 
 them, or run by their side, or fly gaily before them, — 
 but nothing else. Filled with each other, I seemed 
 more as an addition, an ornament to their happi- 
 ness than an integral portion of it. I was gay, 
 and had scarcely a temptation to outward sin, for 
 my cheerfulness made me easily contented ; and 
 their boundless kindness supplied my every want, 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE FIRST 
 
 and pleasure. The best of everything was always 
 given to me. The brightest and sunniest spot in 
 all the garden was selected for my operations, in- 
 stead of the dark nook, over-shaded by trees, and 
 matted with roots, which is usually apportioned to 
 such youthful gardeners ; selected with the view, it 
 would seem, of disgusting them betimes with the 
 labours of floriculture, or initiating them early in 
 the charms of disappointment. 
 
 Often would I find fresh playthings, I had never 
 thought of perhaps, by my side ; and Fortunatus' 
 cap scarce brought its wearer the objects of his 
 wishes with greater promptitude, than the least of 
 mine were gratified by the active love of my parents. 
 It was now the bleat of a young lamb, now the 
 low cooing of a dove, or the cheerful song of a 
 favourite bird, that would rouse me up in the plea- 
 sant summer days ; — ephemeral wishes perhaps of 
 the dreamy evening before, brought as a sw^eet 
 surprise to greet my waking eyes ! Yet I never 
 thought of the love which provided them, nor was 
 I taught to do so ; I kissed my thanks — was en- 
 chanted and flew away to enjoy — my playthings 
 and — myself. 
 
 At length a dark and dreary change took place. 
 An almost sudden illness stretched my poor father 
 in his coffin, and my mother was from than hour
 
 lieutenant's story. 211 
 
 a stricken being. I wept for my own loss, for I 
 loved my father dearly ; but of my mother's loss in 
 him I never thoughjb ; and she was too sweet and 
 feeling to remind me of it. Thrown now first 
 upon each other for everything, at this dismal 
 time, we found how little we could suffice each 
 other, and felt our loneliness the more. We had 
 been together as a loving mother, and a happy 
 child, but as companions — never. The intercourse 
 of mind between us had been nought ; and w-e 
 could not begin it now, when the only themes 
 would have been suffering and grief. Her tears 
 distressed me, because they made me feel sorry and 
 unhappy ; but they never suggested to me the idea 
 that I might lighten her sorrow, and soothe her 
 unhappiness. 
 
 After sitting by her perhaps, for a while, in 
 embarrassed silence, or standing with my arm round 
 her neck, as she pressed me to her poor heart, and 
 v^ept over me tears of unutterable anguish, I would 
 make any little excuse for going away ; and gladly 
 avail myself of her permission to run out and 
 amuse myself; and I felt as if a weight of lead 
 were off my spirits, when the door closed, and I 
 was fi-ee, and alone again. Yet, sad for myself, I 
 w^ould often sit down on the stump of some old 
 tree, or in my garden barrow, and weep for my 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE FIRST 
 
 loss in him who had so often shared my pleasant 
 labours with me ; for my loss was great ! 
 
 Had any one at that time spoken to me of 
 my mother's sufferings, and shown me how to 
 act so as to make her happier, or told me only 
 how to show the love I really had for her, I am 
 sure that I should gladly have listened, and have 
 felt a child's eager pleasure in the thought of being 
 of use to her ; and I can never forget my sensa- 
 tions, when Mary's blessed hand, in our very first 
 conversation, touched this string. How instantly 
 my heart responded to it ! and what an agony 
 of self-reproach flashed over me, as she said : 
 " How sad she must be, living all alone." But 
 no such hand, or such voice was near me in 
 my childhood; and I was left in the untutored 
 selfishness of a thoughtless, but not loveless 
 nature, to follow the wild dictates of each passing 
 fancy. 
 
 The reserve between me and my mother, seemed 
 continually to increase at that time, till, seeing 
 I suppose, that I was not happy, and feeling 
 perhaps that she knew not how to make me so, 
 she asked me one day if I should like to go to 
 school. I felt my whole being brighten at the 
 thought, and I answered with a joyful " Yes !" 
 She burst into tears !
 
 lieutenant's story. 213 
 
 I remember wondering at the time, what could 
 make her do so, but I can understand it now fully. 
 
 Well ! I went to school ; that was not the place 
 to learn feeling, especially towards a mother ! I 
 then wTnt to sea — a not much better place ; though 
 perhaps a shade ! But Mary's blessed hand opened 
 my heart to all love. 
 
 My now, dear, mother and I, had not been many 
 minutes together at Dover before we spoke of her ; 
 and the joy I felt at hearing her praises of her 
 was great indeed ! 
 
 " She came to me," she said, " the very- day 
 of her arrival ; feeling, as she told me with her 
 little foreign accent, and simplicity of manner, 
 that she knew she should be w^elcome then, for 
 your sake, and hoped soon to be so for her own." 
 
 She was indeed most w^elcome from the first 
 moment for her own dear sake ! 
 
 I could but hug my mother to my heart as she 
 spoke of her ; w^ondering too at the change in my 
 feelings towards her, so different from what they 
 had ever been before ! 
 
 " If you owe a daughter to me, my dearest 
 mother," I exclaimed; "you owe a son I am 
 sure to her ; for I feel that till now I never loved
 
 214 THE FIRST 
 
 you as I ought, or valued enough your love to me. 
 Now it seems the crown and seal of all my hap- 
 piness — and I am so happy ! But where are they 
 living ? for the General told me they had not yet 
 settled on a house." 
 
 " Next door." 
 
 " Next door ! Oh ! I must go then." 
 
 " I think you had better stay just now," she 
 replied quietly. 
 
 I was about to feel vexed and impatient as of 
 old, when I detected a little smile on my mother's 
 lips ; and following the direction of her eye, I 
 saw Mary herself coming in at the little gate of 
 the garden. She looked up and nodded smilingly 
 at seeing my mother at the window ; but she did 
 not see me. 
 
 The sensations that filled my mind at that 
 moment are ill to be defined. Simple, boundless 
 happiness at the sight of that ever-beloved counte- 
 nance was the first feeling; but the next was 
 troubled — I know not what to call it — for lan- 
 guage is poor in following sensations; especially 
 when they are of a mixed and contradictory 
 kind, like those which then rushed through my 
 mind. How shall I express them ? 
 
 Hitherto our intercourse had been such as was
 
 lieutenant's story. 215 
 
 congenial to a love so pure, so true, so devoted 
 as ours; and the tinge of romance which had 
 accompanied it, had added not a little to its 
 charm. We had met in the flame, and parted 
 on the flood ! and all our intermediate intercourse 
 had been accompanied by refined and elevating 
 associations. Her own bright skies, flowers, 
 trees, light, shade, the fresh breeze, the rolling 
 waters ! — nature in all her purest beauty, and 
 highest sublimity, had till then surrounded us 
 when together; and exquisite as the thought of 
 her must ever have been to me under all circum- 
 stances, still its charm had been undoubtedly 
 enhanced by the framework jof enchanting, ex- 
 trinsic beauty, w^hich had ever surrounded her 
 image in my mind. 
 
 Now, she w^as on the Marine Parade of a 
 fashionable w^atering-place ! Feathers, and flowers, 
 and frills, and flounces, fluttered on the walk ; and 
 ceaseless groups were sauntering up and down. 
 I don't mean to abuse people who walk in such 
 places : I have walked in them myself, though 
 never much liking them ; and doubtless many 
 good, and amiable beings were amongst those 
 who were there that day, enjoying the sea-air, 
 and the sight of their fellow-creatures. But yet !
 
 216 THE FIRST 
 
 — Oh ! if on that moonlit-night off Port Mahon I 
 had, as I remember doing, 
 
 " Wished that littleisle had wings. 
 And we within its fairy bowers 
 Were wafted off to seas unknown ;" 
 
 how much more did I now wish to fly with her 
 from all that noise and bustle of the world which 
 had such a ' disenchantant ' effect upon my mind. 
 A miserable sort of feeling seemed to chill my 
 heart, and I felt as if my Mary were lost to me 
 for ever ! 
 
 My mother seeing I did not fly down to meet 
 her, as she naturally expected I should, said in 
 much surprise : 
 
 " Will you not open the door for her, Wilfred ? 
 We dispense with knocking here." 
 
 Roused in a moment from my brief, painful 
 reverie, I rushed down stairs, and was again in 
 her presence. Then — parade, feathers, flounces, 
 all had vanished from my mind, and Mary was 
 again, as ever — my Mary ! 
 
 After a while I left her with my mother, and 
 went to see the old General. Though but a 
 few days had elapsed since I had seen him, I
 
 lieutenant's story. 217 
 
 thought I observed a considerable change. He 
 complained much of the glare, and noise of the 
 place ; and seemed so dissatisfied with everything 
 about him, that I began to feel quite guilty, at 
 having been the means of persuading him to come 
 there. But at last on mentioning my mother, 
 he started into all his old vivacity of manner ; 
 and launched forth in her praise in a way that 
 set my mind quite at ease ; saying that her being 
 there made up for everything else; and that he 
 felt quite happy to think, that when he was gone, 
 his child would have a friend and mother, so wise, 
 and kind, and good ; " one who would take much 
 more care of her " he added, good-hum ouredly, 
 " than her harum-scarum son would ever do." 
 
 We all dined together of course, every evening ; 
 and in the mornings too w^e were alw^ays together. 
 We had much enjoyment ; but still it was scarcely 
 the same as before. 
 
 Dover was not in those days what it is now. 
 The ground now covered by handsome houses 
 between the Parade and the Pier was then a rope- 
 walk ; while the Castle Cliffs were visible from base 
 to crown ; never dreaming that the temerity of 
 man would lead him — as it has since done — to seek 
 his dwelling by their rugged sides, and beneath 
 their beetling brows. The Marine Parade houses
 
 218 THE FIRST 
 
 were therefore the only ones for visitors which 
 faced the sea, and the publicitj/ of the situation 
 was very disagreeable ; it being impossible to leave 
 one's house without coming into the midst of what- 
 ever bustle and gaiety the place afforded. We 
 knew not a soul there happily ; but still we craved 
 for loneliness and quiet. I could not but see that 
 Mary was much admired ; and though that was 
 gratifying to my vanity and affection, yet altogether 
 it grated on my feelings, and kept me in a state of 
 irritation to which I was little inclined by nature. 
 
 " Hitherto had Mary's face and mind, 
 Like holy mysteries lain enshrined ;" 
 
 and though the observations that I overheard were 
 of course complimentary, they were still often too 
 familiarly worded, to suit the deep respect that 
 accompanied every feeling of my heart towards her. 
 On board our ship, she had indeed been among 
 admiring men ; but they had all regarded her with 
 absolute veneration ; and she had trod the deck as 
 a creature who seemed to be of a higher order than 
 the rough but manly spirits by whom she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 And yet Dover was beautiful ! and when we got 
 into the country — far as it was before we could get 
 there — or mounted the Castle-hill, or the Western
 
 lieutenant's story. 219 
 
 Heights, or Shakspeare's Cliff — then it was real 
 enjoyment ! How magnificent was the view from 
 those high places ! taking in such a sweep of 
 watery waste ; and how pure and exhilarating the 
 air, compared to what it w^as below in the valley ! 
 I never mounted to them, but a line I had met 
 with somewhere came most animatingly into my 
 mind : 
 
 " Sur les monts de la foi, I'air est toujours serein." 
 
 To call it a " watery waste" that we looked upon, 
 was however a great injustice. If the Dover road 
 was, as I have said, the most storied of all those 
 that scar the face of the earth, so were the rushing 
 waters that divide us but by a few short miles from 
 our " natural friend " — the most abundant of all 
 old Ocean's domains in recollections, acti\dty, and 
 importance. From the moment that the Phoeni- 
 cian first sought us as the " Cassiterides," to the 
 time when I was looking on their sparkling surface, 
 the waters of our Channel have ever been fraught 
 with enterprise, whether of commerce, of science, or 
 of warlike exploit ! 
 
 That wondrous Power too, which has since 
 made silent and solitary the highway of the Roman, 
 was just at the period of which I am speaking, 
 beginning to display its mighty force upon the
 
 220 THE FIRST 
 
 waters ; and in addition to the flags of all nations, 
 and sails of all kinds which ceaselessly occupied the 
 busy winds, and drove the keel through the green 
 waves of the Channel, were now to be traced the 
 arrow-like motion, and diverging wake of the 
 " Steamer ;" forcing its way against wind and tide, 
 and floating its long panache of smoke and steam, 
 far down upon the wind. 
 
 In point of beauty, it is not of course 
 to be compared to any sailing vessel ; but its 
 strenuous, majestic, self-impelling action, is magni- 
 ficent ! The things which retard vessels which 
 are dependant upon outward influences, have but 
 little eff^ect on them ; and they rush on, against 
 wind, against tide, unswerving from their course, 
 and outstripping all around them, with a fear- 
 lessness of self-will, which it fills one with energy 
 and courage merely to behold. 
 
 We were observing them one morning, as 
 several having waited for the tide, came rush- 
 ing out, one after the other from the harbour 
 — each of them, the moment it had passed the 
 pier, and got free of the bar, separating its course 
 from the others, and darting like an arrow to the 
 point of its particular destination; and we were 
 struck by their being so tme an emblem of the 
 Christian — actuated, by a power in them, but not
 
 lieutenant's story. 221 
 
 of them: and uninfluenced by outward circum- 
 stances, going tranquilly, but boldly forsvard in the 
 path assigned, never turning back, or stopping, till 
 they had reached the ' haven where they would be.' 
 
 Ah 1 it was delightful to have such things 
 before one's eyes, and such thoughts within one's 
 heart ! and for hours together did we sometimes 
 watch untired the beauty of that tranquilly-busy 
 scene; and spite of the first painful impression 
 that it gave me, and the continual unpleasantness 
 of having to live so much en evidence during 
 our short stay at Dover — infinitely precious and 
 delightful are the recollections which embalm its 
 memory to me ! 
 
 Beyond the Castle jetty however, we found 
 almost perfect solitude. The cliffs too were so 
 fine there ! and when the tide was out, the vast 
 extent of low rocks, almost whoUy covered with 
 sea-weed, formed by their rich hues of purple and 
 green, a beautiful relief and contrast to the cold, 
 white colouring of the chalky heights above. 
 How w^e used to enjoy ourselves on those rocks ! 
 walking over the miniature crags, — intersected by 
 numbers of tiny streams, running their clear 
 shining courses in every direction, and forming 
 each its own little ravine, whose sides were either 
 clad with the brightest verdure, or cut into little
 
 222 THE FIRST 
 
 " fiords," and headlands, perfect in their miniature 
 beauty ! And not only did Mary and I enjoy 
 them, but my mother also would often be tempted 
 there by our glowing descriptions of the * romantic 
 scenery' to be found ; for her heart, long desolate 
 and depressed under the weight of sohtude and 
 sorrow, seemed to have become quite young and 
 buoyant again, under the warm aifection of her 
 two children, — both, alas ! equally new-found. 
 
 The old General did not attempt such venturous 
 doings, but used to sit basking on the shore ; 
 either occupying himself with some book, or 
 dreamily watching the rippling of the waters. 
 Indeed at no time of his life, would such things 
 have had charms for him. In youth he liked 
 better the active bustle of the camp and court ; 
 and now poor old man ! he seemed to have but 
 little enjoyment in anything. Yet it is not age, 
 which takes away our love of simple pleasures, 
 when once it has existed ; it outwears the mere 
 lapse of years ; — it is only sorrow. 
 
 Notwithstanding however these maritime amuse- 
 ments of ours, w^e still sighed for perfect quiet, 
 and the country ; and a pleasantly situated house 
 in the neighbourhood, at Buckland, becoming 
 vacant, it was agreed that we should take it jointly, 
 and live there together for a few months. This
 
 lieutenant's story. 223 
 
 was perhaps a primitive arrangement which might 
 have seemed odd in the eyes of the world ; but it 
 seemed not so to us in our simplicity. 
 
 Then there came a period of happiness, indeed ! 
 gi-eater than I can describe. 
 
 England, it is true, has not the unspeakable 
 charm, the heart-thrilling prestige which belong to 
 foreign lands ; but where shall we find the quiet, 
 happy, tranquil feelings which her green hills and 
 exquisite gardens, her shady lanes, and meadows 
 golden with the cowslip or buttercup, her glo^^^ng 
 heaths and picturesque cottages, her little woody 
 nooks, and stiles with overhanging trees, her still 
 bright streams, and haze-softened distances can 
 produce ? There is not much perhaps to elevate 
 the heart, but all to tranquilhze it ; and tranquillity 
 was all we wanted then — permission to enjoy the 
 happiness that came from within. 
 
 The country there then just suited us. It was of 
 that charming style which we call " rural." Soft, 
 round hills locking quite into the distance down 
 the long valleys ; low copse- woods, and grass fields 
 full of cowslips at first, and then carpeted with all 
 hues ; clover-fields sending their pure scent abroad 
 through the air ; and — flowing swiftly and silently 
 through the valley — the brightest stream that ever 
 sparkled in the sun ; whose waters were so clear.
 
 224 THE FIRST 
 
 that you would have hardly known them to be 
 water, but for their rippling eddies, and the added 
 brightness which they gave to the long green 
 water-weeds that waved and floated beneath their 
 " mobili cristalli." If inclined for far-off ram- 
 blings, w* wandered about the sunny glades, and 
 swelling hills on the one side ; or on the other, 
 mounted the higher ground, and looked eastward 
 through clumps of trees, and over boundless mea- 
 dows, towards the Downs, and onwards to the 
 heights of Ramsgate ; or back over the rich valley 
 to the old Castle of Dover, with the cliffs of France 
 stretching far beyond the line of dark blue sea. 
 
 When it was too hot for walking, we used to 
 sit out beneath some beautiful lime trees which 
 shaded the bottom of our sloping garden, and 
 overhung the clear stream which I have spoken of ; 
 and there Mary would bring her work, or drawing ; 
 and I read, or talked ; or we sat in that still, but 
 active enjoyment of existence which is so charming ! 
 But, " la position la plus douce, a toujours son 
 cote de souffrance ; probablement pour qu'elle soit 
 sanctifiee ;" and the thing that did in some measure 
 mar the animated peace of the joyful, thankful life 
 which we were then leading, was the state of the poor 
 old General, whose mind appeared evidently to fail, 
 while his irritability increased to a fearful degree.
 
 LIEUTENANT S STORY. 225 
 
 For a time we attributed his constantly talking 
 of his poverty and fretting lest he should at last 
 be starved, to this weak state of intellect ; but at 
 length it really seemed as if he had some founda- 
 tion for what he said, from great losses sustained 
 by the burning of his house, and from other 
 causes. 
 
 I shall never forget with what distress the first 
 idea that Mary had to endure any privation smote 
 upon my heart. We were sitting together under 
 the lime trees, then laden with their fragrant blos- 
 soms, and the old man was near us, alternately 
 dozing in his chair, and waking up to make some 
 querulous remark or other. Mary's usual occu- 
 pation had been drawing, embroidering, or doing 
 some ornamental w^ork, but this day she was 
 doing something for her own use. I need not 
 have been shocked, for the materials on which 
 she was exercising her neat-handed skill, w^ere 
 fine and dehcate ; but I was unused to see 
 her so employed, and asked her what she was 
 making. 
 
 " Some little cuffs," she replied ; " are they not 
 pretty ?" 
 
 " Very ; but why should you make them for 
 yourself? your maid is still with you." 
 
 " Yes ! I could not part from her ; we were 
 children together, and we love each other so much. 
 But you know we are not so rich as we used to be, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE FIRST 
 
 and she has many other things to do now ; so I 
 find that I must do these little works, and many 
 others for myself; but the hardship is not very 
 great to set little stitches in muslin and lace." 
 
 " Muslin and lace !" cried the old General in a 
 piteous voice ; having between sleeping and waking 
 caught his daughter's last words. " Muslin and 
 lace ! Aye, that is so like women ! If they haven't 
 bread to eat, still they must have their muslins and 
 laces ! — Mary, you'll ruin me if you go on in this 
 way." 
 
 I looked at her ; and the tears came fairly into 
 my eyes, as with her angel smile she answered her 
 father's irritating remark by saying : 
 
 " This lace is not new, my father," — for she 
 always retained her foreign habit of so addressing 
 him — "you have seen it before. When Giuletta di 
 Mazini was married, it trimmed my bridesmaid's 
 dress ; and now I was making it into some of those 
 little cuffs which you say you always like to see 
 me wear." 
 
 This answer seemed but half to satisfy the old 
 man, who continued his complaints in a low voice, 
 murmuring about "muslin and lace," as if haunted 
 by their spectral images. 
 
 Mary saw that it was best to say no more ; and 
 looked at me with that excusing smile, which a 
 mother might have worn for a loved and wayward 
 child.
 
 lieutenant's story. 227 
 
 The thought of her having any privation was how- 
 ever distracting to me ; and not all her gay cheerfal- 
 ness, could reconcile me to seeing her gradually 
 give up her favourite pleasures, her music, and 
 painting, and her lighter employments, to occupy 
 herself with common, necessary works ; and as is 
 often the case where folly is joined to affection, 
 instead of cheering her through any difficulties 
 she might have, I often turned her joyous hours 
 into sad ones hy irritable lamentations and be- 
 moanings of her fate. For myself, I felt I should 
 not have cared for any labour undertaken for her ; 
 and was never perhaps in better spirits, than when, 
 as she sate under the shade of the limes, plying 
 her busy needle, I worked close by at her little 
 garden, weeding and training the flowers she 
 loved so well ; and then hot and tired, threw my- 
 self on the grass by her side. But for her ! — I 
 should have liked to have spread everything rich 
 and beautiful that the world contained at her feet ; 
 and I suppose I should have gone on for ever tor- 
 menting myself and her, but for what I heard her 
 one day say to my mother, when»she thought I was 
 far away. They were sitting together enjoying the 
 soft summer air on the lawn, busily intent on 
 their work, and as my feet fell silently sur 
 Vherhe veloutee they did not hear me ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE FIRST 
 
 " Poverty like this," I heard her say, " is rather 
 animating than depressing ; supplying the stimulus 
 of necessity to the pleasure of employment. I 
 think I was never happier in my life ; and if only 
 my father were contented, and Wilfred would not 
 make me unhappy, by being so himself on my 
 account, I should be only too joyful ! What is 
 poverty when I have his love ? And can it take 
 from me the blessing of God ? — the pleasures of 
 nature ?" 
 
 " But have you no fears for the future ?" asked 
 my mother. 
 
 " Oh no," she replied, " the Word of truth says 
 ' My God shall supply all your need.' What there- 
 fore He does not supply, may be my fancy, but is 
 not my need you know." And she looked up with 
 a smile; and as she did so, caught sight of me, 
 as I stood silently behind my mother's chair, my 
 heart full of deep emotion. 
 
 Her colour rose to crimson. 
 
 "Oh, Wilfred!" she exclaimed, in some em- 
 barrassment ; " I did not know you were so near. 
 However, you have got the listener's due, and 
 heard no good of yourself" 
 
 " No, I have heard no good of myself," I re- 
 plied ; " but that which must do me good. — And 
 is it really I, Mary," I continued, as I took the chair 
 my mother had left, I knew, for my use, " is it
 
 lieutenant's story. 229 
 
 really I who am the source of discomfort to you ? 
 — you for whom I would gladly lay down my life — 
 slave in the sun — work in the mines — do anything!" 
 
 " My dearest Wilfred, thank you from my very 
 heart," she replied, " but I don't want you to do 
 all those great things for me ; I only want you to 
 do — what is perhaps after all a greater, — to give 
 up all anxiety for me, and let me be happy by 
 seeing that you are so. I do assure you that if I 
 saw you cheerful, I should be happier almost than 
 I could bear." 
 
 " I know you would not deceive me, except to 
 console me," I replied ; " and though I have thought 
 that you did that sometimes, yet what I have heard 
 you say this moment to my mother, has set my 
 heart quite at rest. And can it be, Mary, that my 
 love makes up to you for poverty?" And I co- 
 vered my face with my hands as millions of feelings 
 flooded my breast. 
 
 She was silent ; she knew she need not speak. 
 
 "Well then!" I continued after a moment, "I 
 will be as happy as you. Yes ! you are right in being 
 so ; for I am sure that no riches can be to us what 
 the love of God, and of each other is ; and no one 
 can take that from us. You must try again, and 
 teach me to ' live for the day,' as you have done so 
 often before ; — and who has such days as I have ? 
 But tell me, Mary, why should you be so particu-
 
 230 THE FIRST 
 
 larly happy just now ; when most others would be 
 unhappy ?" 
 
 " I can only feel it," she replied ; " as a proof of 
 God's love, who ' stays His rough wind in the day 
 of the East wind,' and will not let it blow too 
 chillingly upon me. He did not send me poverty, 
 till He had given me so much to make up for it ; 
 for besides having you with me, have I not found 
 a mother?" 
 
 From that time I strove really to do as I had 
 said, and to " live for the day ;" 
 
 " To watch time's moments, felt as they rushed by," 
 
 and to enjoy the thousand blessings poured 
 upon my happy path. It was long indeed before 
 the seeds of all the bright things she had sown in 
 my heart, sprung up ; but from the time I am 
 speaking of, I certainly began to obtain some little 
 power over those depressions and fears, which so 
 dishonour God, and which rob us of the benefit of 
 all the bright things which He gives us so richly to 
 enjoy. 
 
 It was strange that notwithstanding the sorrow 
 with which I thought of Mary's sudden fall from 
 riches to poverty, yet the idea of its interfering 
 with our marriage, never once occurred to me. The 
 young, thank God ! are not generally mercenary, 
 for they know but little of the value of money ;
 
 lieutenant's story. 231 
 
 and some never become so, because though they 
 may have learnt its value, yet their minds are too 
 elevated, and they have found thousands of trea- 
 sures — treasures of heart — of soul — which far, far 
 outweigh it. Neither Mary nor I had ever been 
 brought up to think of expense, and I am almost 
 inclined to say — I am thankful for it ; it left our 
 minds so free from all debasing considerations. 
 Yet I do not think that either of us ever could 
 have been made to value money, otherwise than as 
 a necessary means of living, and a blessed means 
 of doing good. All we had ever wanted, had been 
 supplied — we asked not whence, and cared not how. 
 What therefore might have been a rational cause 
 of fear, we were for a long time spared ; and time 
 therefore sped happily by. But a black cloud was 
 hovering over us, that was soon to break in storms 
 of trouble on our heads.
 
 232 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 When thus my did daily dawn, how she lit up my 
 
 world ! — tinging more rosily the roseate clouds, that, — like 
 those in her summer-cheek — played to and fro, like 
 clouds in Italian skies. — mardi. 
 
 Those loving, glorious eyes ! 
 
 The sun of another world doth in their brightness rise. 
 
 If thy heart 
 Be grown thus restless, is it not because 
 Within its dark folds thou had mantled up 
 Some burning thought of ill ? 
 
 Nothing had been heard of Captain Norman- 
 ton for some time ; though he had at first written 
 to General Sydney, and spoken of visiting him as 
 soon as his affairs would permit. But spring had 
 ripened into summer, and the summer hues were 
 beginning to be enriched with the warmer tints of 
 autumn, yet still he came not ; and several months
 
 lieutenant's story. 233 
 
 having elapsed without his having even written 
 again, we began to hope that he had in the cooler 
 moments of absence, felt it wisest and most honour- 
 able to piu-sue his object no further. Such how- 
 ever, it soon appeared was not the case. 
 
 On one of those sultry days that we sometimes 
 have at the beginning of September, I had been 
 very busy in training up a jessamine, which was 
 a great favourite with us ; — with Mary for the sake 
 of its starry, fragrant flowers, and with me because 
 it grew round the window of a little morning 
 room, where she would sit sometimes when she 
 wished to be alone. Often had my voice from 
 below, called her to that window ; and then she 
 would look down upon me like — what she was — 
 my guardian angel ; and speak those ever gentle 
 words of cordial kindness, which came so warm 
 to my heart. 
 
 I had mounted a ladder that day to reduce to 
 obedience, some rambling shoots which had intruded 
 too far upon her view ; and it was a delight to me 
 which I cannot describe, to lean on the outside of 
 her window, and talk to her as she sat in her own 
 little room, surrounded by the thousand " piccoli 
 oggetti," which — the more perhaps, because they 
 contrast so much with our rougher minds, and 
 rougher habits — constitute a part of the charm, 
 which makes women " the poetry of human life." 
 
 There is certainly a great pleasure in anything
 
 234 THE FIRST 
 
 which is done a little out of the common way, and 
 helps to relax the cold formalities of a room- 
 life; and this very little escapade from general 
 routine — the mere mounting a ladder, and volun- 
 teering a piece of rustic work, with a light blouse 
 on, and a sailor's black ribbon, superseding the 
 choking neckcloth — and leaning and talking into 
 a window, instead of out of it — gave an animation 
 to my spirits, which made them rise to the 
 " heights of towering absurdity," which they had 
 always of old inhabited ; and from which they had 
 seldom descended, till my once empty heart had 
 become filled with higher sensations, making it 
 almost " too happy to be gay ;" and 
 
 "Mellowing earth's ruder noise 
 Of griefs and joys," 
 
 by a scene of present bliss ; and by thoughts of 
 
 " Fairer scenes that never, never die." 
 
 This is ever the effect of true and absorbing 
 feeling; and I could scarcely call that affection 
 " deep," which did not produce this softening 
 refinement of soul. 
 
 " Love is * * * * * 
 
 An angel-mind breathed into a mortal; though fallen, 
 
 yet how beautiful ! 
 The devotion of the heart in all its depth and grandeur." 
 
 Mary as well as I, seemed to feel the pleasure of
 
 lieutenant's story. 235 
 
 that moment ; and she came to the window, and 
 threw the sprigs of jessamine which I gathered for 
 her, down to my mother, who was standing below, 
 with childish amusement ; looking, as she did so, 
 more like a creature of earth than I had ever seen 
 her before ; for there was generally an elevation in 
 her countenance, and a depth of feeling in her 
 fiill and most expressive eyes, that stilled the more 
 frivolous parts of one's nature, and filled the heart 
 with happiness rather than with mirth. There was 
 no change but what embellished her ! 
 
 " Yet was there light around her brow, 
 A hohness in those dark eyes. 
 That showed, though wandering earthward now. 
 Her spirit's home was in the skies." 
 
 We were enjoying ourselves in this w^ay, in the 
 exceeding gladness of our hearts, when the ser- 
 vant appeared at the drawing-room window, which 
 opened upon the lawn, and spoke to my mother. 
 I did not hear what he said, but I guessed it by 
 her answering: " General Sydney is there," pointing 
 to where the old man sat at a little distance, bask- 
 ing in the sun. 
 
 My heart suddenly ceased beating; for the 
 servant receiving her answer, and stepping out on 
 the lawn, was followed by one whose figure I could 
 not mistake — Captain Normanton. He bowed to 
 my mother , and as he did so, I saw his eye glance
 
 236 THE FIRST 
 
 up to the window where I was standing ; but he 
 evidently did not recognise me, and passed an. 
 Mary saw him as well as I, and in sudden terror 
 she grasped my hand as if for protection, and 
 shrunk back into the room, trembling from head 
 to foot. 
 
 " Why should you be afraid of him, dearest 
 Mary ?" I whispered ; "he can do nothing to hurt 
 you." 
 
 " I cannot tell," she replied ; " but the sight of 
 him fills me with dread." 
 
 " Nothing can separate us, dear," I said ; " God, 
 I am sure, will never let that be ; so don't be 
 afraid. Yet from my soul I wish he were com- 
 manding some fine frigate in the South Seas, or 
 * careering in the Celestial waters,' or anywhere 
 but here. But T must go down, I suppose, and 
 speak to him, or he will think it odd." And I ran 
 down the ladder. 
 
 I advanced to meet him, as he was walking 
 towards the house with the General ; and spite of 
 the many reasons I had to deprecate his presence 
 there, I could not but feel a sort of cordiahty at 
 again seeing my old commander. He was walking 
 with his eyes bent on the ground — a habit of his 
 that always gave a particularly unpleasant expres- 
 sion to his countenance — and he did not see me 
 till I stopped before him and spoke. He started 
 as if he had been shot ; and looked at me with
 
 lieutenant's story. 237 
 
 bewilderment and terror, as if I were an * affrit' 
 crossing his path. All strength seemed for a 
 moment gone from him, and his arms hung down 
 by his side as if he had not power to raise one to 
 shake the hand I held out to him. 
 
 " Mr. St. Clair !" at last he exclaimed ; coldly 
 giving me his hand, whilst the thunders of Erebus 
 covered his brow ; " you here ?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied, " I have been here for months ; 
 ever since we all left Dover. That lady whom you 
 passed on the lawn is my mother." 
 
 He bowed stiffly, as if in acknowledgment of this 
 piece of information ; then glancing contemptu- 
 ously at the hammer which I still held in my hand 
 he said : 
 
 " If I mistake not, I saw you on the top of a 
 ladder just now, when I came in. I recognise the 
 dress now, though of course I never dreamed of 
 looking for you in such a position. Your talents 
 seem of a versatile order." 
 
 " Oh ! everything is pleasant under some cir- 
 cumstances," I replied ; " I was training the jessa- 
 mine round Miss Sydney's window there." 
 
 His eye, as I said this, darted up like hghtning 
 to the spot ; where at that moment the back of 
 Mary's head with its coils of glossy hair, was just 
 visible, as she stood in the middle of the room. 
 
 His cheek had been pale as death till that 
 moment; but then the purple flood rushed up.
 
 238 THE FIRST 
 
 His lip trembled, and his nostril quivered as the 
 quick breath came and went ; and a suffusion of 
 such tenderness swept over his generally harsh 
 brow, and cold stern eye, that my heart was pained 
 to the quick. He put up his handkerchief to 
 conceal his agitation ; but I had turned away, and 
 begun to busy myself in some occupation befitting 
 my new character of gardener, that he might not 
 know I had observed him ; leaving him and the 
 General to proceed by themselves to the house. 
 
 " Are Mrs. St. Clair and her son living with you 
 here ?" I heard him ask in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes," replied the General. 
 
 " Rather an odd arrangement is it not, my dear 
 Sir?" 
 
 " Is it ?" said the old man, rather in alarm. 
 *' We met Mrs. St. Clair at Dover, and she was 
 very kind, and he you know — " 
 
 They stepped off the silent grass, and the sound 
 of their feet on the gravel walk drowned the rest of 
 the sentence. From the few words however, which 
 reached me, I felt convinced that a storm of trouble 
 was brewing; and that our hitherto cloudless 
 horizon would not be suffered to remain so much 
 longer. 
 
 My heart sunk within me; the cold determi- 
 nation of Captain Normanton's manner, and the 
 evident power he possessed over the weakened 
 mind of the old General, sending the same nameless
 
 lieutenant's story. 239 
 
 terror into my soul that had so overcome Mary. 
 I stood spell-bound almost, watching them till they 
 entered the house. 
 
 The drawing-room bell rung, — I felt confident, 
 for the servant to tell Mary to come down. 
 I threw away my hammer and hastened into the 
 house by another door, for I was resolved that she 
 should not have to go alone into that room ; or 
 be obliged to endure without support Captain 
 Normanton's displeasing manners ; wishing too 
 that he should see by the allowed intimacy of our 
 habits, that we must be engaged ; for I could not 
 but feel convinced that if thoroughly assured of 
 that, he had yet honourable feeling enough to 
 make him withdraw from the hopeless contest. 
 
 I rushed up-stairs, and hearing my mother's 
 voice in Mary's sitting-room, asked if I might 
 come in. Permission being granted, I w^ent in ; 
 when I found my mother with a heightened colour, 
 and nervous agitation of manner, talking to Mary. 
 
 *' Do, my dear Wilfred," she said, " try and give 
 some courage to this poor coward heart. I cannot 
 think why she should be so alarmed at the sight 
 of Captain Normanton. He will soon be gone ; 
 and his visit, poor man, will do him more harm 
 than any one else." 
 
 " It is very foolish," said Mary, who was looking 
 as pale as death, '' but I cannot help it. Dear 
 Wilfred ! you remember on your first visit to us.
 
 240 THE FIRST 
 
 how frightened you said I looked, when I thought 
 it was he who was coming ; and it is much worse 
 now. No one can know how really fearful his 
 presence is to me; and how insupportable his 
 way of speaking." 
 
 " Dearest Mary," I said, kneeling by her, trying 
 to soothe her ; " don't give way to this fear. I will 
 go down with you, and be near you, and then he 
 cannot be disagreeable ; and he must soon be gone." 
 
 She rose from her chair. " I will try and get the 
 better of this foolish fear," she said, " but when 
 with him I cannot help feeling, as a miserable bird 
 in the presence of a rattlesnake." 
 
 " In this free land," I said smiling, *•' you need 
 fear no constraint, Mary. And who is there would 
 use it ? not your father !" 
 
 " Oh no !" she replied. " And yet Captain 
 Normanton seems to have so much power over 
 him ! and he never seems the same in his presence 
 as when away from him ; — he whom I thought too 
 spirited to be quelled by any one." 
 
 The remembrance of the General's manner just 
 before, when passing me in the garden, rushed 
 back to my thoughts, and really for a moment it 
 quite sickened me; and Bruce's warning also 
 recurred strongly to my mind. However I would 
 not say anything that could increase Mary's fears, 
 so answered with a crazy attempt at gaiety : 
 
 " Do you imagine that that well-made boot hides
 
 lieutenant's story. 241 
 
 so very cloven a foot ? or that that perfect coat 
 smoothes down the wings of Apollyon ? No ! 
 1 don't think he is quite so redoubtable a foe as 
 that. So now, my dearest, you shall come down ; 
 for I fear your father will be vexed at any want of 
 courtesy to him." 
 
 When we opened the drawing-room door we 
 found the General with his hand on the lock, just 
 coming to call her. 
 
 " Ah ! you're here at last," he said with con- 
 siderable irritation, " I thought you w^ere never 
 coming. Where have you been ?" 
 
 " We were up-stairs," I answered for her. 
 
 Captain Normanton bit his lip — I should have 
 thought, to the blood ; but quickly commanding his 
 countenance, he advanced to meet Mary ; while, as 
 he observed her timid air, and watched her varying 
 colour, there was a smile on his curled lip, and a 
 sarcastic, defying expression on his coimtenance, 
 which was scarcely to be endured. 
 
 I went up to him ; and with as much courtesy 
 as I could command, began talking of our old 
 shipmates, and of other matters. But he was 
 evidently anything but pleased at the interruption ; 
 and soon rising, proposed going out into the 
 garden. So we went out, and sat under the 
 shade of the lime trees. 
 
 He was in deep mourning : his father, he had 
 told the General had died some months before • 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE FIRST 
 
 and the attendance on his sick-bed — for he had 
 been an excellent son — and the vast quantities 
 of business he had had on coming into his pro- 
 perty, was what had occasioned his long delay 
 in paying his promised visit to Dover. We all 
 sat together in uncomfortable constraint, till at 
 length luncheon was announced — prodigious bless- 
 ing at that moment ! and we returned to the 
 house. 
 
 As we passed near Mary's window, against 
 which my ladder was still resting, I said to her : 
 
 " I must finish that for you to-morrow, Mary." 
 
 Captain Normanton started at hearing me 
 address her in that familiar way, and turned 
 round fiercely towards me; softening his angry 
 look however to a bitter smile, as he said in an 
 ironical tone : 
 
 " England is still, I perceive, as it always was : 
 a land of liberty !" 
 
 " All lands should be such," I replied; " where 
 we merely claim our rightful privileges." 
 
 Our eyes met and flashed defiance. I saw that 
 he understood me ; and the rage that glared from 
 beneath his suddenly contracted brow was frightful. 
 
 We reached the house, where we found my 
 mother waiting for us. Captain Normanton was 
 introduced to her; and her kindly heart feeling 
 for his painful position, with which we had ac- 
 quainted her, she was particularly attentive, and
 
 lieutenant's story. 243 
 
 amicable towards him. Nothing however, could 
 rouse him into conversation ; he seemed to have 
 the weight of worlds at his heart, and the whole 
 thing appeared insupportable to him. At length 
 he rose to go ; saying that he hoped some early 
 day to be able to return, and pay them another 
 visit. 
 
 Our eyes again met, but it was my brow that 
 lowered now; his countenance had resumed its 
 smiling contempt. He took his leave, mounted 
 his horse, and rode away. The door closed upon 
 him, and we all took a long breath of deep relief. 
 
 The General seemed afraid that we might have 
 obser\Td that he did so, and that it might have 
 appeared ungrateful in him, so he begun : 
 
 "He is a very gentlemanlike person, that 
 Captain Normanton ; and has been very kind 
 to us. I am afraid his \4sit was but a dull one. 
 Mar}-, you didn't talk at all. And why did you 
 stay away so long? it was very^ unci\'il of you." 
 
 She seemed at a loss what to say ; so made 
 up for her want of words, by stooping down, and 
 kissing him. 
 
 *' Ah, that's all very well, but when I send 
 for you another time, you must come directly; 
 and I insist on vour beino; more attentive to 
 Captain Normanton. You were never very civil 
 to him, even when on board his ship, and when he 
 \^as doing all in his power to please you; but I 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE FIRST 
 
 desire that you will try to be more agreeable to 
 him, at least in your father's house. It is very 
 kind I am sure of any one to take notice of us 
 at all now, when we are so poor, and do not know 
 how we shall get on at all." 
 
 And so he rambled on, poor old man, talking of 
 starvation, and Captain Normanton, and extrava- 
 gance and economy, till my mother as a relief, pro- 
 posed our taking a walk — and we did so. 
 
 It was a heavy burden to her to have continually 
 to keep up his spirits, and bear with his wearisome 
 wanderings over the same subjects for ever ; but 
 her love for me, and for Mary too, made her 
 cheerfully endure it; and in time, as she told 
 me, she really used not to hear him as he mur- 
 mured on ; and would answer *' Yes," or " No," 
 at random; which she said did always perfectly 
 well. 
 
 One would have had more compassion for the 
 weakness of his mind, had his violence of temper 
 weakened with it ; but his irritability increased, as 
 his intellect decayed ; and this day, Mary's spiints 
 for the first time seemed to sink under it; and 
 as we were sitting together after our walk, her 
 tears streamed down uncontrollably. It was not 
 solely on her father's account however ; her mind 
 was oppressed by the remembrance of Captain 
 Normanton's visit. His apparently unchanged 
 feelings towards herself, and his looks of di/e
 
 lieutenant's story. 245 
 
 enmity whenever I crossed his path, filled her 
 with an alarm, w^hich for a time quite overbore 
 all her bright hope, and faith ; and with sad fore- 
 bodings did she look forward to a long term of 
 trouble and trial, ere the time should come when 
 she might, as she said, in her union with me 
 find " peace, and tranquillity, and joy."
 
 246 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The morn is up again, the dewy morn, 
 
 With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom. 
 
 Laughing the clouds away, as if in scorn. 
 
 God has graciously given me this endowment of love. 
 
 THE STONE-CUTTER OF ST. POIXT. 
 
 Oft by a flower or leaf, in some loved book 
 
 We mark the lines that charm us most : retrace 
 
 Thy life ; — recall its loveliest passage ; — look. 
 Dead violets keep the place ! 
 
 SIR E. BULWER LYTTON. 
 
 " Sorrow endureth for a night, but joy cometh 
 in the morning." How often is this ti-ue ! The 
 wearied, overwrought mind sees things as night 
 approaches, with its dark shadow on them ; but 
 the morning light, bringing with it, its countless 
 mercies, re-animates the spirits, and makes them 
 rise the higher in their joy, for having cast off
 
 lieutenant's story. 247 
 
 the care which had weighed so heavily on them 
 before. 
 
 Never did Mary seem happier or more joyous 
 than the next morning ; when, at my call beneath 
 her window, she looked out, bright as the morn 
 itself. When she came down, and we had time to 
 converse together, she told me how grieved she had 
 been at the sinful, faithless state of her soul the 
 night before ; and how the sense of her weakness 
 had driven her to God for fresh strength and com- 
 fort ; and how she had found it, and trusted never 
 again to let it be wrested from her. She said she 
 still thought it likely that she might have trouble, 
 and annoyance from Captain Normanton ; but that 
 she was sure that God would smoothe her w^ay, and 
 strengthen her failing heart. 
 
 How happy we were that day ! and my garden- 
 hammer sent forth as ringing and cheerful a sound, 
 when it gave its last stroke, as when it struck its 
 first in defence of discipline and authority. The 
 rebellious jessamine was now reduced to perfect 
 order and subjection, and " through cloudiest green, 
 radiated its star-like flowers," round Mary's window 
 in fresh beauty and brightness. She praised my 
 skill in my new office ; and said that if only the 
 branches of a passion-flower which grew on another 
 part of the house could twine their blossoms with 
 that of the jessamine, her window would be 
 perfect.
 
 948 THE FIRST 
 
 It was impossible to effect that of course ; but by 
 the very break of day the next morning, I was 
 walking across the dewy meadows, and through the 
 dusty lanes, to a nursery-garden near Dover, where 
 some little time before I had seen some of the 
 plants she coveted, in full blossom. I chose one, and 
 carried it off in triumph ; as well as a nosegay of 
 flowers for my mother. 
 
 The plant was heavy, and the sun. was hot ; but 
 I was never less tired with a walk in my life ; the 
 morning air was so exhilarating ; and my heart 
 bounding with happiness ! I was glad to find all 
 still quiet in the house when I returned ; and with- 
 out losing a moment I mounted the ladder, which 
 I had purposely left against the wall the night 
 before, with my plant in hand ; and having con- 
 trived to screen the pot among the thick foliage of 
 the creepers which grew there, I trained the 
 branches of the plant so as to form a fringe all 
 round the lower part of the window. I had chosen 
 one which had several flowers in full bloom on it ; 
 but as they always close at night, and wait for the 
 heat of the sun, before they expand themselves, 
 they were still shut up in their green cases, when 
 I had finished my work ; and I cannot say with 
 what childish impatience I looked at them, after I 
 had descended from my ladder, anxious that they 
 should be in their full beauty when Mary came to 
 take her morning view of the world from her
 
 lieutenant's story. 249 
 
 favourite spot. I watched them, — and watched 
 them, as if it had been the light of my eyes that they 
 needed to make them open ; till remembering my 
 mother's nosegay, I ran into the house to arrange 
 it. I put it into a vase of water and placed it 
 on the breakfast-table ; and then rushed back to 
 see if my flowers had done anything wonderful in 
 my absence. — They had indeed ! The sun had 
 just overtopped some trees which shaded the house, 
 and had poured its hot beams on the blossoms 
 which were so ready to receive them ; and there 
 they stood, like glorious suns themselves, yet with 
 unenvious beams, allowing the soft stars of the 
 jessamine to shine beside them. 
 
 I called to Mary — it was just eight o'clock — 
 her usual hour, for we were both early risers, — and 
 stood below waiting for her ; for I feared to lose her 
 first look of glad surprise when she should see her 
 new-blown favourites beneath her window. At 
 last she came, and was gaily returning my morning 
 salutation, when her eye caught sight of them. 
 
 " Oh, Wilfred !" she exclaimed. 
 
 She looked at me ; and reading somewhat of 
 their history in my eyes, she bent over them, and 
 a suffusion of extreme emotion rushed over her 
 countenance. 
 
 I flew up the ladder, and was by her side in an 
 instant. She seemed more touched than I could 
 have thought at so slight a mark of love ; and bent
 
 250 THE FIRST 
 
 her softened, drooping eyes on the purple glory of 
 the flowers. 
 
 " Do you like them, Mary ?" I asked. 
 
 " Like them ! Oh, Wilfred ! I never liked 
 anything half so much." And she raised her loving 
 eyes to mine with an expression that choked me. 
 I could not speak a word. 
 
 " Oh !" she continued ; " you might have done 
 many a great thing that would not have melted 
 my heart as this remembrance of a little passing 
 wish has done. I can never forget it ! All blessed 
 happinesses will now be associated in my mind with 
 this flower : — Christ's love — God's love — and 
 your's — and, best of all — the power to feel and 
 to return them." 
 
 " Is loving then, a greater happiness to you than 
 being loved ?" I asked ; my voice still trembling 
 with emotion. 
 
 " Ah surely I" she replied. " When we love, 
 every pleasure to those we love is a pleasure to us ; 
 — all we can do for them is joy. I could work 
 unseen, unknown, by night and day, and be fully 
 repaid by their enjoyment. It is so blessed to 
 love !" 
 
 " I believe you could, Mary," I replied ; for your 
 nature is near akin to God's, who does ' all for 
 love, and nothing for reward.' But I doubt 
 whether my feelings are so amiable ; I could not 
 love long I think without return."
 
 lieutenant's story. 251 
 
 "Yuu have never been tried," she answered 
 gently ; " but even had you been, I do not think 
 you would ever have failed in kindness." 
 
 She began arranging some of the leaves of the 
 plant, and turned one of the blossoms towards 
 her, so as fully to see its beauty. 
 
 " I don't know how to thank you enough," 
 she began again ; " these petites surprises — 
 these little thoughtfulnesses show so much affec- 
 tion — and create so much. But where did you 
 get it ? and how have you managed it so well ?" 
 
 " I got it at Johnson's garden this morning ; 
 and this is how^ I have managed it." And putting 
 some of the leaves aside, I showed her how I had 
 arranged it. 
 
 " And did you bring that great plant all the 
 way yourself? How tired you must be." 
 
 " No, not at all," I replied. " Carrying it for 
 you, Mary, made me feel like * Paul' when carry- 
 ing ' Virginie,' ' comme si j'avais les ailes d'un 
 oiseau.' I brought a nosegay too for my mother." 
 
 '•' I am so glad of that," she exclaimed ; " I 
 must go down, and see how pleased she will be." 
 
 "I will join you soon," I said. And I raced 
 down my ladder, and went to change my dusty 
 clothes. 
 
 When I went into the breakfast-room I found 
 no one there but Mary. She had re-arranged 
 the flowers ^^ith much better taste in the vase.
 
 252 THE FIRST 
 
 and put them opposite my mother's place ; and 
 had gone into the garden and gathered some 
 others to make a wreath round her plate. She 
 had just completed her fragrant labours when I 
 entered ; and she called me joyously to come 
 and admire her handiwork. How could I do 
 otherw^ise ? 
 
 " All she did seemed still well done to me !" 
 
 and she had in perfection the feminine, and 
 exquisite art of adorning everything she did, by 
 the feeling and taste with which she did it. 
 
 Oh ! I could dwell upon that time for ever ! 
 It may seem puerile in a man who has reached, 
 "il mezzo del cammin di nostra vita," to re- 
 member such things at all ; but I fancy the best 
 wisdom our age can teach us, as far as the things 
 of this world go, is to return as nearly as 
 we can to the simple joys and feelings of our 
 youth. Our blessed Lord has said: "Except ye 
 become as little children, ye cannot see the king- 
 dom of God;" and with equal truth I think it 
 may be said, that the nearer we approach in man- 
 hood to the pure tastes, and simple pleasures 
 of our first fresh years, the more fully we become 
 inheritors of the earth also. 
 
 I have been in stirring scenes enough ; in 
 tempests and warfare, — and that of the bloodiest
 
 lieutenant's story. 253 
 
 kind — hand to hand with pirates of the East ; or, 
 a thousand times worse, the devilish slave-dealers 
 of the West; but I cannot say, that from the 
 moment I washed the foul stain of their ruffian 
 blood off my hands, to the present hour, I have 
 ever had one moment's satisfaction in retracing 
 those scenes of horror; or have ever voluntarily 
 turned back to that frightful page of memory. 
 Grief too, unspeakable ! and the throes of fearful 
 passions, and wild, thrilling joys — all those I have 
 known — oh ! too well known ! — But not even to 
 the last — to the overpowering joy — does my mind 
 turn with half the pleasui-e that it does to those 
 happy times when my spirit was so calm, that 
 the slightest breath woke it into brightness, and 
 made it reflect the light of heaven in a thousand 
 ways. " I could not fathom the depths of my own 
 happiness — I could but float upon its sunny stream." 
 It is the little things of life and love that 
 "bring all paradise into our heart;" which, 
 stretching out their tendrils on every side, cling 
 round our memory, till they become a part of 
 our very selves. Yes ! true is his " Philosophy," 
 who says : 
 
 " Thou art wise, and shalt find comfort if thou study thy 
 pleasure in trifles ; 
 For slender joys often repeated fall as sunshine upon the 
 
 heart ; 
 T he streams of small pleasures, till the lake of happiness."
 
 254 THE FIRST 
 
 The recollections of that day have never faded 
 from my heart, nor have they ever been recalled 
 without bringing with them somewhat of their 
 first happiness — " embalmed, not buried " in 
 my memory. They were so true to Nature ! 
 so simple, yet so full of life and happi- 
 ness ! Greater things are often swept away 
 by Time's rushing waters ; but these golden sands 
 of life sink too deep into the stream, for its waves 
 to reach, or to disturb them ! 
 
 I could but praise Mary for the beauty of 
 her arrangement, and just as she had stolen 
 one of Summer's last roses from the nosegay, 
 to place by the side of her father's plate, he 
 entered. My mother followed, and charmed by 
 the flowers, and the love of her children, her kind 
 eye beamed dearer love upon us than ever. 
 
 When breakfast was over, the General was led 
 forth by Mary to see the wonderful plant that had 
 emulated "Jack's bean-stalk" with such success 
 in its night's progress ; and, in particular good 
 humour, the old man sang my praises as if he 
 thought I had invented the flower, as well as put it 
 there. 
 
 I then told Mary I had a little favour to ask 
 of her, which was to let me go into her sitting- 
 room, and look at all the roba with which it 
 was adorned. She readily granted my request ;
 
 lieutenant's story. 255 
 
 and we all adjourned there ; where my mother 
 and the General having seen everything already, 
 sat down and talked together, while Mary did 
 the honours of her alabasters, marbles, bronzes, 
 &c., to me. Many of them were very beautiful, 
 and I expressed my regret that while abroad I 
 had not got something with which to have en- 
 riched her collection. 
 
 " I have enough," she said, " abundance ; — and 
 I should almost say, too much, were they not 
 all tokens of affection from others; but there 
 is so much misery in the world that I should 
 not like to give, or to accept anything extravagant 
 in any way." 
 
 " But if no one bought works of art," I observed, 
 " artists would perish. The whole world cannot 
 be employed in tilling the earth, or in the manu- 
 facture of the coarse garments which might just 
 suffice to clothe, and keep us warm.^' 
 
 " Oh, no !" she answered. " I have no doubt 
 that various tastes are given that there may be a 
 demand for various things ; — and talents bestowed, 
 that they may be means of maintenance to those 
 w^ho possess them. I think, too, that as it pleases 
 the Almighty that there should be difference of 
 ranks in the world, that that difference should be 
 seen in all things. Still we are told to ' let our 
 moderation be known ;' and though refinement is 
 allowable, yet excess of luxury is a selfish and cruel
 
 256 THE FIRST 
 
 thing, when many have not the common neces- 
 saries of life." 
 
 " Yet, as a remembrance of my great affection, I 
 should have liked you to have had something from 
 me," I said ; " but I have not the slightest thing 
 that 1 could give you, and now, I ought not per- 
 haps, to spend our money in that way." 
 
 "You have one thing," she replied, with a 
 heightened colour and kindling smile, as she pointed 
 to a ring with a turquoise which I always wore on 
 my little finger. 
 
 " Would you wear it ?" I exclaimed, delighted. 
 
 " Yes ; and never take it off, till you asked me to 
 do so." 
 
 In an instant the ring was transferred from my 
 finger to hers ; and I kissed with grateful love the 
 hand she held out for it. 
 
 I can never forget the expression of her coun- 
 tenance as she looked at me, and said : 
 
 " You quoted ' Paul's' words to me a little while 
 ago, and I will now quote ' Virginie's' to you : ' Je 
 n'oublierai jamais que tu m'as donne la seule chose 
 que tu possedes au monde.' " 
 
 " Quand on aime," T replied in the same 
 charming language, *' on ne pent rien perdre — ce 
 qu'on donne, on retient." 
 
 " One must love very much though to part with 
 everything," she continued. 
 
 "One must love much more to accept every-
 
 lieutenant's story. 257 
 
 thing," I replied. "When you were rich, I was 
 willing to accept all from you, Mary. Did not 1 
 then love much ?" 
 
 Her lip quivered. She turned aside a moment ; 
 then opening a little case that stood near, she took 
 out a ring, with a single large opal in it, and 
 placing it in my hand, asked me to wear it for her 
 sake. It was beautiful, and I did not like to take 
 it from her : I told her so, but she stopped me, 
 saying : 
 
 " Remember your own words, Wilfred : ' Ce 
 qu'on donne, on retient.' " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 258 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 If the happy knew how much power belonged to a single 
 word of kindness, — a glance of feeling given to the despised, 
 they would not look so coldly on the miserable. — the 
 
 BRAVO. 
 
 Sanctified civility is a great ornament to Christianity. — 
 
 LIFE OF PHILIP HENRY. 
 
 Be well, when you are not ill ; and pleased, when you 
 are not angry. — temple. 
 
 Thus passed our days in peace and happiness. 
 We read much, and spent our time in, I trust, 
 useful as well as pleasant ways. Few days passed 
 without our visiting some of the abodes of poverty 
 and ignorance which lay scattered around us ; and 
 I was particularly struck with the effect of Mary's 
 manner on the often suffering creatures we met 
 with. One of the peculiar charms of her character 
 was her constant cheerfulness. Wherever she
 
 lieutenant's story. 259 
 
 went, her gladsome presence made sunshine all 
 around. " Her coming was a gladness." Never 
 was happiness chilled by a look of hers, never did 
 despondency meet the light of her eye without 
 feeling half its burthen gone. 
 
 It was but little indeed of this world's goods that 
 she had to bestow upon the poor. " Silver and 
 gold have I none," she might almost have said ; 
 and, oh ! with what truth added : " but that which 
 I have give I unto you !" It might indeed be said, 
 " When the eye saw her then it blessed her ;" and 
 it was delightful to me to see with what pleasure 
 her visits were received. She had not that dicta- 
 torial way which I have sometimes observed in 
 many, even very good people ; nor did she tell the 
 poor that theirs " were hght afflictions," and that 
 they should " be thankf\4l for what they had." 
 She felt, even from the contrast with her own ease 
 and happiness, how heavy their sorrows must often 
 be ; and how difficult it was, even to the Christian — 
 how impossible to the natural heart, to give thanks 
 at all times. She would sit with kind sympathy 
 to listen to their tale of troubles ; and acknowledge 
 — because she felt — how hard they must be to 
 bear ; then speak some bright and sunny word of 
 better times, and better worlds. She seldom went 
 empty-handed ; even though the gift might be no 
 more than a ribbon for a doll's sash, or bit of string 
 for a boy's kite — anything, in short, to show they 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE FIRST 
 
 were thought of, and their little pleasures remem- 
 bered ; and more small creature's sorrows were 
 eifectually cured in one day, by the exhaustless 
 bonbons which her little sac was ever ready to give 
 forth, than the crossest of village school-dames 
 could have produced among her naturally rebellious 
 victims in a week. 
 
 Courteous she was too, to every creature. She 
 never passed a poor person, even though a stranger, 
 in the lanes or fields, without a cheerful word, or 
 kindly salutation. Many a time has she laughed at 
 herself for what she called " telling them what they 
 knew without her :" in the heat, that " it was very 
 hot," in the dust that " it was very dusty," in the 
 rain that "it was very rainy." While, in the 
 absence of all excitement as to the state of the 
 weather, the ready " good morning," or " good 
 evening," was there in kindly greeting to all as 
 they passed. 
 
 " Why do you notice them when they do not 
 notice you ?" I asked her one day. 
 
 " Why should I not ?" she asked in answer. 
 " It must come from one of us first, and why 
 not from me ? They always answer pleasantly." 
 
 And they always did ; and many a time have I 
 seen a heavy-browed, care-worn woman, or sulky, 
 dogged-looking man look at her beautiful counte- 
 nance unmoved, until she spoke to them ; and 
 then the cloud would lighten for a moment, and
 
 lieutenant's story. 261 
 
 the features soften to a smile. The beauty was 
 hers alone ; but the kindly greeting was for them, 
 and therefore it touched them. 
 
 " You know," she added one day, " I am so 
 used to it, in my own dear country, where no one 
 in the fields or hills, or on the shore or anywhere, 
 excepting perhaps in the streets, would think of 
 passing another without some kindly greeting ; and 
 if the poor do not come out with their bunch of 
 grapes, or strawberries, or bright sweet flowers, 
 they give you at least the gay * buon giorno,' or 
 the warm ' salute,' and so it should be ! Are we 
 not brethren? creatures of one common crea- 
 tion? Can we suppose that the angels, as the 
 ' silken mshing' of their wings bears them past 
 each other in God's kingdom, or when abroad on 
 His messages of mercy — can we suppose that they 
 meet and pass as strangers, — as if they had no 
 common interest, no common love, no common 
 God ? Oh no ! and those things foster a kindly 
 feeling, and that is like sunshine to the heart." 
 
 She was right ; and if people could but know 
 the value of a cheerful look, and gentle word, how 
 different would their homes generally be, and the 
 w^orld at large ! When the door opens, and a 
 joyous face appears — one's heart warms beneath 
 its genial influence ; but when a gloomy, or melan- 
 choly being walks in, one's own mind feels sad- 
 dened, and disturbed ; and a chill falls even upon
 
 262 THE FIRST 
 
 all one's own joys. It is a great sin neglecting 
 these things ! and though people may not be aware 
 of it, yet those who indulge — if indulgence it can 
 be called — in habitual gloom and lowness of spirits, 
 when they have no real affliction, indulge also invari- 
 ably in habitual impatience and selfishness. Low- 
 ness of spirits — unless as I have said, under great, 
 immediate affliction — would in the Palais de la 
 veritehe forced to call itself: irritable weakness ;'and 
 dignified gloom : selfish disregard of the feelings of 
 others ; while cheerfulness might call herself, an 
 animated wish to promote the happiness of all 
 around ; and gentleness — God's messenger of peace 
 on earth ! 
 
 I had run up to town frequently to see friends 
 and relations, and on matters of business, and had 
 sometimes paid more distant visits ; though it was, 
 as may be supposed, more from duty than inclina- 
 tion, that I ever absented myself from home. 
 I had seen Bruce several times : and was happy to 
 find, his pious feelings wholly unchanged, though 
 grieved to see that his sentiments for Mary were so 
 too. But he ever seemed delighted to see me, and 
 warmly sympathised in all I told him of my affairs. 
 He was much concerned to hear of the change in 
 Mary's fortune ; and much irritated at the account 
 of Captain Normanton's visit. 
 
 " I told you how it would be," he exclaimed ;
 
 lieutenant's story. 263 
 
 " he'll torment her as long as he is alive ; and if he 
 dies first, he will do as the Frenchman obligingly 
 promised his love to do : "II dansera a ces noces 
 en cadavre." 
 
 " Provided he does not perform Alonzo the 
 Brave's terrific waltze with her, and * bear her 
 away to the tomb,' I shall not much care for that," 
 I replied; " though I really am very sorry for him." 
 
 "•Sorry for him! I've no patience with you, 
 St. Clair. Why should you be sorry for a ' fellow,' 
 (and he looked at me with a smile, as the old ex- 
 pression escaped his lips) who cares for nothing in 
 creation but himself? How much does he think 
 of you ? Is he not at this moment doing all he 
 can to make you, and Miss Sydney miserable ? I 
 can't bear to hear you talk in that way ! Sorry for 
 him !" iVnd he took off his hat to cool his rage ; 
 — we were walking together in St. James's Park. 
 
 " Nevertheless it is quite true," I said ; " I am 
 sorry for him. I have not the unmitigated ab- 
 horrence of him that you have ; I could name 
 many good things in him ; and I cannot help 
 thinking somehow that he is really improved by 
 having been so much with Mary — not half the 
 martinet he was when first we joined. Depend 
 upon it, Bruce, 
 
 " ' All have some virtue if we leave it them 
 In peace and quiet.' "
 
 264 THE FIRST 
 
 " Well, his virtue methinks ought to be, just now: 
 in leaving you ' in peace and quiet.' " 
 
 " About this affair I confess, I think he does 
 behave ill," I said, " but then I, of all creatures can 
 best feel what it must be to — " 
 
 " Go on," said Bruce in a subdued voice, and 
 drawing his hat again over his brow ; " never mind 
 me. But my feeling is totally different from his. 
 Besides I feel that I owe so much to you both — 
 to her for her prayers, to you for your words — for 
 it is they which have raised me from ' raking in 
 the dust,' like Bunyan's old man, to see ' the crown 
 invisible immortal,' that hangs over my head, — that 
 I can never be grateful enough. You have given 
 me high and holy motives for action, a blessing 
 inappreciable ! and I can never cease to bless the 
 hour when you and she first trod the same deck 
 with me." 
 
 " Your saying so always makes me happy," I 
 replied ; " it is such eternal joy to think of having 
 been the means of raising one soul to everlasting 
 life, and happiness. 'Ever-lasting happiness'.' 
 Think of those words, Bruce, as put together. 
 
 '* ' Who shall grasp that thrilling thought ? life and joy 
 for ever !' " 
 
 "Thrilling indeed!" he said; a slight shiver 
 passing over him as if the thought had gone
 
 265 
 
 through his very soul ; ** all else fades before that ! 
 I wish I could always keep it before me ; but 
 somehow at times the foreground closes in so thick 
 that the distance gets shut out. But as to that 
 man, I say again, I have no patience with him." 
 
 " I can't say that I have much," I replied. " Yet 
 I really have no doubt that he thinks it would be 
 happier for her to marry him, as he is so much 
 richer than I am." 
 
 " Well, have it yoiu* osnti way," he exclaimed ; 
 growling in a provoked tone : 
 
 " ' To make the croun a pund, my Jamie went to sea. 
 And Auld Robin Gray came a courting to me.' " 
 
 "Very likely," I said, "but I don't fear the 
 detested result : 
 
 * Sc they gied him my hand, tho' my heart was far at sea. 
 Aid Auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me :' 
 
 she would perish first ! and I would wish her to 
 do so. Better a million times the glorious freedom 
 of deata to such as her ! There's nothing in exist- 
 ence mere utterly despicable in a man than the 
 selfishness which makes him tear a woman's heart 
 to pieces by the very force of those feelings he 
 should mcst respect and love in her. Why couldn't 
 that hideous old man — if he ever had the misfor- 
 tune of an existence otherwise than in song — have 
 maintained ais old friend, without making his
 
 266 THE FIRST 
 
 young one miserable for it ? I've no patience with 
 such things ! Why shouldn't a man if he wished to 
 help his love, send her assistance — I would — with- 
 out her knowing from whom it came ? That would 
 be glorious !" 
 
 " Yes, it would," said Bruce. " However that's 
 what he'll never ' dream of in his philosophy.' 
 Everything with him will go to fill up the gaping, 
 gasping, grasping hole of selfishness." 
 
 " Well ! after all, when I think of my having 
 asked Mary to marry me with my small fortune, 
 and ' modest prospects,' I think I was pretty selfish 
 too." 
 
 " Not in the least ! If you hadn't asked her she 
 would have asked you — if she had dared; and 
 therefore it was only kind of you to save her the 
 trouble ! And after all you only gave her the 
 option — and no one can complain of that, she 
 had only to send you adrift, and there was sn end 
 of you. But this ' fellow,' though he sees she has 
 nailed her colours to the mast, yet fires a broad- 
 side every time he passes her ; and wili, if you 
 don't take care, send out his boats some fine day 
 — or rather dark night — cut her out from under 
 your very batteries, and tow her away t3 his ow^n 
 port with drums beating, and flags flyirg ! If he 
 doesn't, it will not be his fault. So lay that 
 beautiful nautical figure of mine to heirt, St. Clair, 
 and keep a sharp look-out a-head."
 
 lieutenant's story. 267 
 
 "You are \Yonderfully nautical just now cer- 
 tainly," I answered ; " spite of your always saying 
 you hate that phraseology." 
 
 "Well, so I do; but it fell upon me all of a 
 sudden, I suppose, out of the shadow of this great 
 house, ' big with the fate of St. Clair and of 
 Bruce ;" looking up at the Admiralty which we 
 were then approaching. 
 
 " Not with mine just now," I said ; " I'm not 
 going to trouble them for some time to come. I 
 did hope never to do so again ; but I fear I must 
 in time, under our change of ciixumstances ; 
 though for myself I don't care how little I have 
 to live upon ; so that one has enough just for 
 comfort." 
 
 " And at what degree does the thermometer of 
 your ' comfort,' stand ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I should never want more than we have 
 at present," I replied ; " though to be sure the 
 General's pension makes up most of his part now, 
 he says ; and that must go with him. But then I 
 have a little." 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Bruce, " don't you be 
 fancying you can live upon Fair embaume de 
 fleurs a bit more than other people. Remember 
 that what is enough for one, is poverty for two, and 
 starvation for a dozen. I forgive you all your 
 attractions if you make Miss Sydney happy ; but if 
 you marry her to her unhappiness, I never wiU
 
 268 THE FIRST 
 
 forgive you. So now," he added, as we stopped 
 at the Admiralty gate, " just come in here with 
 me and show yourself; for this is my goal just 
 now. Here I daily, and hourly besiege them — 
 pouring my ' hard case ' into their ears ; and never 
 do I mean them to rest — sleep, eat, or drink in 
 comfort, till they've given me my promotion. So 
 come along, — you'd much better." 
 
 " No, not now ; I would not for worlds leave 
 England till my engagement to Miss Sydney was 
 fully acknowledged ; for though our whole way of 
 going on, and our families living together as they 
 do, must make it a settled thing in the world's 
 eye, still with the power Captain Normanton has 
 over the old General, I should never feel sure that 
 she were beyond the power of persecution unless 
 his word of honour were passed." 
 
 " Nor then," exclaimed Bruce ; " if, as you say 
 that man has such influence over him." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," I answered ; " spite of all his faults, 
 if General Sydney's word is once passed, he will 
 keep to it for ever; for he is the very soul of 
 honour." 
 
 " Was, — say," replied Bruce ; " for his soul, or 
 sense is well-nigh gone ; and his honour may per- 
 haps have kept it company for old acquaintance 
 sake. But when do you expect your engagement 
 to be finally settled ?'* 
 
 " Not for this year or more. My next birthday
 
 269 
 
 — the 10th of October — about three weeks hence, 
 I shall be twenty ; and by the best calculations 
 the year after I shall be twenty-one — ' of age' — as 
 it is called ; at which time he said he would give 
 his consent, if we remained in the same mind, and 
 if he saw no reason to refuse it." 
 
 '• Humph ! an ugly proviso that !" cried Bruce 
 shaking his head. " Yes, you are right in staying. 
 Keep your ground by all means, if you can ; your 
 promotion is of less consequence than that by 
 far. — Well then, here we part ; — unless you can 
 wait a little, till I come out again." 
 
 ** No, I cannot do that," I replied ; " I have to 
 
 dine at 's to-night, and to-morrow I return 
 
 home." 
 
 " God bless you then, old fellow !" he exclaimed ; 
 shaking my hand warmly ; " and may He keep 
 you happy — both of you." 
 
 " I'll walk up to the door with you," I said. And 
 we w^ent into the court together. 
 
 At that moment — who should come out of the 
 door, but Captain Normanton ! Bruce grasped 
 my arm ; — I heard him clench his teeth. The 
 Captain came towards us with his downward look, 
 and did not raise his eyes till we were close to 
 him. 
 
 We made a little way for him ; and we should 
 both have been heartily glad had he passed on 
 without recognising us. But being a remarkably
 
 270 THE FIRST 
 
 well-bred man, he looked up with a little bow of 
 acknowledgment when he observed us moving out 
 of his way, and then he observed who we were. 
 He stopped, — and so did we of course. He held 
 out a hand to Bruce, and then to me ; but his 
 manner was exceedingly embarrassed. 
 
 He spoke of his pleasure in seeing us. " Seeing 
 us together reminded him of old times," he said. 
 Then excusing himself, he added that he was in a 
 hurry — and so departed. We walked on a few 
 steps in silence. At the door we stopped, and 
 again shook hands. 
 
 "If you haven't applied for employment for 
 yourself," said Bruce bitterly, as we parted ; " take 
 my word for it, it has been applied for, for you.'*
 
 lieutenant's story. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 How calm, how beautiful comes on 
 The stilly hour, when storms are gone ! 
 When warring winds have died away, 
 And clouds beneath the glancing ray 
 Melt off, and leave the land and sea, 
 Sleeping in bright tranquillity. 
 
 LALLA ROOKH. 
 
 Ye commune of hopes and aspirations, the fervent 
 
 breathings of the heart ; 
 Ye speak with pleasant interchange the treasured 
 
 secrets of affection ; 
 Ye Hsten to the voice of complaint, and whisper the 
 
 language of comfort ; 
 And as in a double solitude, ye think in each other's 
 
 hearing. 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 A thousand sad ideas rise, — 
 Daily and hourly rise, — a thousand acts 
 Of tenderness too slightly felt before. 
 Rush o'er my soul with anguish ever new. 
 How shall I learn to Hve without her ? 
 
 LINES TO THEODOSIA. 
 
 Bruce's words hung heavy on my heart during
 
 272 THE FIRST 
 
 all my journey home the next day ; and spoilt the 
 pleasure which I should otherwise have derived 
 from the thought of reaching again that centre 
 of my earthly affections; — spoilt too the enjoyment 
 which the drive that beautiful morning, would 
 otherwise have given me. 
 
 Curious and sad it is, that while the words 
 of Him who spake as never man spake, so soon 
 fade from one's mind, the words of a fallible 
 mortal like oneself have power to toss the soul 
 about in such restless unhappiness. " Oh ! for 
 an overcoming faith !" Truly is it with us as 
 with Peter ! when we look to the Lord we can 
 walk on the top of the stormiest waters ; but 
 when we take our eyes off Him, we feel the winds 
 and waves around us, and beginning to be afraid, 
 we sink in faithless despair. But He is God, 
 " patient because eternal," and of never-faihng 
 mercy; therefore His gracious hand is ever ready 
 for the sinking soul, and His voice of mercy 
 ever whispering in its inmost recesses : " Oh thou 
 of little faith ! wherefore didst thou doubt ?" 
 
 That morning was indeed most beautiful ! 
 There had been a violent storm in the night, 
 and when I mounted the box of the coach at 
 an early hour, the thunder was still muttering 
 in the west, and the rain descending in torrents 
 from black clouds in the far horizon ; while a
 
 lieutenant's story. 273 
 
 light and silvery spray was still fiilling around 
 us ; shining as it fell like diamonds in the morning 
 sun, which had just disentangled itself from the 
 net-work of frail vaporous rack which the storm 
 had left behind. The meadows, and commons, 
 and grass fields were covered with the threads 
 of the gossamer ; — or as foreigners call them : 
 " Les fils de Marie ;" which, catching the small 
 drops as they fell, made the whole earth white 
 as with a silken veil. The song of the spring 
 birds was of course hushed ; but the " inarti- 
 culate voice of the loyal universe," was still 
 raised aloft. The thrush and the blackbird sent 
 out their clear, ringing notes from the gardens 
 and shrubberies as we passed ; and the more 
 distant woodlark, whose song scarce yields in 
 charm even to that of the nightingale, sung 
 loud among the trees ; while as we dashed along 
 the wet, and fresh-smelling road, between the 
 glittering hedges washed bright by the rain 
 from every grain of dust, — the sky-lark sent down 
 from overhead, showers of song ; or, startled by 
 our approach from her grassy nest, rose with her 
 fluttering music straight up into the air ; 
 
 " Type of the wise, who soar but never roam ; 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven and home." 
 
 Yet the pleasure of all these things was lost 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE FIRST 
 
 to me, because I would dwell on the possible 
 unhappiness of a possible future ! 
 
 But oh ! the thought of parting 1 the thought 
 of Mary — her loveliness — her tenderness ! that 
 I must leave it all, and go alone to distant 
 climes ! Oh ! it seemed as if I had never loved 
 — never felt her love, before ! 
 
 In this wretched mood I reached home. I 
 tried to shake off the oppression on my spirits 
 lest Mary should perceive it; for I did not wish 
 her to be disturbed by the perhaps unfounded 
 fears that troubled me. But I had but little self- 
 command ; or rather perhaps, I was so much in 
 the habit of saying everything to her, that to 
 keep back any feeling from her was an almost 
 impossible effort. 
 
 The storm which we had had in London had 
 passed off in another direction, and had left 
 our neighbourhood quite unvisited. I was glad 
 of this, as it enabled us to sit out as usual 
 in the garden, w4iich we much preferred to 
 the house ; where our readings and conversa- 
 tions were liable to continual interruptions ; 
 but now as I sat under the accustomed trees, 
 my endeavours to be cheerful sorely failed; 
 and I saw Mary's eye often fixed on me, as if 
 anxiously watching my countenance. It was the 
 first approach to anything hke a separation of
 
 LIEUTENANTS STORY. 275 
 
 thought which had ever occiured between us, and 
 was too painful to be borne ; and she might too, 
 think that the cause of my trouble was more 
 deep and real than in truth it was, so at last 
 I determined to teU her; and the next time 
 that I caught her anxious look, I answered it 
 with a smile, and said : 
 
 "You think there is something troubling me 
 Mary ; and so there is, though it is not much." 
 
 I then told her what had occurred in town ; and 
 of the effect that Bruce's words had had upon me. 
 She breathed a deep sigh. 
 
 "You think me very foolish, don't you?" I 
 asked, "for being troubled about such a 'perhaps' 
 — such a mere imaginary evil." 
 
 " No," she replied kindly, " I do not vronder at 
 your being troubled at it. But, dear Wilfred, must 
 you go if they do appoint you to a ship ?" 
 
 " Unless 1 wish to put myself on the shelf ever 
 after," I repHed. "The Lords of the Admiralty 
 are not accustomed to having their appointments 
 refused." 
 
 Her countenance fell. 
 
 " I had never contemplated your going away," 
 she said with a sigh; " though it was foolish of 
 me not to do so; as now you must of course 
 follow your profession. But it seems as if life 
 could not be without you ! However don't let us 
 think of it — it makes one too unhappy. It is 
 
 T 3 "
 
 276 THE FIRST 
 
 merely a vague fancy of Mr. Bruce's ; and his fears 
 may be wholly unfounded." 
 
 " I trust they are," I said ; " but every time the 
 remembrance of Captain Normanton's countenance 
 comes before me, as I saw it in this place, I seem 
 to feel that passions Hke those cannot but issue in 
 evil to those whom he hates." 
 
 "You have generally taken his part, Wilfred, 
 you must not begin to be unjust." 
 
 I did not answer ; but sat by her gloomy and 
 
 dejected. 
 
 " Are you so fond of the thought of parting," 
 
 she added smilingly after a time ; " that you take 
 
 it for your companion before you need ?" 
 
 " I cannot help thinking of it — and with fear 
 and pain, whatever you may do," I answered 
 reproachfully. 
 
 She seemed hurt, and her colour rose a little. 
 
 " I do not wish to think of it," she answered 
 gently ; " just because it would be with such fear 
 and pain. When it does come, God will give me 
 strength to bear it, I know ; but He has never 
 said, ' As thy morrow, so shall thy strength be 
 to-day,' so it would be more, perhaps, than I could 
 bear now." 
 
 " But the thought of parting is a present evil to 
 me," I answered ; " now — this very hour." 
 
 "Ah! dearest Wilfred!" she said, laying her 
 gentle hand so pityingly on my shoulder, as I
 
 277 
 
 rested on my elbow on the grass by her side ; 
 " our gracious God never let's fall on His children 
 a trial which is too hard for them at the moment. 
 Only let us trust to Him, and I feel sure that we 
 shall always find ourselves equal to what He sets 
 before us." 
 
 " It may be so," I replied with a sigh ; " but to 
 me just now it seems as if all happiness were being 
 swept away ; just as this stream bears off what I 
 cast upon it." And in wantonness I tore up a handful 
 of the grass, and threw it on the shining waters, 
 which bore the scattered fragments in thousand 
 eddies svviftly out of sight. 
 
 " What is it makes the difference between our 
 feelings, Mary ?" I added ; " for I am sure that your 
 affection is as great as mine. When speaking the 
 other day to Bruce, I refused to look forward to any 
 disaster ; but now the thought of parting so kills 
 my heart that the very sun has ceased to shine, the 
 birds to sing, the flowers to smell for me — What 
 is it makes me so troubled, and you so calm ?" 
 
 " T don't feel calm now, Wilfred," she replied 
 tremulously ; " your sadness has saddened me. 
 But I will tell you," and she looked up with a 
 brightening countenance, " how I often comfort 
 myself in cases which would other^^ise cast my 
 spirit down : I look round and see everything to 
 enjoy, and I then think : * how can what is to be 
 to-morrow, affect this moment ? And then I pray
 
 278 THE FIRST 
 
 that I may not spoil the pleasure given by God's 
 hand ; and I try to enjoy what I have." 
 
 I felt that she was right, and I saw that she was 
 sad ; and I knew that it was I that was the cause 
 of her sadness. Yet a wayward irritation pos- 
 sessed my mind, and steeled it against kindlier 
 emotions, as I exclaimed bitterly : 
 
 " Then if you knew we were to part for ever 
 to-morrow, you would be as happy as usual to- 
 day?" 
 
 " Oh, Wilfred ! to know that we must part — " 
 She stopped, and covering her face with her hands, 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " There Mary !" I exclaimed, more pleased than 
 touched at her emotion — wi'etch that I was ! — 
 "you can feel as well as I. Where is your 
 philosophy now ?" 
 
 " Gone," she said, shaking her head, while the 
 tears &till streamed down thick and fast. 
 
 I drew one hand down with gentle force from 
 her face, and kissed it with deep repentant 
 tenderness. 
 
 She clasped mine for a moment ; then with- 
 drawing it, wiped her eyes and her poor wet cheeks, 
 and turning to me with a smile, though a quiver- 
 ing one, said : 
 
 " Yes ! my philosophy was all gone, Wilfred, but 
 you have no cause for triumph ; for I chose to leave 
 the present — the happy, happy present I and think
 
 lieutenant's story. 279 
 
 of that dreary hour which after all may never 
 come. I was foolish — and therefore sorrowful." 
 
 " Dearest Mar}' !" I exclaimed ; my whole heart 
 gushing out in tenderness towards her ; " how 
 hateful I have been. Oh ! what a difference 
 it would make to both of us, if you were one 
 whose weak spirit was continually sinking, and 
 drawing mine down with it ; instead of your 
 having that bright affiance in God, which spreads 
 the warmth and light that you get from Him, on 
 every thing around !" 
 
 Three days after that, we were again sitting in 
 the same place, when the servant brought out 
 the letters to us. Mary had one from abroad, 
 which she opened with delight. 
 
 I too had one, and with horror saw above the 
 direction, in printed letters : " On His Majesty's 
 service." I tore it open ; and with feelings impos- 
 sible to describe, read, that my promotion had 
 been given me ; and that I was appointed to the 
 
 which was already commissioned, and would 
 
 sail in a fortnight. My agony was so great, that 
 I could hardly read to the end ; but forcing 
 myself to do so, T found that most unmerited 
 praise was bestowed upon me — the letter stating, 
 that in consequence of the very high character 
 given me by Captain Normanton, and his warm
 
 280 THE FIRST 
 
 recommendation, my promotion had been given me, 
 though wholly unsolicited by myself. 
 
 I crushed the paper in my madness, and starting 
 up furiously, raised my hand to Heaven, exclaiming 
 in wild revenge : 
 
 " Now may God's " 
 
 " Oh ! curse him not ! do not curse him 1" 
 exclaimed Mary, springing up, and throwing her 
 arms round my neck ; " I feel what it is, but do 
 not curse him — do not curse him." 
 
 Her voice grew fainter, and fainter, and her head 
 sunk heavily on my breast. My arms relaxed 
 from their fierce tension; and as 1 folded them 
 round her sinking form, I felt with tenfold force 
 the w^eight of the trial that had fallen upon me. 
 My heart heaved with the mighty passions which 
 contended within it ; till at last, to relieve my brain, 
 torrents of tears burst forth, falling over Mary's 
 pale forehead and shining hair. 
 
 My mother ran to us. 
 
 " My dearest Wilfred," she exclaimed, " what 
 is the matter?" 
 
 I shook my head — incapable of speaking ; while 
 with her help I placed Mary in a chair. I was 
 terrified ; 1 had heard of people's fainting, but had 
 never seen anything of the kind before ; and Mary's 
 insensibility, and death-like paleness made me think 
 she was dying. My mother, who saw^ my horror- 
 s tricken countenance, told me not to be afraid, for
 
 lieutenant's story. 281 
 
 that it was only faintness ; and bid me run to the 
 house and get some water. I flew there ; but how 
 I got it, I have no conception, my mind w^as so 
 completely bewildered. However I did get it, and 
 hastened back as fast as possible. Mary was stiU 
 insensible, and her head resting on my mother's 
 shoulder, who was kneeling by her, and endea- 
 vouring, by chafing her hands, to restore animation. 
 By her direction I bathed her forehead ; and soon, 
 to my inexpressible relief, I saw by the slight 
 quivering of her lip and her short convulsive sighs, 
 that consciousness w^as returning ; and soon, alas ! 
 the large tears which gathered slowly beneath her 
 closed lids, showed that the sense of suffering was 
 also restored. 
 
 Again my mother looked at me and whispered : 
 
 " What is it, Wilfred ?" 
 
 " He is going," murmured Mary, who had caught 
 the words ; and turning to her she threw herself on 
 her neck, and in silence they wept in each other's 
 arms ; while I stood by with hard dry eye, and fire 
 at my heart. 
 
 I felt cominced that what had overcome Mary so 
 much was not only the pain of parting, but the 
 horror of seeing me in such a state of excited pas- 
 sion, and of knowing that fearful curses were 
 bursting fi'om my lips. God forgive me ! but it 
 was a fearful moment ! 
 
 My mother turned to me and said :
 
 282 THE FIRST 
 
 '' What have you heard ?" 
 
 I answered by picking up the letter, and putting 
 it into her hand. She read it ; and when she came 
 to the part which mentioned Captain Normanton's 
 share in the event, she looked up at me with a 
 countenance full of trouble and uneasiness ; and 
 throwing her arms again round Mary, folded her 
 anew with passionate affection to her heart, as if 
 she would thus have shielded her from every 
 harm. 
 
 The old General having seen us from the win- 
 dow, now came out. 
 
 " What's the matter ?" he demanded, in a half 
 frightened, half angry voice. 
 
 I went to meet him, and told him of the letter 
 I had received ; and said that the suddenness of 
 the summons had rather overcome Mary ; adding, 
 that I feared that the violence of my anger had 
 also contributed to agitate her. 
 
 " "Violence of your anger !" he exclaimed ; " why 
 should you be violent or angry at all ?" 
 
 " I did not wish to have gone. Sir," I replied ; 
 " and do not approve of Captain Normanton's 
 having applied for my promotion, when I did not 
 ask for it myself" 
 
 '* At any rate," he said with a sort of cross good 
 humour, " you need not be angry because you get 
 a good thing without having stooped to ask for it. 
 * Some men achieve greatness, and some have
 
 lieutenant's story. 283 
 
 greatness thrust upon them/ as our famous drama- 
 tist says ; and I suppose you are of the latter rare 
 and fortunate kind of people. However, I will say 
 that I shall he very sorry to lose you — very." 
 
 We had now reached my mother and Mary. At 
 the sight of the latter, he seemed quite overcome. 
 He went to her and took her hand, and passed his 
 own soothingly over her still wet cheek, hut seemed 
 as if he could not speak. He sat down hy her 
 side. At last, making an effort to be gay : 
 
 " So you're very soiTy, are you Mary ?" he said, 
 " that this young scapegrace is going to be kept 
 in order a little. Well, never mind, he'll come 
 back all the better for it; w^e have been ruining 
 him here among us." 
 
 She could not answer. 
 
 " Let me see this famous letter w^hich has caused 
 such dismay," he continued. " They who sent it 
 little thought of the reception their good news, as 
 they doubtless considered them, would meet with : 
 tears and rage, instead of smiles and gratitude ! I 
 confess that the rage surprises me, though the 
 tears perhaps don't." And the old man sighed. 
 
 My mother gave him the letter. He read it, 
 and seemed highly delighted ; and jumping round 
 on his chair he seized my hand, and shook it 
 vehemently. 
 
 " Very handsome !" he exclaimed ; " very hand- 
 some indeed ! highly comphmentary ! And pray,
 
 284 THE FIRST 
 
 my young lieutenant, if this moves your wrath, 
 what beneath the constellations mig-ht be thought 
 worthy of striking the spark of gratitude out of 
 your flinty heart ?" 
 
 " I did not, as I have said before Sir, wish to 
 go away at all at present ; and if Captain Nor- 
 manton had not had his own ends in view, he 
 would never have acted as he has done." 
 
 " I don't see what ends he can have in view in 
 getting your promotion," said the General ; " ex- 
 cepting to serve you. What could it have signified 
 to him if you had died at eighty-nine of being a 
 midshipman, eh ?" 
 
 An imploring look from Mary prevented my 
 saying more ; and the old man turning round again, 
 seemed anew melted at the sight of her distress, 
 and that of my mother. 
 
 " My dear Madam !" he exclaimed, addressing 
 the latter ; " we have forgotten you in this trying 
 moment ; — you who have more cause to lament 
 this young fellow's absence almost than any of us. 
 You will forgive our selfishness." And he took 
 her hand and kissed it, with the chivalrous respect 
 which always marked his manner to her. 
 
 She was much overcome ; and, moved to the 
 heart, I went and tried to comfort her. 
 
 " Come, come, my dear Madam !" said the old 
 man cheerfully, yet feelingly ; "we must not have 
 you so downcast. Our young sailor w^ill soon
 
 lieutenant's story. 28 5 
 
 return, and then I shouldn't wonder if he tried to 
 refresh my memory about some wild, foolish ques- 
 tion he once asked me; and if he does not set 
 fire to his ship, or knock the Captain on the head 
 to get the command himself, — why there's no say- 
 ing what answer he may receive. Come, we must 
 look forward to brighter days." 
 
 His words threw me into an agitation that it is 
 impossible to describe. I longed to implore him 
 as the only mitigation of the sufferings of that 
 hour — not one quarter of which he guessed — to 
 give without further delay that formal consent to 
 our engagement, which alone could tranquillize my 
 mind as regarded Mary during my absence ; but 
 the more intense my anxiety became for him to do 
 so, the more utterly was I incapable of mastering 
 my voice to ask it. The only thing I could do, 
 w^as at last to stoop dow^n to my mother, and whis- 
 per to her to ask him. 
 
 *' He will do it for you ;" I added, " and you 
 know why we wish it so earnestly." 
 
 " What is he saying there ?" asked the General, 
 with the meniest possible look in his peering grey 
 eye ; " is he saying he had hoped I had forgotten 
 all about that by this time ? Eh ?" 
 
 " Quite the contrary," replied my mother, try- 
 ing to respond to his cheerful tone ; " he was beg- 
 ging me to entreat you to give your consent now, 
 before he goes."
 
 286 THE FIRST 
 
 " Humph ! that's rather quick upon me," he 
 replied ; pretending crossness, but twisting his fea- 
 tures into a wonderful form as he always did, 
 when in particularly good humour ; " why the 
 boy's not out of his teens yet ! Pshaw ! my dear 
 Madam, get him a kite and hoop, and bat and 
 ball ; they would suit him better a great deal, than 
 a wife. You shouldn't put the noose round the 
 colt's head too soon ; let him have his gallop round 
 the paddock, before he is put into training." 
 
 " I've been in training some time, Sir," I 
 answered smiling ; " and am now quite ready to 
 put on the harness. You cannot deny me my 
 request, dear Sir," I added with deep emotion, as 
 I dropped on one knee at his side, and took his 
 hand and kissed it. 
 
 Mary knelt by him on the other side, and kissed 
 the hand she held. 
 
 " Get away with you both," he cried ; making 
 pretended efforts to rise. " Let me get up ; I 
 won't be handcuffed in this way. Let me get up, 
 I say." 
 
 But we smilingly put each a hand upon his arm, 
 and said he should not stir till he had given his 
 consent. He continued making violent feints at 
 rising, till at last pretending exhaustion, and sink- 
 ing back in his chair, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Very well ! now^ remember, — I protest be- 
 forehand against anything I may say, forced fi'om
 
 lieutenant's story. 287 
 
 me in this way by compulsion, and under bodily 
 terror. I take you to witness, my dear Madam." 
 
 My mother replied that she feared she was too 
 much interested in the matter for her testimony 
 to be relied on ; adding in a more earnest tone, 
 that if she did not think that the wish expressed 
 by his own dear child would be all prevalent with 
 him, she would join her voice too to the petition, 
 and beseech him to give the consent that was so 
 much desired. 
 
 " And what is the mighty advantage you are 
 expecting from the puff of modulated air you are 
 all bent on extracting from this crazy old body of 
 mine ?" he asked, turning his head backwards and 
 forwards from one to the other, with the most 
 comic expression of countenance. 
 
 " Oh, you must yield to your love, my father, not 
 to our reasons," said Mary ; lifting her eyes to him 
 with a look that could not be resisted. The old 
 man gazed on her with admiring love ; and 
 smiling down upon her, said : 
 
 " That shows that you have but little reason to 
 plead, doesn't it?" 
 
 " Then you will have the more love to show," 
 she replied ; putting her arm round his neck and 
 drawing down his face to rest upon her dear cheek. 
 He left it there a moment ; and put his arm round 
 her, pressing her to him. Then starting upright 
 again, he exclaimed :
 
 288 THE FIRST 
 
 " All bribery and corruption ! treason and 
 treacbery ! wiles and wickedness ! However I 
 suppose I'm not to bave a moment's peace, or to 
 enjoy a quiet meal till I've obeyed orders ; so bad 
 best do it at once. Well tben," he continued, 
 almost solemnly, " as you will bave it so, my dear 
 children — my foolisb children ! I will consent to 
 your being engaged from this time ; — but your 
 marriage must depend upon God's giving you 
 the means ; — and may His blessing rest upon 
 you!" 
 
 He joined our hands together as he spoke ; then 
 placed his own on our heads, as we bent them 
 reverendly for his benediction. 
 
 My heart sprung up in relief unspeakable, and 
 in gratitude unbounded, to God ! 
 
 The desired consent was gained ! and it seemed 
 as if nothing now could trouble me. The pain 
 even of our near parting was for the moment 
 forgotten. I could scarcely speak ; it seemed as 
 if — were I ^ to open my lips, — a portion of my 
 happiness would escape. My heart was as 
 
 ** a sealed fountain 
 Bounding secretly with joy unseen ; and keeping down 
 its ecstacy of pleasure." 
 
 I could have prolonged that hour through 
 centuries !
 
 lieutenant's story. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 By "hallowing" God's name is meant, keeping it 
 separate from all other names ; preserving it as the special 
 treasure of our spirits ; not suffering the idea of absolute 
 holiness, purity, goodness, to be soiled by any defilements 
 from without, or from within. — maurice on "the lord's 
 
 PRAYER." 
 
 What is it to be parted } 'Tis to dwell 
 Enshrined within the heart's most sacred cell ; 
 Amid its deepest prayers and holiest love, 
 And musing thought that makes its home above. 
 And mounting hope, and faith's exalted trust. 
 That looks beyond this world's decaying dust ; 
 And thus to have our blessed portion given, 
 'Mid things of earth that are the nearest Heaven. 
 Yes, this — yes, this is parting ! 
 
 UNPUBLISHED POEMS. 
 
 " Tell me, Mary," I said a few days after that 
 happy hour, *' what was it that overcame you so 
 much when that letter about my appointment 
 came ?" 
 
 VOL. u u
 
 290 THE FIRST 
 
 " It was very sudden," she replied ; " and you 
 seemed so — . It was a nnixture of many feelings." 
 
 " Don't fear making me feel my wickedness," I 
 said ; " but tell me, — was it not that my passion 
 was so great, and that you saw I was ready to 
 curse that man ?" 
 
 " Perhaps it was," she replied, with the peculiar 
 gentleness and feeling with which she ever touched 
 on a point of blame in another ; — " I felt as if I 
 could not bear to hear you pronounce a curse, it 
 seems such a fearful thing !" 
 
 " I was afraid it was that, and have to implore 
 your pardon a thousand times for my violence. 
 But you will grant that I had just cause for 
 anger." 
 
 " No one could help feeling it at such conduct 
 as Captain Normanton's. And I am sure it was 
 only at the first moment, when your mind was so 
 on fire, that you could have felt tempted to wish 
 him any evil. You could not do so now ?" 
 
 " No, I could not. And yet it is a bitter wrong 
 he has done me ! But tell me that you forgive 
 my violence and impiety." 
 
 " Oh, Wilfred ! you know I do ; and I am sure 
 that even had you uttered the words, — such an out- 
 burst under such provocation could not have been 
 half so offensive to God, as the careless, habitual 
 profanation of His name, which is so common with 
 many men. The continually calling upon Him for
 
 lieutenant's story. 291 
 
 every foolish, or wicked thing, is such a frightful 
 sin r 
 
 " But surely, Mary, very few men w^ould ever 
 swear before you. I observed how particular many 
 of them were about it on board ship, who swore 
 incessantly when out of your hearing." 
 
 " I could scarcely have thanked them for attend- 
 ing to me, when they so disregarded God," she 
 replied. " If they could watch over themselves, for 
 a woman's sake, they might surely have done so 
 for God's. It is a fearful sentence against them : 
 *The Lord will not hold them guiltless' It 
 seems so strange that those who weary themselves 
 so, as to the uncertain future of this life, should so 
 wholly forget the irrevocable things of the next; — 
 who feel so much about the things just around 
 them, should forget how blessed is that country, 
 which will be the eternal home of those who love 
 their God." 
 
 " One need though often look to it," I observed 
 — " to the ' blue openings between the tangled 
 stems,' in order to keep up any buoyancy of mind 
 at aU sometimes ; such times, for instance, as our 
 parting will be. Oh, Ivlary ! I do strive not to 
 think of it — not to sink in utter misery ! but you 
 must be patient with me, as you know our God 
 wiU. I have not your strong faith, nor your bright 
 springful heart. And remember too, how far easier 
 it is to bear a burthen for one's self than for 
 
 u 2
 
 292 THE FIRST 
 
 another whom we love ! A sea life is certainly 
 always a hard one, and without Bruce, the ocean 
 will seem a desert to me ; but still that is nothing 
 to the thought of leaving you to the miserable 
 companionship of your poor father, and to the per- 
 secutions of that man. And yet I do too, at times 
 feel the comfort of being able to commit you to the 
 care of One whose love is — oh ! can it be ? — 
 greater than my own ! I can place you in His 
 everlasting arms, and feel the shadow of His 
 mighty wing protecting you. Oh, my beloved ! — 
 oh ! my beloved ! how past endurance would be the 
 pain of parting were it not for that ! You will 
 think of me in everything — will you not ? You 
 will write to me, — you will pray for me, — you 
 will let your spirit be ever with mine — you 
 will feel for me, — do all but weep for me ! 
 I could not bear that ! No, think of me as 
 daily gaining heavenly strength, as daily becom- 
 ing more worthy of your love, less unworthy of 
 God's. Speak to me in heart, Mary ! and as 
 each day passes away, remember that we are a day 
 nearer to meeting again, — nearer too to God's blest, 
 unparting Heaven ! But, dearest love," I added, 
 seeing her much moved, " is there only bright 
 faith enough for one of us, that when I catch a 
 little of its glow, it should leave your heart, and 
 that those sad tears should fall ?" 
 
 " They are not sad," she replied ; " such tears
 
 lieutenant's story. 293 
 
 might almost flow in Heaven, and not need the 
 All-merciful hand to wipe them away ; it is so 
 delightful to hear you speak of heavenly conso- 
 lation." 
 
 A shiver of happiness passed through me as 
 I heard her say this ! 
 
 ** Legions of thrilling thoughts thronged about the standard 
 of my mind." 
 
 But who might analyze them ? Oh, will language 
 ever be given us to express what we feel ? or will 
 Heaven itself exceed the rolling volumes of its 
 celestial speech ? 
 
 The hour of my departure at length approached. 
 Nor love, nor grief can stay Time's " rushing 
 pinions, — on he sweeps !" 
 
 And well it is it should be so ! for our natures 
 here have nothing of abiding in them. Blessed 
 be God that in His deep compassion He sent the 
 flaming sword to guard the way of the Tree of 
 Life, lest, in his miserable state, man should put 
 forth his hand, and take of its fruit and live for 
 ever ! And blessed, for ever blessed be His name ! 
 that that flaming sword is turned aside at Christ's 
 all-powerful word, for those who seek salvation 
 through His blood ; and that to them He giveth 
 " right to the Tree of Life." In them, made one 
 with Him and with the Father, the principle of
 
 294 THE FIRST 
 
 immortality is implanted ; and on them " the 
 second death hath no power." " Whosoever 
 believeth on Him shall not perish, but have 
 everlasting life." 
 
 The hour of my departure, as I have said, 
 approached — and I must go ! It is needless to 
 dwell upon it 1 It was one of those partings, such 
 
 '* As press the life from out young hearts ;" 
 but it must be done — and we parted ! 
 
 I had business which detained me for a day in 
 London, and I there met Bruce. I had written to 
 tell him of the accomplishment of his prophecies ; 
 but when I met him, not one word did he say on 
 the subject. Though rough occasionally in his 
 w^ay of speaking, there lived not a being more 
 thoroughly delicate in his perceptions when any- 
 thing of real trial was concerned. There was an 
 expression of sadness mingled with his cordial 
 greeting when we met; but he did not seem 
 inclined to say much on the subject of my depar- 
 ture. Not one of his old warnings was repeated, 
 or alluded to ; on the contrary, he tried rather 
 to cheer my spirits, and spoke of glad return, 
 and a happy future. Still something seemed to 
 weigh upon him, and conversation for the first 
 time in our lives flagged between us. We were
 
 295 
 
 again on our way to the Admiralty, where I had 
 business now, when at last he said : 
 
 " You know your destination, don't you V" 
 " No," I replied ; " they did not tell me." 
 "It was not said at first," he answered in a 
 lowered voice; "but I heard yesterday — and it 
 is — the African station." 
 
 I stopped short, and so did he : but he avoided 
 catching my eye. 1 felt for a moment as if all the 
 blood had deserted my heart. Yet it was not from 
 apprehension of that deadly climate, for I had 
 faith enough to feel that with God's blessing I 
 was as safe in one place as another ; but it was 
 from the horrible feeling of moral guilt. A con- 
 viction flashed over me, that my appointment to 
 that station was Captain Normanton's doing. I 
 felt as if he were a murderer in his heart ; and 
 the horror with which that thought inspired me, 
 quite paralyzed me for the moment. Bruce, I 
 fancied, read my thoughts, but did not answer 
 to them ; and indeed the next instant I rejected 
 them myself wdth indignation. Captain Nor- 
 manton a murderer ! Impossible ! And the 
 blood rushed hot all over me again with shame 
 for having harboured the thought for an instant. — 
 Bruce moved on and I mechanically followed him. 
 " It is not so often fatal to sailors," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 " ' Not a sparrow falls without God to the
 
 296 THE FIRST 
 
 ground," I replied ; " and He will not take my 
 life away unless He sees a deep need for it. ' Ce 
 que Dieu garde, est bien garde.' " 
 
 We walked on in silence. 
 
 " St. Clair," at length said Bruce. 
 
 " Well," I answered. 
 
 " I've never been down to Dover yet." 
 
 " I know it," I replied ; for he paused as if 
 expecting some obversation. 
 
 " But I shall go there now — soon. You're 
 off guard, so I shall go on. I'm not going to 
 let that ' fellow ' have it all his own way." 
 
 *' You are the best fellow !" I exclaimed. " But 
 do not do anything that may cause you pain." 
 
 " If it does," he replied hurriedly ; " I shall be 
 repaid if I am able to be of any comfort to either 
 of you." 
 
 " It w^ould," I said, " certainly be the greatest 
 comfort to me to know that your eye was over her, 
 and that Captain Normanton knew^ it too — and 
 felt it ; and it might be a great support to her ; for 
 the old man is nought, and my mother is too 
 gentle and timid to keep such a man as that in his 
 proper place, even should she continue to live with 
 them, — which I fervently pray she may, though I 
 cannot be sure of it when the term of the present 
 house is up, which it will be in about a month." 
 
 • ' Where does General Sydney go then ?" 
 
 " I don't know, nor does he."
 
 lieutenant's story. 297 
 
 " Well, I shall go down, and occupy the ground 
 before the enemy comes up ; for he's away in 
 Scotland I know now. He put the fuse in the 
 shell, and escaped before the explosion. But he 
 shall not be in my company half an hour, before 
 he knows how futile all his plots and schemes will 
 be, as regards your engagement to Miss Sydney at 
 least." 
 
 I parted with this true friend with a regret 
 second only to that which rent my heart at leaving 
 Mary, and my mother ; and set off the next day to 
 join my ship at Portsmouth.
 
 298 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIT. 
 
 Era gia I'ora, che volge'l desio 
 
 A' naviganti, e'ntenerisce'l cuore 
 
 Lo di, ch'han detto a'dolci amici a Dio. 
 
 DANTE. PURGATORIO. 
 
 Each word we speak has infinite effect. 
 Each soul we pass must go to heaven or hell. 
 And this our one chance through eternity : 
 To drop and die like dead leaves on the brake, 
 Or like the meteor-stone * * * 
 Kindle the dry moors into fruitful blaze, 
 
 ***** 
 
 Be earnest, earnest, earnest, — mad if you will ! 
 Do what thou dost, as if the stake were heaven, 
 And that, thy last deed e'er the judgment-day. 
 
 THE saint's tragedy. 
 
 He is retired as noon-tide dew, 
 Or fountain in a noon-day grove ; 
 And you must love him, ere to you. 
 He will seem worthy of your love. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 It was evening when I went on board the 
 vessel that was to bear me to those fatal shores,
 
 lieutenant's story. 299 
 
 where physical evil vies — though at a far dis- 
 tance — with the moral atrocity w^hich makes that 
 devoted clime a very spiracle of the infernal regions. 
 
 After having gone through all the business of 
 reporting myself, seeing the Captain — Captain 
 Seymour — stowing away my things, &c., I went 
 on deck and looked about me. My eye w^atched 
 every face in the ship, as it passed ; but not one of 
 the hundreds in that little ocean-home had I ever 
 seen before ; and the desolation of soUtude seemed 
 added to that of sorrow. I should have been 
 glad to have seen even the cabin-boy's face, who 
 had served with me in the old ship ; — any one in 
 short, — excepting one. 
 
 I turned, and looked tow^ards the point where 
 those I loved were — mourning I knew, my ab- 
 sence: and mv soul seemed to rush into their 
 beloved presence. I had found a letter from Mary 
 on my arrival at Portsmouth ; and what a doubly 
 delightful character did it bear in my eyes : as 
 coming from her, and from her as my now affi- 
 anced wife ! She did not then know of my desti- 
 nation ; but I had WTitten to tell her of it. 
 
 I w^as thinking of all these things, and living 
 with the absent, forgetful of the beings around 
 me, when a rough, but at last a well-known voice, 
 spoke at my side ; and turning round I saw^ the 
 tanned, but pleasant face of our old Captain's cox- 
 swain of the . I was quite delighted at seeing
 
 300 THE FIRST 
 
 him, — his appearance recalling in an instant vividly 
 before me, the old ship and all my dear companions, 
 Bruce, D'Arcy — Mary ! 
 
 " I heard your honour was coming among us," 
 said the old seaman ; " and was glad to think of 
 serving again ahoard the same ship with you." 
 
 " Thank you, Lawrence," I rephed; " T can say the 
 same to you ; for the sight of your face is very 
 cheering, among so many strangers, and brings 
 the good old times quite back to one's mind." 
 
 " All hearty at home, 1 hope, Sir, whoever may 
 be there," he said. 
 
 " All well, thank you. How is all with you ?" 
 
 " Not so well as might be, your honour," 
 replied the old man, smoothing down his thin 
 hair with his hand, and looking up at me with an 
 expression of meek resignation ; " my old woman's 
 gone, and the lad broke his arm ; but that was 
 well again afore I left." 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear you've had so much trouble," 
 I said ; — " very sorry ; I should like to see all the 
 world happy. But we must wait a little longer 
 for that." 
 
 " We must take two or three sails round the 
 globe, I fancy, afore w^e shall come to the land 
 where that's the case," he said; drumming with 
 his fingers nervously against the ship's side. 
 
 " And not find it then," I answered. 
 
 "No, — not find it then," he replied. '* Some
 
 lieutenant's story. 301 
 
 people talk of Heaven as a fine place ; but, bless 
 me ! what do they know about it ? Whose been 
 up there to tell' em, I wonder." 
 
 " There was One who came down from thence to 
 tell us," I said ; " and to teach us the way to it." 
 
 The old man shook his head. 
 
 " Ah ! so they tell us. I take it he didn't get 
 many to go back with him though ! — Yes, I have 
 heard talk of some such thing as that." 
 
 " Well, we'll talk still more of it, some of these 
 days, Lawrence." 
 
 " If you're agreeable, Sir, I am," he answered ; 
 " there an't, so much good luck here, as that one 
 need throw away a chance of sommut better 
 elsewhere. — But may I ask ? " he continued, — 
 " no offence I hope, Sir, — that young lady. Miss 
 Sydney I think they called her — she's well I 
 hope." 
 
 " She is quite well, thank you," I replied ; " I 
 left her only the day before yesterday ; for do you 
 know, old shipmate, she is to be my wife some 
 day." 
 
 " I thought as much, that I did," he said with 
 a smile, and little bow of mingled respect and 
 gratulation ; " and I think, if I'm not too bold to 
 say it, neither one nor t'other of you's gone far 
 amiss as to choice. Ah, well !" he added mourn- 
 fully, as he walked away, " that's the way of it ; 
 one loses — and another gets."
 
 302 THE FIRST 
 
 I looked after him with a painful serrement de 
 cceur ! it is so sad to witness grief ! and there was 
 something so touching in the quiet sorrow of this 
 rough old seaman. I thought with shame of my 
 own murmurings, and despondency ; and resolved 
 to fight against them, and to strive to divert them, 
 by endeavouring to be, while at sea, what Mary 
 was on land : a light, and strength, and joy to 
 those around. 
 
 " Oh ! God of Heaven ! " I mentally exclaimed ; 
 " I cannot, as my Lord did, say ' Peace ' to the 
 weaves that roll beneath, and to the winds that 
 rage around one on this wild element ; yet, taught 
 by Thee, let me speak comfort to the troublecl 
 heart, and peace to the stormy passions of men. 
 Let me be a messenger of mercy from Thee to 
 these rough and untaught, these tried and tempted 
 creatures of Thy hand, and do Thou bless me in 
 the work ; for ' beautiful,' not only ' upon the 
 mountains,' but also on the boundless, pathless 
 deep ' are the feet of him that brings good tidings, 
 that publishes salvation.' " 
 
 Long did I dwell upon this delightful thought ; 
 and such animation and elevation of heart did 
 it give me, that when I turned again from gazing 
 towards my heart's home, to look around at all the 
 various forms and countenances of my new com- 
 panions, instead of considering them any longer as 
 strangers, I felt they were brethren, united in one
 
 lieutenant's story. 303 
 
 common bond of joys and sufferings with myself; 
 creatures of the same Creator, and capable of 
 being partakers of the same blest and heavenly 
 calling. A glow of kindliness warmed my heart 
 towards then all ; and from the happiness it 
 imparted, I began to understand somewhat of the 
 truth of St. Paul's words : " He that dvvelleth in 
 love, dwelleth in God and God in him." 
 
 Soon after, on walking aft, I observed a fair 
 childish looking lad, who had apparently just joined 
 for his first voyage ; and who stood there pale and 
 disconsolate, speaking to no one. I had no per- 
 sonal experience myself of the misery of that 
 first desolate feeling of being sent from home, 
 and cast on the cold charities of our outwardly 
 frigid natures ; 1 had had friends on board the 
 vessel in which I first sailed ; and possessed more- 
 over that cosmopolitan disposition which always 
 fastened on whatever suited it, let it be in what 
 place, or belong to what country it might. Friends 
 I must have, so friends I had. But with our 
 generally reserved, and " hermit natures," this is 
 not often the case ; and I have known some boys, 
 and men too, sufi*er intensely on joining a new 
 ship. Who but has been touched to the quick by 
 the misery and wretchedness expressed by Nelson 
 — that heart of fire ! — on his first joining ? 
 
 Pitying the poor lad therefore, I went up to him, 
 and tried to cheer him ; — talked of the sea, the
 
 304 THE FIRST 
 
 ships, the view, the strange countries we should 
 visit, starry nights we should see, &c. But all in 
 vain, nothing but low monosyllables could I obtain 
 in reply, and not always them. Then I spoke of 
 his home, and then the colour rose in his face, and 
 his eye was raised to mine ; and more than mono- 
 syllables flowed forth. He had no mother it 
 seemed, but a father, and a brother, a little older, 
 than himself. His heart opened wide now ; and 
 deep down in its inmost windings this elder brother 
 evidently lay. He had given him this — and this — 
 and this — bringing forth at intervals, the pencil- 
 case — the seal — the penknife, &c.: — cherished gifts 
 of this brother's love ; on each of w hich, after 
 being displayed on the open hand a moment, the 
 small fingers closed again with a clutch, as if the 
 kind hand that had given them were there instead. 
 He was now all life — Pygmalion's statue animated 
 by the spirit of love ! 
 
 There is perhaps no tie in life which is so influ- 
 ential, or compounded of such a variety of ingre- 
 dients, as that between an aff'ectionate younger 
 brother, and a kind elder one. Father and mother 
 may be loved devotedly ; but that is but one feeling, 
 though a most pure and perfect one. It is 
 a something with which the prospects of his own 
 existence have but little to do ; which lies simply in 
 the heart, hke a pearl in its shell. He never
 
 lieutenant's story. 305 
 
 expects to be like his mother ! never wishes 
 probably to be like his father ; — there is too great 
 a distance between them for his uncalculating 
 mind to follow the links that bind the boy to the 
 mature man. Politics — war — justice -meetings 
 country-business — are to him parts of a far-off, 
 dry state of being, with which he has little or no 
 sympathy. They belong to a domain which he 
 has never entered, as his sports and amusements 
 belong to one his father has for ever left ; and no 
 instinctive wish would ever lead either over the 
 other's boundary. 
 
 But the tie to the brother a few years older, is 
 on the contrary a transfusion of himself into that 
 brother ; a tie less pure, less disinterested perhaps 
 than the other, but more natural, therefore more 
 strong. He looks upon this brother as a being, 
 far indeed his superior, but still of the same order 
 as himself: — many of his amusements lying on the 
 outskirts of his tastes and habits. He glories in 
 the reflected lustre of his magnificent leaps, his 
 bowlings, and battings — and feels that they are 
 things which he himself may soon emulate. He 
 looks to his tremendous liberty of boating, and 
 sailing, and riding, &c., as to a region whose full 
 glories he is able perfectly to appreciate, and 
 eagerly to anticipate. And when this brother 
 kindly associates him sometimes as a humble 
 companion in his games, and pursuits, — then 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE FIRST 
 
 the pride and joy of his heart are unbounded ! 
 His brother's words are to him as oracles — his 
 deeds, perfection ! What power then does he 
 possess ! How used ! — let elder brother's well 
 consider. 
 
 But to return to the little younger brother 
 in question. His shyness and depression were 
 all gone, and his sparkling eyes, and glowing 
 cheeks seemed actually to radiate light. How 
 often is this the case with outwardly cold-seeming 
 characters ! — break through the crusting snow, 
 and up leaps the Geser ! 
 
 He was by my side all the rest of the evening ; 
 hanging a little behind, unless when I spoke to 
 him, or stopped to do anything, when he came 
 flush up with me for a moment ; then again fell 
 back, fearful as it seemed of being obtrusive, yet 
 impelled to follow any one who would take him 
 from the blank corner of forgotten existence which 
 he had occupied before. He was very grateful, 
 poor lad ! for slight cause ; and proved it after- 
 wards in anything but a slight way. Truly 
 
 •Those hours are not lost, that are spent in cementing 
 affection.*' 
 
 That night, the wind being favourable, we 
 weighed, and stood down channel smoothly and
 
 lieutenant's story. 307 
 
 easily ; and the breeze afterwards freshening, 
 brought us in fine style into Plymouth Sound, 
 where we had to take on board some of the 
 officers who had not yet joined. 
 
 It was at Plymouth that I had joined my first 
 ship, seven years before ; and as we lay there then 
 for some days, my delight was to ramble about 
 in the delightful grounds of Mount Edgecumbe. 
 It was summer, and no one was there at the 
 time ; and all my hours of leave were spent there. 
 
 How I remember enjoying that first burst 
 of perfect freedom ! And the place was so beau- 
 tiful ! with its soft slopes and sunny lawns, and 
 gardens of various fashions, its picturesque 
 cottages, its wood-walks, and glades where the 
 deer couched amid the fern. Then the charm 
 of the blue sea, which here broke in wavelets 
 on the shores of the little coves and inlets, there 
 sent its dancing spray among the red berries of 
 the arbutuses which grow into absolute trees, 
 feathering down to the very waves ; and then 
 again came breasting high against the wall of 
 rocks, with such a depth of water that the hand 
 might fling a stone from the walk above, or to the 
 deck of the frigate that sailed beneath. These, 
 and the fine \dews around, formed a combination 
 of beauties unrivalled in our isle; and associated 
 as they were with the bounding happiness of 
 my untried boyhood, ever made me hail the 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THE FIRST 
 
 most distant view of the high grounds, and blue 
 woods of Mount Edgecumbe with a pleasure quite 
 indescribable ! 
 
 It was twilight; and the well-known outline 
 was all that was visible when we anchored in 
 the Sound. I turned into my hammock at a 
 late hour that night ; having loved to hnger 
 on the scene till the last rays of the moon, as 
 well as of the sun, had faded away. And next 
 day when 
 
 " The morn had risen clear and calm, 
 And o'er the green sea palely shone," 
 
 aye ! — and alniost before that — I was again up and 
 about, looking with fresh delight on all around. 
 And lo ! a new pleasure was prepared for me ! for 
 there, in perfect beauty, " sleeping on her own 
 shadow," I beheld my own beloved old frigate, the 
 
 . A cry of joy escaped me as I recognized 
 
 her ; and I felt an instant impulse to throw myself 
 over into the water, and swim to her side. 
 Restraining my rapture however within due 
 bounds, I contented myself with first seeking 
 out Lawrence, and showing her to him ; and 
 then pointing her out, with all her matcliless 
 proportions, to whoever of the sailors and officers 
 I could get to listen to me. 
 
 " That's she, sure enough," exclaimed the old 
 coxswain, shading his eyes with his hand that
 
 lieutenant's story. 309 
 
 he might see her the better. " That's she ; 
 there's no mistaking her. There's never another 
 as can come up to her !" 
 
 " There's nothing like her in the world," I 
 exclaimed. " What would I give to be on board 
 her again, just spreading out her canvass to catch 
 the breeze off Nice." 
 
 " Very Hke, Sir," said my companion with a 
 smile. "And yet they did say, somehow then, 
 that you and the Captain there, didn't always 
 set your sails alike." 
 
 " The Captain was an excellent officer," I 
 replied, a little displeasure in my tone ; " and 
 behaved very handsomely to me, when I didn't 
 much deserve it, Lawrence; and better discipline 
 was never kept in any vessel of His Majesty's 
 fleet than Captain Normanton kept on board 
 the ." 
 
 " Right Sir," replied the old man in a depre- 
 cating tone ; " and I meant no offence. Sir, to 
 you, nor to none as is absent. Yes ! sure enough 
 there never was a steadier hand on board than 
 our Captain's, and that's it. It ain't your gen- 
 tleman as goes off like a rocket one minute, and 
 let's a man slip his duty the next — to make up 
 for it, as '11 ever keep the spirits down; it's 
 him as has ahvays a taut hand on 'em; the 
 same w^hen you pipe to dinner, as when you 
 clear for action. You always knows where you
 
 310 THE FIRST 
 
 are with such a Captain as that. Keep to your 
 duty, and you're sure to be right." 
 
 "Well! that's high praise, isn't it?" I said. 
 " And I can add still higher too, which is that he 
 never set either officers or men a bad example in 
 his life ; and I'm afraid that's more than can be 
 said for most navy Captains." 
 
 While I was speaking, young Somerville — my 
 new friend — came up to me with the greatest ani- 
 mation in his face, telling me that his uncle was 
 
 the Captain of the " that beautiful frigate," as 
 
 he truly called her; and that he was to go on 
 board to see him. 
 
 '* Oh ! I must go too," I exclaimed. " I'd give 
 the world to go over her again." 
 
 The boy was off like a shot; returning in a 
 few minutes with greater glee than before ; panting 
 with running and eagerness, as, waving his cap 
 with a ' hurrah,' he exclaimed : 
 
 " You're to go, I've asked our Captain, and told 
 him it was your old ship ; and he said you mi2:ht 
 
 go." 
 
 I thanked my little friend heartily ; and soon 
 with bounding spirit jumped into the boat which 
 had been lowered for our trip. As we neared the 
 frigate, how splendid she looked ! She had been 
 newly-painted, and much of her rigging w^as fresh ; 
 and they had certainly turned her out of the 
 dock-yard, the completest thing that ever was seen !
 
 lieutenant's story. 311 
 
 " How Mary would admire her now !" I thought. 
 The recollection of her however, sobered my spirits 
 a little, and with mingled pain and delight did I 
 again mount the deck 1 had so often trod with her. 
 
 But thoughts of the past were quickly dispersed, 
 by young Somerville's introducing me to his uncle ; 
 which he did in a paroxysm of nervous ecstacy, 
 looking from one to the other to see what effect 
 we produced on each other ; and certainly the 
 effect produced on me by Captain Somerville was 
 particularly pleasant. I soon requested to be 
 allowed to go over the ship, which was very readily 
 granted, the Captain himself volunteering to 
 accompany me. 
 
 We went down, and visited first the mess-room. 
 On entering it, I started, as if I had seen a ghost ; 
 for there, though in living bodily presence, stood 
 — old Palgrave! just as if I had only left him 
 there five minutes before. He seemed equally 
 astonished at the sight of me, and turned all sorts 
 of colours; rising hastily from his chair, and 
 holding it by the back, as if he were ready to 
 defend himself against some onslaught he seemed 
 to expect me to make. None however did I 
 meditate ; and the sight of an old face in the old 
 place, was deUghtful. Springing towards him, I 
 seized him by the hand, exclaiming : 
 
 " Palgrave ! old fellow ! why how came you here?" 
 
 " St. Clair ! old feUow ! why how came you
 
 312 THE FIRST 
 
 here T* he replied ; his volatile mind changing in 
 an instant from fright to fun. 
 
 " I came to take a look at our old quarters," I 
 replied ; " but little thought to find an old shipmate. 
 I didn't know you were appointed to her again ; I 
 wish I had been with all my heart." 
 
 " I should have been very happy to have had 
 you with me," said Captain Somerville ; " and I am 
 glad you have had such a pleasant meeting here. 
 You, and Mr. Palgrave were together then in the 
 Mediterranean ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " You were great friends then, I suppose ?" 
 
 Palgrave and I exchanged glances in the most 
 ludicrous manner ; putting each other, as it w^ere, 
 into each other's confidence, as to our not having 
 been great friends ; — and from that moment we 
 really became such. 
 
 " We didn't quarrel many times, Sir," he said ; 
 in the mildest of tones. 
 
 " Well then, perhaps you may prefer being alone 
 together a little," said Captain Somerville ; so I 
 will leave you to Mr. Palgrave's care, Mr. St. Clair, 
 and shall be very happy to see you again on deck 
 when you have looked about you as much as you 
 like below." 
 
 I thanked him ; and thought him — what I think 
 him still — the most courteous and gentlemanlike- 
 man (almost synonymous terms) I ever met with.
 
 lieutenant's story. 313 
 
 What a charm it is ! and what a duty too ! as 
 binding upon us as any other in Hfe. We are so 
 apt to forget that " Thou shalt do no murder," and 
 *' Be courteous," are written in the same book — 
 equally binding. 
 
 What a difference did this one man's way of 
 speaking make in my feelings at that time ! I had 
 been rather sad at looking at my old home — no 
 longer mine ; but soon there w^as such a warmth 
 sent through my heart by the kindly words and 
 manners of this stranger, that my spirits felt quite 
 cheered, and as I went over all my old accustomed 
 haunts, I saw only the bright side of things ; and 
 when, after having been everywhere, and taking 
 leave of him, I descended the ladder to return to 
 my own vessel, I felt a double regret that my lot 
 was not again cast on board my dear old frigate. 
 
 I found also much really to like in Palgrave ; he 
 spoke of the old times, and our old shipmates so 
 pleasantly ; and seemed so perfectly to have for- 
 given the extremities to which I had proceeded 
 with him, and the mortifications which had ensued 
 thereon — expressing, indeed, his sincere regret at 
 the conduct which had occasioned them, — that I 
 could not but feel quite kindly towards him ; and 
 when we shook hands at the well known gangway, 
 which I had passed so often, — and with what mul- 
 titudinous feelings ! — I parted from him with a 
 sentiment of sincere regret, and real regard.
 
 314 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Oh ! that human love 
 Should be the root of this dread bitterness. 
 
 A word unspoken, is your own — spoken it is another's. 
 Unspoken — you are its master ; — spoken — it is your 
 tyrant. 
 
 Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth. 
 And the tongue is a fire ; a world of iniquity. 
 
 ST. JAMES III. 5-6. 
 
 When I returned on board, T found two letters 
 waiting for me; one from Mary, the other from 
 Bruce. I opened the letter (which from its size, 
 indeed, might rather have been called a packet than 
 a letter), and read that first; for I liked to " keep 
 my best till last." 
 
 Its contents threw me into the greatest state of 
 agitation. 
 
 " I was sure," he wrote, " that you would like 
 before you finally launched forth on the great deep.
 
 lieutenant's story. 315 
 
 to have the report of an eye-witness as to \our 
 affairs at home ; so I ran down to take a survey of 
 my ' station.' I found Miss Sydney looking as she 
 was sure to do, only not quite so joyous as usual — 
 the only change, perhaps, which you would like to 
 hear of. She seemed surprised at seeing me, and 
 not quite pleased I thought ; till I contrived at a 
 quiet moment to tell her one of the reasons of my 
 appearance — namely : the having constituted myself 
 as your reporter concerning her health and well- 
 being during your absence. The other: the 
 intention of acting scare-crow to the unfortunate 
 Captain, — I did not venture to hint at, fearing it 
 might distress her. A very short time elapsed, 
 however, before I was called upon to assume the 
 dignified position assigned to that animated class 
 of characters ; for, though I had thought him in 
 Scotland, lo ! a ring at the house-door ; and lo ! an 
 opening of the room door ; and lo ! the " pilfering 
 daw," whom I was to chase from the golden fruit. 
 At the sound of his name, Miss Sydney, by whose 
 side I had been sitting on the sofa, turned deadly 
 pale, and I thought she was going to faint. But 
 with an evident effort she recovered her self-posses- 
 sion ; and rising as he approached her, she received 
 him w^ith that calm grace and dignity, which you 
 have seen too often for me to be obliged to describe. 
 He, poor man ! (for through certain weak and 
 porous parts of my composition a little frater-feeling
 
 316 THE FIRST 
 
 sometimes filters in), seemed so absorbed by the 
 brightness of the sun of his worship, that my meaner 
 rays were for a moment (for the first time in my 
 life, I flatter myself), eclipsed. To avoid the risk 
 of being run down (and a little from the ' Middy's' 
 old respect and awe), I had not only risen on his 
 entrance, but had stood aside to allow him sea- 
 room, as he sailed up, — every stitch of canvass set, 
 — and bore down in splendid style upon his prize 
 (as he hoped). But after the first broadside, when 
 the smoke had cleared away a little (I know you 
 like me to be nautical, and parenthetical !) he dis- 
 covered a strange sail alongside, (strange enough he 
 seemed to think it and bristling with guns he soon 
 found it ;) and turning to see what it was — saw what 
 it was. I thought he would have fainted then, he 
 seemed taken aback in such an awful style ; just as if 
 he had fallen in with the ' phantom ship,' — or with 
 you again. ' Nil admirari ' is a lesson he has yet 
 to learn, I perceive ; and certainly I stretched his 
 wondering powers to the utmost that day. 
 
 " I can be cool when I like it, as 1 dare say you 
 know ; and on an impartial review of my conduct, 
 I think I was so on that occasion. I need not give 
 you all the programme of the emotions he had to 
 go through ; or record the varyings of his dying- 
 dolphin hues. Suffice it to say that Dolphin didn't 
 die ; but coming round after a time, seemed to have 
 serious thoughts of taking up the position along-
 
 lieutenant's story. 317 
 
 side the * prize,' which I had occupied before. See- 
 ing this, I slid into it sideways, with the most easy 
 grace imaginable ; addressing some observation to 
 Miss Sydney, with a cheerful familiarity, and dan- 
 dified ease, which nothing but the pressure of 
 circumstances at the moment could ever have made 
 me assume. She seemed again surprised, and 
 again displeased — naturally — but a confidential 
 look, which I contrived to give as our baffled friend 
 turned to speak to your mother, made her smile 
 with that playful turn of the lip which is such a 
 peculiar beauty in her ; and which made me feel 
 that I was understood, and forgiven. The old 
 General then came in, and greeted the Captain 
 most warmly ; but his prevenance had something 
 so nervous, and ultra-courteous in it, that 1 confess 
 it made me feel very uncomfortable; and proved 
 to me without a doubt that your suspicion of our 
 Captain's possessing an undue influence over him, 
 was quite correct. 
 
 " If there is a point for uneasiness it is that , 
 not as to ultimate results, of course ; for I presume 
 you feel as confident of Miss Sydney's constancy 
 and truth, as I do ; but I mean as to temporary 
 discomfort for her. However, according to your 
 old, or rather newly adopted principle, we will not 
 go in search of the uncomfortable, but let the 
 uncomfortable come in search of us — if it want 
 us. After the first complimentary speeches, the
 
 318 THE FIRST 
 
 old gentleman exclaimed : ' Mary, my dear, have 
 you seen Captain Norman ton ?' ' Yes,' she replied 
 quietly. He then turned to me saying : ' May I 
 introduce our friend, Mr. Bruce to you, Captain 
 Normanton ?' 'I have already the pleasure of Mr. 
 — Bruce's acquaintance,' replied the Captain, in a 
 tone that showed I thought, that he didn't at that 
 moment quite properly appreciate the pleasure. 
 * You remember, my father,' said Miss Sydney, 
 (and how that mode of addressing him sent me 
 
 back on board that blessed old again !) 
 
 * that Mr. Bruce was with us on board Captain 
 Normanton's ship.' * Oh yes ! how can I be such 
 an old fool?' exclaimed the poor General. "To 
 be sure ! Why it was he who behaved so handsomely 
 about the quarrel, and sent us word it was no fault 
 of young St. Clair's. I recollect it all now ; but 
 my old brains get so confused. Yes ! — very well 
 he behaved, and very feelingly ; and it was not what 
 every one would have done.' (I -repeat this lest 
 Miss Sydney should forget to tell you of it.) 
 And so he went on, seeming to lose in the over- 
 whelming remembrance of my past merits, the 
 sense of my present presence ; till his mind taking 
 a fresh start, he turned with immense alacrity to 
 to the Captain, exclaiming : ' By the bye, my dear 
 Sir, we have a thousand thanks to give you for the 
 very handsome way in which you spoke of young 
 St. Clair to Lord , and for so unexpectedly
 
 lieutenant's story. 319 
 
 procuring his promotion. He hadn't the least idea 
 of it himself; and seemed indeed, foolish hoy ! 
 rather vexed about it ; but it was most excessively 
 kind of you." 
 
 " The poor Captain seemed ready to sink imder 
 the weight of his merits; and would gladly, I 
 suspect, have been the most w^orthless of his kind, 
 so he could have escaped this expose, of his righteous 
 deeds. But all in vain ; for with ruthless gratitude 
 did the old man continue to persecute him, till he 
 seemed wrought to frenzy. Did compassion touch 
 soft chords within my breast ? Not a whit ! They 
 were strung to the tune of vengeance ; and fiercely 
 did I carry out the strain. I tui'ned again towards 
 my gentle companion, and begun, — with laboured 
 sprightliness : ' Talking of absurdities. Miss Sydney, 
 (which we had not been talking of,) I read such a 
 story the other day, — in one of Miss Sinclair's 
 amusing books, I think. Some old lady was 
 advised to read the Bible, which she had never 
 before, it seemed, done. She did so ; and took to 
 it amazingly, thinking it so very entertaining ! 
 Going into dinner with some Bishop a little while 
 after, she thought it would quite suit him ; so, in a 
 lively, conversational tone said : ' What a shocking 
 story that was, my Lord, about Da\ad and Uriah !' 
 Meaning to point this at my victim, I looked at 
 him fuE as I spoke. I was really horrified ! The 
 black blood rushed to his temples while his lips
 
 320 THE riRST 
 
 turned perfectly white. His eyes flashed fire, as 
 his restless glance shot from face to face. He 
 seemed as if he would have sprung upon me like a 
 tiger ! hut he suddenly turned, and rushed out of 
 the window on the lawn, where, as he stood with 
 his hack to us, I saw by his deep, awful inspirations, 
 that he was trying to calm. And cool down the 
 fire and fury within, and no wonder. I can't tell 
 you how conscience- stricken I was, the moment the 
 words had left my lips ; and how deeply I still 
 regret (spite of my jocularity) ever having spoken 
 them — they were so wholly unchristian, as well as 
 so dastardly ! for how could the unfortunate man 
 take notice of them when he must have known 
 that to do so would have shewn that he felt their 
 sting ? Most truly did, and do I grieve for them ; 
 and needed not the look of quick reproach which 
 Miss Sydney gave me — reproach mingled with so 
 much surprise and embarrassment, that I suppose 
 till then she was not aware that I was acquainted 
 with Captain Normanton's feelings for her. ' For- 
 give me,' I said in a low, and really penitent voice. 
 She shook her head, as her eyes dropped ; and the 
 colour mantled painfully in her cheek. Mrs. St. 
 Clair looked disturbed, while the General seemed 
 in consternation at the Captain's sudden flight ; 
 and kept looking from me to his daughter, and 
 from her to me, from under his shaggy eyebrows, 
 with most displeased and inquiring glances.
 
 lieutenant's story. 321 
 
 ** I would have given anything never to have been! 
 or to have been able to have gone out, and implored 
 my victim's pardon ! But that was impossible ! 
 for what reason could I give for appearing to think 
 that the story contained any more elements of dis- 
 turbance for him than for others ? Something 
 however must be done, for I felt sure that he never 
 would be able to come back by himself, and face us 
 all again, so must die where he stood ; so I suggested 
 to Miss Sydney that we should go out to him. 
 She acceded instantly ; showing thus most sweetly 
 her double, kind forgiveness of him and of me ; 
 and — I following her — went up to him, and in 
 the most winning manner began speaking to him. 
 * You have been into Scotland, Captain Normanton, 
 have you not ?" 
 
 " He seemed incapable of answering ; and I never 
 saw such painful emotion depicted on a countenance 
 in my life. How I hated myself ! I could but 
 send up my sinful heart to God, and implore for- 
 giveness, and a kinder spirit. At last he mur- 
 mured something, and she continued in a kind 
 tone asking him about his journey. His answers 
 gradually became less and less embarrassed, and 
 he seemed evidently touched by her kindness. 
 For a moment I saw him look at her; — 'twas 
 but for a moment ; but I wish I had not seen 
 it — the expression of his countenance haunted 
 me for hours. Such a rush of almost woman's 
 
 VOL. 1. Y
 
 322 THE FIRST 
 
 softness came over that stern brow, mingled with 
 so much of sadness, as completely for the moment 
 altered the whole man ; and again I felt wretched 
 at having added a needless pang to a heart already 
 so sorely tried. Your mother, and the old man 
 then joined us ; and the conversation became more 
 general. But as we walked about the garden, 
 Captain Normanton got near me, and said in a 
 low, constrained voice : ' I wish for some private 
 conversation with you, Mr. Bruce.' I bowed my 
 acquiescence ; and he continued : ' If you are 
 staying in this house, perhaps you will oblige 
 me by taking a walk in the country; if not, we 
 can perhaps return to Dover together.' ' I am 
 not staying here,' I replied, ' but return to town 
 to-night ; so I can walk back with you to Dover.' 
 ' Thank you,' he replied ; and bowing slightly, 
 in his dreadfully gentlemanlike manner, he re- 
 turned to converse with General Sydney. 
 
 "Now did not *my sin find me out?' You 
 know that I have a horror of duelling; con- 
 sidering it wicked and childish ; — wicked if you 
 wish to kill — or be killed — childish if you don't ; 
 — bad any way. But, * Here I am in for it,' 
 I thought. ' In for what ? Duelling ?' No ! 
 certainly not ; — for I was determined not to add 
 sin to folly, — murder of the hand, to murder of 
 the tongue ; — but * in for a challenge,' and then 
 for what was much worse : the having to refuse it ;
 
 323 
 
 and then — contempt, and contumely, and disgrace ; 
 — and a private hint from high quarters, enforced 
 by public ones, from million eyes and tongues, 
 that : ' I had better leave the service.' 
 
 " This was all very pleasant ! But I am really 
 thankful to say that not for one passing moment 
 did my mind waver. I dare say there w^as a great 
 deal of pride in this, — I am sure there was ; for 
 somehow it is so difficult to keep oneself from 
 that plague-spot, w^hen one is making a sturdy 
 stand against general opinion, even though for 
 conscience sake ; and I could not but feel too, 
 that those who do not mean to ' use daggers ' 
 should * speak ' none ; and sorely did I lament 
 that haste and intemperance of spirit, which has 
 so often brought me (and will I fear bring me 
 still oftener, before it has done with me,) into 
 sin and trouble. Not but that the evil lies far 
 deeper w^th me, than mere heat and haste of 
 temper; — that is what you have, and I like it 
 — as a choice of faults ; but mine is intolerance 
 of mind, and hardness of opinion ; from which 
 bitter roots, proceed naturally, bitter fruits. I 
 grieve over them, I can't tell you how much; 
 for they bring the cause of Christ into disrepute, 
 and give so much occasion for His enemies to 
 triumph ! How terrible w^hen one really loves 
 that Holy Being, to force Him to say : ' These 
 wounds have I received in the house of my friend. 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 THE FIRST 
 
 You have often spoken to me kindly, and faithfully 
 about this, St. Clair ; do so continually ; and add to 
 your cautions — prayers. 
 
 " After we had walked about a little while 
 longer, we went into luncheon, 'with what appe- 
 tite we might ;' but that was not much. Nor did 
 the * flow of soul ' proceed with us much better, 
 so we two belligerents soon took our leave ; 
 feeling that we had shortened each other's visits, 
 and destroyed the pleasure of them too. (No bad 
 thing perhaps.) We walked along in perfect 
 silence, till we got to those meadows, which you 
 have not forgotten, I dare say. When there, 
 Captain Normanton begun. (And oh, what a 
 commotion I was in, when he opened his fire ^ 
 and how I longed to exclaim : ' Tell me first of 
 all whether you are going to call me out or not.') 
 
 " ' Mr. Bruce,' he said, ' it would be useless 
 after the agitation which I am conscious of having 
 betrayed on your telling that absurd story at 
 General Sydney's, to pretend not to have per- 
 ceived — coming as it did immediately upon the 
 General's thanking me for having procured Mr. 
 St. Clair's promotion and appointment — that it 
 was aimed at me. A little consideration, how- 
 ever, will I am sure, make you feel the ungenerous 
 nature of such an attack, leaving me as it did 
 without remedy; for by taking notice of it as 
 an affront, and resenting it as such in the way
 
 325 
 
 usual amongst gentlemen, I should lay myself 
 open for every one to say that I was conscious 
 of the justice of the application ; and should there- 
 fore, expose myself publicly to ridicule.' 
 
 (Here I began to breathe.) ' Whether by 
 my agitation 1 have done so with you or not,' 
 he continued, ' I cannot judge ; it depends upon 
 whether your mind sees anything ridiculous in 
 the strong natural feelings of a man, and I may 
 say, a gentleman — under a most cruel and slan- 
 derous attack, — or whether it does not.' (How 
 I wished myself in the river !) * I am inclined to 
 think,' he continued, — in his measured, deliberate 
 manner, which it seemed as if no agitation could 
 accelerate, or emphasize, — ' that you would not 
 consider such feelings subject of mirth, or contempt ; 
 and deeply, ineifaceably wounded as I have been by 
 so foul a suspicion ha\ing ever even entered your 
 mind, I must yet so far have regard to my 
 honour, as to enter a little into explanations which 
 may tend to clear me from it, and to show that 
 I am not guilty of the murderous intentions 
 which you seem to have attributed to me.' 
 
 " He stopped, and I walked by his side in 
 mighty embarrassment, not liking even to hear 
 my feet brush through the grass of the meadow 
 — for I had left the pathway wholly to him, in 
 my humility. Perhaps he expected me to speak ; 
 and I v^'ished to do so, but what could I say ?
 
 326 THE FIRST 
 
 1 longed certainly to express my contrition for 
 what I had said ; but still his conduct did want 
 explanation, and that checked me. At last he 
 resumed. * You have accused me, Mr. Bruce, in 
 your own mind — and indeed before - others too ' 
 (and here his colour mounted) ' of a crime of the 
 blackest die ; one which has ever stood fore- 
 most in the catalogue of horrors : of pretending 
 friendship, and intending — murder ! Such accu- 
 sations are hard to brook ; and though I might 
 treat them with the contempt w^hich they deserve, 
 yet I prefer telling you that they are unjust, and 
 unfounded. Your idea of course is that I pro- 
 cured — purposely — an appointment for Mr. St. 
 Clair on board a vessel destined to the fatal 
 coast of Africa ; but that I did not do. His 
 appointment and promotion I am free to acknow- 
 ledge were my work ;. and whatever my motive 
 may have been, a young sailor without much 
 fortune, or any particular interest, need not I 
 think quarrel with me for it. But the destination 
 of his vessel was not only unknown to me at the 
 time of his appointment, but my disturbance was 
 so great when I learnt it, that I set off instantly 
 for London, and stopped neither night nor day, 
 till from the Western Highlands of Scotland, I 
 found myself within the walls of the Admiralty. 
 I made every effort in my power to obtain an 
 exchange of vessels; — spoke to every one whom
 
 lieutenant's story. 327 
 
 I thought could possibly help me ; till, wearied 
 I suppose, with my importunity, I was given 
 to understand, that the obtaining my first request 
 was considered a great thing; and that I must 
 not ' expect to nominate to stations also.' * You 
 know me well enough, Mr. Bruce, at least 
 not to doubt my word ; and you must therefore, I 
 think feel, that the part of David towards Uriah I 
 have not acted ; and if you have received that im- 
 pression from Mr. St. Clair, perhaps you will have 
 the kindness to inform him that he has misjudged 
 me.' ' That impression was never received from 
 him, Captain Normanton,' I replied ; * it was my 
 own mind, and the appearance of things which 
 suggested it. And indeed I am proud for St. 
 Clair's sake to say, that whenever I have spoken 
 in any way against your proceedings — and I have 
 done so, perhaps too much, though to him only — 
 he has invariably spoken of you w^ith forbearance, 
 and kindness ; and blamed me for my harsh judg- 
 ments. (What a flame of emotions rushed to his 
 face !) But for what I have said to-day, I feel 
 that I ought indeed greatly to entreat your forgive- 
 ness.' 'You have it, Mr. Bruce,' he replied with 
 considerable feeling ; ' though one of your honour- 
 able mind may perhaps be able to form some idea 
 of what it must have been to have had such an 
 accusation brought against me — and before — others
 
 328 THE FIRST 
 
 too.' And he coughed nervously, and looked 
 around, as at the prospect. 
 
 " * I do feel it. Captain Normanton,' I replied ; 
 ' and cannot sufficiently hate myself for having 
 made it ; or for having allowed my mind to har- 
 bour even so black a thought.' I really did feel 
 horrified at myself; and when he spoke with so 
 much feeling, and so readily forgave me; — and 
 when I thought too of the effort he had made to 
 obtain your exchange, I could not but think of your 
 words, that ' you could name many good things in 
 him.' Yet still I felt as if it would be insincere if 
 I said nothing more, and let it be imagined that 
 I thought he was right in all he had done ; — though 
 being so much his junior — for I should think he is 
 full ten years older than I am — I found it difficult 
 to intrude my opinion upon him. But I could 
 not feel satisfied without doing it, so continued : 
 * Yet, Captain Normanton, if you will at this mo- 
 ment of explanation allow me to speak my skicere 
 opinion, I would say that I still think your exerting 
 yourself to get St. Clair employed abroad just 
 now, and separating him from Miss Sydney at such 
 a moment, must be considered as anything but a 
 kind, or a considerate act.' 
 
 " How ghastly may a living face become ! 
 But for the glowing fire of the eye, and the con- 
 vulsive contractions of the brow and lips, 1 should
 
 lieutenant's story. 329 
 
 have thought that I had a corpse stalking by my 
 side ! I could not but feel for him ; for it must 
 have been a moment of riving anguish to him. 
 He must of course have suspected your engage- 
 ment with Miss Sydney before, but the word that 
 confirms a dreaded suspicion, falls on the brain like 
 fire ! 1 saw he could not speak ; so in mercy tried 
 to do so myself But it was impossible to turn off 
 the subject ; so thinking that now the sword had 
 entered, it was better to thrust it up to the hilfc 
 at once, I added : ' You must be aware. Captain 
 Normanton, that St. Clair is engaged to Miss Syd- 
 ney.' ' I am aware of no such thing,' he answered 
 fiercely ; his eye glaring from out of his ashy coun- 
 tenance with demoniacal fire. ' It is the case 
 however,' I continued, without seeming to observe 
 the violence of his emotion ; ' but of course if you 
 did not know it, that alters the case.' I had meant 
 to soothe his feelings by saying this ; but the mo- 
 ment the words were out of my mouth, I could not 
 but perceive their bitter irony. 1 thought I saw 
 a terrible conflict going on in his mind ; but if 
 that W'Cre the case, the better, and more honourable 
 part of his nature triumphed ; and with a truthful 
 boldness which recalled the honest blood to his 
 cheek, he said after a few minutes' silence : ' I have 
 been brought Mr. Bruce, by some strange means, 
 into an extraordinary position with regard to you ; 
 and I feel that perhaps some further explanation,
 
 330 THE FIRST 
 
 however disagreeable, may be necessary. Your 
 accusation of me, though you have retracted it as to 
 its worst features, yet evidently proves that you think 
 T have some particular reason for wishing Mr. St. 
 Clair's absence at this time ; and I will not deny that 
 I may have. I perceive too, that you have formed 
 your own opinion as to what that reason is ; and in 
 that too, you are not perhaps mistaken. That I have 
 a high regard for Miss Sydney is true ; but it is 
 also true that in what I have done I have endea- 
 voured to study her happiness as much, — at least 
 I have meant to do so, — as my own. You tell 
 me that she is engaged to Mr. St. Clair ! — I ought 
 not certainly to doubt your authority, as you are so 
 great a friend of his (said bitterly), but I can only 
 say that when last here. General Sydney told me 
 positively that there was nothing settled between 
 them ; and that indeed through losses, which I 
 was grieved to find he had sustained, he did not 
 think it likely that anything would ever come of 
 the * childish nonsense,' as he called it, that there 
 had been between them — I repeat his own words. 
 This was said in answer merely to an observation 
 I took the liberty of making, as to the strange 
 appearance which the two families living so com- 
 pletely together, bore; and of the conjectures 
 which would most likely be the consequence of 
 such an arrangement. Understanding this there- 
 fore to be the case, you cannot charge me I think,
 
 331 
 
 with acting a part hostile to Miss Sydney's interests, 
 when I endeavoured to separate her from a young 
 man whose attachment, and constant society might 
 become dangerous to her peace.' 
 
 " He paused as if expecting me to speak, and I 
 did so ; and informed him of General Sydney's 
 having given his formal consent to your engage- 
 ment before your departure. ' Certainly,' I added, 
 ' if your conduct had been disinterested, I should 
 have said it might have been kind and judicious ; 
 but the feeling that a latent motive of your own 
 luiked beneath the act, cannot but alter one's 
 estimate of it. You will forgive me for speaking 
 so openly, Captain Normanton? ' ' Oh I certainly, 
 certainly,' he replied ; though evidently much 
 irritated and offended at my observation ; (at 
 which I am not surprised) . ' To separate them for 
 a time,' I continued, ' particularly when by doing 
 so, you would further their future prospect of 
 marrying and being happy together, might indeed 
 be the act of a friend — and may God grant that 
 that be the issue ! but to seek to separate them 
 entirely, and destroy such a love as theirs, — -that 
 is an act. Captain Normanton, which I could 
 envy no man.' I had lashed myself up into quite 
 a small storm ; the waves whereof surging to and 
 fro, were in no wise pacified by the contemptuous 
 smile which I saw ostentatiously exhibited on our 
 friend's curled lip. ' You must excuse my smiling.
 
 332 THE FIRST 
 
 Mr. Bruce,' said the irritating fellow ; (I didn't 
 though) * and believe me, it is not in contempt 
 of you, or of your friend; for I am not quite 
 ignorant of the opinions which are usually held 
 at your age on these subjects ; but trust one who 
 is of maturer years, — that the fancies of young 
 heads seldom sink so very deep into young hearts, 
 as you seem inclined to suppose.' — (I could have 
 murdered him ! but didn't ; and that ardent 
 desire not transpiring through word or deed, he 
 continued without interruption). ' I can fully 
 believe that you think me thorqughly heartless, 
 and thoroughly selfish ; but on those points my 
 conscience entirely acquits me ; and I can say 
 with truth, that did I not think I had the means 
 of making Miss Sydney happier than she could 
 be by a miserable marriage with a young man 
 without fortune like Mr. St. Clair, I would aban- 
 don all thoughts of her for ever ! — As it is, she 
 shall at least be allowed to make her choice.' 
 ' She has done that already. Captain Normanton,' 
 I replied, — with infinite malice and vengeance — 
 * and irrevocably ; or I am much mistaken.' ' We 
 shall see,' he answered, with that complacent, pre- 
 triumphant smile, which we have often said was 
 so utterly insufferable. I was too much irritated 
 to speak ; not I am sorry to say that I purposely 
 laid any restraint on my unruly member, but 
 that there poured in upon my mind such an
 
 333 
 
 embarras de richesses in the way of vituperation, 
 scorn, insult, fury, invective, &c. : — all which 
 solicited clamourously to be made use of — that 
 whilst I was running: throuo^h them to select what 
 could best suit my triple purpose of insulting him, 
 avenging you, and relieving myself, I suddenly 
 discovered that my temper was cooled, and that 
 the choice moment of revenge had escaped ; 
 so finding myself silent — silent I remained. — 
 Nothing on earth you know, subdues like silence ! 
 The ' last word ' may claim its ' Ovation,' but the 
 ' Triumph,' must be invariably decreed to the 
 * first silence.' It drops like lead on your opponent ; 
 who, expecting resistance, finds it not, and falls 
 to the ground. He strives to raise himself, to 
 explain, to soften off, to retract, to conciliate; — 
 while the consciousness of your quiet scrutiny 
 makes liim sink deeper and deeper in the mire. 
 Yet I envy not the man who can systematically 
 pursue this plan of subjugation ; who can calmly, 
 in supposed superiority, v^atch the struggles of 
 another, and enjoy his confusion ; — I have as much 
 respect for the brute who can bear to subdue an 
 animal to his own fantastic ways, by starving it, 
 and keeping it from rest. No 1 I prefer a thou- 
 sand times the man w^hose vehemence lays him 
 open to blame on every side; and would rather 
 help an adversary to all his excuses, and through 
 all his difficulties, than take the cold-blooded
 
 334 THE FIRST 
 
 station, and callous feelings of the other for a 
 moment. Involuntarily therefore it was, that on 
 this occasion, that station was assumed by me, — 
 (and that by reason of hot, not cold bloodedness) . 
 But the effect was the same on the unhappy 
 Captain ; who began explaining away his confi- 
 dence, and frittering away his hopes, and his 
 feelings, and his wishes, till he left his moral self 
 the most threadbare skeleton in creation. His 
 excuses however, though I could not but perceive 
 their sophistry, left me at least with the full 
 persuasion of his really strong attachment to Miss 
 Sydney, and of his willingness to devote every 
 energy of his life to her happiness ; (according 
 to his own ideas and fashions). So, vexed, and 
 troubled as I w^as. I could not help feeling and 
 speaking more kindly to him than I had been 
 able to do before. — And so we parted ! 
 
 " You need not I am sure fear anything more for 
 Miss Sydney, than the annoyance of his assiduities; 
 though that is bad enough. Indeed what can 
 you fear when you have her father's word, and 
 her heart? England is a land of liberty, and 
 happily not of the licence it was a century ago ; 
 and chaises and four, and men in masks are at a 
 discount. So rest in peace, brave son of Neptune ! 
 ' Give trouble to the winds — hope and be undis- 
 mayed !' As long as I am on shore I shall keep a 
 sharp look-out a-head, and let you know how
 
 lieutenant's story. 335 
 
 things go on ; and it is not for me to bid you 
 raise your trusting eye to a Higher and Greater 
 Watcher ; Watcher and Ruler too ! I have httle 
 more to say, for of common news I have none, and 
 you care nothing; and methinks I need not 
 make excuses for not having done justice even 
 to an ' Office frank ;' for if your anchor is a-peak 
 when you begin this portentous epistle, it will 
 probably be stuck fast in the pleasant mud of 
 the Bight of Benin before you have finished it. 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " Norman Bruce."
 
 336 THE FIRST 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Some untutored thirst for God, the root of every pleasure. 
 
 PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 The intolerant world might have its evil-speaking hushed 
 into silence before the devout might which labours for the 
 hire, not of silver and gold, but of saved souls, — and the 
 sunny godliness which is loftiest gain. — arranged from 
 
 " MERKLAND." 
 
 It was in vain, after reading Bruce's letter, that 
 I tried as he had told me, to " give trouble to the 
 winds ;" they would not take it ; or if they did, 
 it was only to blow it back ao;ain with twofold 
 violence to my heart. I had not yet attained the 
 blessing of a thoroughly trustful spirit; and my 
 mind tormented itself with wilfully imagining evil 
 to the being I loved so well. Her letter lay by 
 me unopened — unremembered indeed for a time — 
 so absorbed was I in troublous thoughts about 
 herself; but at length, remembering it, T snatched
 
 lieutenant's story. 337 
 
 it up with repentant haste, and eagerly read its 
 soothing, cheering words. She knew nothing of* 
 course, of Captain Nornnanton's communication to 
 Bruce ; but she could fully feel from his manner, 
 that he had by no means given up his former 
 intentions with regard to herself. But annoying 
 as this was, she felt confident, she said, of her 
 own heart ; and of the love and mercy of God ; 
 and she spoke in bright and joyful words of the 
 happiness of our reunion, and of the blessedness of 
 our being one in heart even then. She talked 
 of the sunny cottage we were to have when I 
 returned, the flowers we were to cultivate, the 
 books w^e were to read, the godly works of mercy 
 w^e were to do together — till my heart glowed 
 within me at the bright picture that she drew ; 
 and my eager fancy placed already half within my 
 grasp its enchanting happiness. 
 
 Yet after a time, I could not but think, that 
 beneath this veil of radiant colouring which she 
 had thrown over the future, there lay a deep 
 depression in her heart ; and though I grieved to 
 think it should be so, I could not but the more 
 admire the disinterestedness of that love which 
 strove rather to comfort me, than to obtain sym- 
 pathy for its own troubles ; and I determined that 
 neither her efl'orts, or her example should be lost 
 upon me. I therefore — after impulsively thanking 
 my God for giving her such strength, and blessing 
 
 VOL. I. z
 
 338 THE FIRST 
 
 me with the love of such a being — sat down to write 
 to her in the same strain of animated hope ; and 
 cheered and strengthened by the effort which God 
 enabled me to make, I finished my whole letter 
 without one complaint, or one murmuring expres- 
 sion ; though the thought that it was the last 
 which for years I should write to her from 
 England, almost at times overcame my resolution. 
 
 With Bruce I could not so wtU sustain my 
 efforts at cheerfulness. I thanked him however 
 a thousand times for his kindness ; and for his 
 promise of watching over Mary's happiness, and 
 of letting me know how things went on ; a promise 
 which 1 valued now more than ever; as I saw 
 plainly, by Mary's letter, that should any trouble 
 arise to her, she would be cautious not to mention 
 it ; so that she might be suffering — sorely suffering, 
 while I was hoping that all was well, and prospering 
 with her. 
 
 My letters concluded, 1 went to my cabin, and 
 commending myself to God, slept the dreamless 
 sleep which is so often in mercy granted to those 
 whose waking hours are sad ; and having obtained 
 leave to go on shore the next morning, (we were 
 to sail in the evening) the rising sun found me 
 once more treading the smooth lawns of Mount 
 Edgecumbe ; once more enjoying its mild air, and 
 exquisite scenery. I gathered a flower, — one of the 
 " pale perishing " flowers of autumn, and on my
 
 lieutenant's story. 339 
 
 return to the ship, I put it into my letter to 
 Mary, telling her to keep it till I should redeem it 
 with glowing flowers from sunnier lands. Then 
 sealing and dispatching my letters, I was soon 
 busily engaged in my part of the bustling business 
 of getting the ship under way. 
 
 There was scarcely a ripple on the water, and 
 vfe moved but slowly, so that England was still in 
 sight the next morning. But before nightfall, I 
 saw from the mast-head, the last dim line that 
 marked where my country lay, sink down, down 
 into the leaden ocean. It was like burying my 
 dead, and I felt desolate indeed ! 
 
 " Taking a last look of the old land. Sir ?" said 
 Lawrence who had seen me go up aloft, and w^atched 
 till I lighted on deck again. 
 
 "Yes, Lawrence, she's fairly down now. May 
 God's blessing rest on her, and on those we love in 
 her." 
 
 " Amen, Sir," said the old man reverentially ; 
 *' no one can blame one for blessing the land where 
 one is born, nor the friends who are friends to us 
 in it. It is but natur'." 
 
 " It is natui'e, and duty too," I replied. " But 
 what do you mean by ' friends who are friends' ? 
 those who are not friends, are not friends, are 
 they?" 
 
 " x\h ! you're too sharp upon me, Mr. St. Clair," 
 
 z 2
 
 340 THE FIRST 
 
 said the old man good humouredly, with a sly 
 sideways nod of the head ; " too sharp by half ; 
 but I take it, you know pretty well what I mean 
 too." 
 
 " Why 1 rather think I do," I said ; " at least 
 I suppose you mean that those who stand in the 
 place of friends are not always friendly ; and that 
 you would ask a blessing only on those who 
 were so." 
 
 " That's it, Sir, right enough," he replied ; " and 
 that I say again, is natur\" 
 
 " It may be," I observed ; " but a better Teacher 
 than nature tells us to do more than that, Lawrence. 
 We are told to love our enemies, and to bless them 
 that curse us." 
 
 " Well, Sir, that's very good — and I've nothing 
 to say against it, as to the matter of talk ; but I'm 
 doubtful as to how I should set about a-doing it." 
 
 " Why it is rather difficult to be sure," I replied ; 
 and a sigh arose as I felt how difficult it was ! 
 But great things are said to encourage us to it : 
 *That ye may be the children of your Father 
 who is in heaven,' ' and if children then heirs ; 
 heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ.' Those 
 are great promises for such as you and me, 
 Lawrence." 
 
 "Yes, Sir, they are mighty-sounding promises 
 indeed. And yet I can't rightly say as I under- 
 stand much what they mean. I am but a poor
 
 lieutenant's story. 341 
 
 scholard, Mr. St. Clair, and haven't but little book- 
 larnin', more's the pity." 
 
 " More's the pity indeed ; for it is a great thing 
 to be able to read, and get one's head and heart 
 supplied from the stores of wiser minds ; especially 
 from the full, abundant store of the word of God." 
 
 " Why as to that I can read pretty smartly in 
 the Testament too ; but I han't got no time, you 
 see ; let alone having no Bible here on board." 
 
 " Did you read it much when you were on 
 shore ?" 
 
 " I can't say, Sir, as I did — much ; my wife, 
 she that's gone, poor soul ! was always a begging 
 me to read it, and read it ; and I did so two or 
 three times to pleasure her. But bless you ! I 
 couldn't understand it, you see ; and there was but 
 little profit, nor pleasure in going over and over 
 what might a'most ha' been Chinee for me." 
 
 " Couldn't you understand what you read?" 
 
 " I could make out the words. Sir ; least- ways, 
 many of 'em ; but I couldn't no how make out 
 what it w^as all about. Why, if you was to go and 
 listen to a shipmate in the midst of his yarn, he 
 might spin it as long as he would, but if you didn't 
 know the beginnin' of it, you'd never rightly 
 understand the end." 
 
 " That's true ; but have you never had any 
 instruction as to the things of God ? You've at
 
 342 THE FIRST 
 
 least been to the service every Sunday on board, 
 and that must have taught you something." 
 
 " Well, it may have taught me a summut. Sir ; 
 for I'm not quite like the Hindoos or Joss worship- 
 pers neither ; I know better than that too. I know 
 there is but one God, and that Jesus Christ is His 
 Son, as they say ; but any more than that I can't 
 say as I see my way through at all. I often 
 wonder indeed why our chaplains, and such sort, 
 don't talk plainer for us poor fellows, and explain 
 matters a little more; it would do a power of 
 good ! I've been a church-goer now, on sea and 
 land, these sixty years pretty nigh, and yet I comes 
 out of church knowing no more than when I goes 
 into it ; and the same may be said of scores and 
 scores of us ; and it will be a hard thing, and weary 
 work when death comes on, to have to travel a 
 road not one step of which one knows. It's dif- 
 ferent with you young gentlemen ; you've fine 
 larnin' given you, and a power of masters and 
 teachers from the time you can speak. And yet 
 I'm minded sometimes, that after all some of you 
 aren't much better neither than we poor ignorant 
 seamen. I'm not speaking of you, Mr. St. Clair, 
 as you well know, Sir, nor of many others ; but 
 some, I think you must see yourself. Sir, — no 
 offence, I hope, — isn't much the better of the 
 larnin' they've got."
 
 lieutenant's story. 343 
 
 " That is because the right beginning was not 
 made with them, Lawrence, more than w^ith you. 
 No knowledge can make the heart right but the 
 knowledge of the ways, and the will, — and above 
 all, of the love of God. I can speak to that from 
 experience ; for till very lately, — till last year indeed, 
 — I cannot say that I really knew anything clearly 
 of Christ's holy religion." 
 
 *' But you was never a wild 'un like many of the 
 others neither," said the old man, looking at me 
 with a kind sort of respect in his mild coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " And who is a better or a steadier seaman than 
 you, Lawrence ?" I said, smiling, in answer to his 
 kindly look ; " and yet you say you still want the 
 teaching which I wanted too, before ?" 
 
 The colour deepened in the old seaman's swarthy 
 cheek as he answered my compliment with a little 
 bow^ of natural courtesy, and a smile of rather sad 
 expression. 
 
 " I thank ye, Sir, you was always one of a kind 
 speech; but somehow that'll not do, as my old 
 woman, God bless her ! used to say ; there's 
 summut amiss yet. Hauling a rope taut, or 
 standing to your guns like a man, can't 'arn heaven 
 for you no hovvs ; I can't have so poor a thought 
 of it as that comes to, let it be how it will." 
 
 "I am heartily glad you haven't," I replied. 
 " If vou had, I should feel that there were but
 
 344 THE FIRST 
 
 little hope for you ; but now I think you're in a 
 fair way of getting what you want." 
 
 " How so, Sir ?" he said, withdrawing his eye 
 quickly from the horizon ; which, with the habitual 
 watchfulness of a sailor he had been instinctively 
 examining during most of our conversation, and 
 fixing it suddenly on me ; " sure I scarce knows 
 what I do want." 
 
 *' I can tell you though I think. You want 
 to hear something that you can understand about 
 God; and you want to know how you can get 
 YOur sins pardoned ; — you want to feel at ease 
 about all this, and comfortable in your mind. 
 Isn't that it ?" 
 
 "Why yes. Sir, you've hit it pretty nigh, I 
 believe," said the old man with an animated au' ; 
 " and if you can tell me how to get those things, 
 why I shall be uncommon glad, and will thank 
 you kindly too." 
 
 " I will try what I can do," I said ; " but I'm 
 afraid I shall be but a poor master; for I am 
 only a poor learner as yet myself. However if 
 it be but a little, that's better than nothing ; so 
 what I shall first say, shall be in the w^ords of 
 the blessed Lord Himself : ' Ask and ye shall 
 receive.' Have you ever asked God to teach you, 
 Lawrence ?" 
 
 " I can't say as I have. Sir," he answered ; 
 '* nor do I rightly know how to."
 
 lieutenant's story. 345 
 
 " If I had promised to give you anything you 
 wanted, shouldn't you know how to ask me 
 for it ?" 
 
 " To be sure I should." 
 
 "Do just the same then to God; ask Him 
 with your heart, as you would speak to a friend 
 in secret. Just say, ' O Lord, teach me to know 
 and love Thee,' and look for His answer, in your- 
 self, and in things about you. He will not speak 
 Himself to you in any miraculous way ; but will 
 speak through the voices of other people, and 
 through books which you may read ; and 
 through the comfort He will send into your 
 heart. Voices of men and books are instru- 
 ments which He uses ; but unless He make 
 your heart ready and willing, to listen and learn, 
 they will be of no use to you." 
 
 " That sounds reasonable," he replied. " So 
 I'm to ask Him to give me power to understand ; 
 and then I'm to listen to those who will teach 
 me — to you Mr. St. Clair, Sir, if you'll be so 
 good." 
 
 " Yes ; but you must always remember and ask 
 God to teach you as to whether what I say is 
 truth or not, for I may be mistaken. If you trust 
 to Him, He will be sure to lead you right." 
 
 I then spoke to him as w^ell as I was able 
 of his own fallen state through sin, and of God's 
 mercy in sending a Saviour ; of that Saviour's
 
 346 THE FIRST 
 
 love in dying for him, and of the pleasure of 
 working for such a friend; and it was touching 
 to see how the old man listened to words which 
 for the first time bore a distinct meaning to his 
 mind, and brought a softening feeling to his 
 heart. I spoke on, till my own soul kindled with 
 the high themes of w^hich I treated ; and as I 
 enlarged on the love which made Christ, " while 
 we were yet sinners, die for us ;" — and saw the 
 tears gather slowly in the old man's dim blue 
 eye as he listened ; I seemed to enter into the 
 apostle's feelings of apparently surprised enthu- 
 siasm, when he exclaimed : " Herein is love !" 
 
 That conversation, and others which I had with 
 Lawrence and with some of my messmates were 
 of great use to me; and I fully felt the truth 
 of the words : " They that water shall themselves 
 be watered." I felt my own soul grow in grace, 
 and strength, and love ; and by so often speaking 
 of the free salvation of Christ, I found my own 
 soul opening to understand that blessed doctrine ; 
 and though I could not yet dare to take it to 
 myself, yet I began to understand somewhat of 
 the abiding peace of Mary's, and the rapturous 
 joy of Bruce's spirit, under the conviction of 
 it; and besought that like them, I too might 
 learn fully to rejoice in God my Saviour.
 
 lieutenant's story. 347 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 They were the only words I ever heard from yon man, 
 but I will remember them, and bring them up for him in 
 the last day. 
 
 But more — thy billows and thy depths have more ; 
 High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast ; 
 They hear not now the booming waters roar, 
 The battle-thunders cannot break their rest ; 
 Keep thy red gold, and gems, thou stormy grave. 
 Give back the true and brave. 
 
 To thee the love of woman hath gone down ; 
 Dark roll thy waves o'er manhood's noble head ; 
 O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flow'ry crown, — 
 Yet must thou hear a voice : " Restore the dead." 
 Earth shall reclaim her precious things of thee ; 
 Give back the dead, thou sea ! 
 
 MRS. HEMAXS. 
 
 We sailed pleasantly before the wind for some 
 time ; and congratulated ourselves on having calm 
 weather through the generally stormy Bay of Biscay.
 
 348 THE FIRST 
 
 But it did not unfortunately last long; for just 
 as we were clearing the bay, and rounding Cape 
 Finisterre, the wind chopped round full in our 
 teeth ; and after heading us for some days, blew 
 at last such a gale as I think I never saw in 
 my life. 
 
 We could not show a stitch of canvas but what 
 was split into ribbons in a moment ; not a man 
 of us took off our dripping, and drenched clothes 
 for upwards of three days and nights. Our fore- 
 mast went by the board ; and had nearly carried 
 me with it ; but old Lawrence saw it coming, and 
 having always of late, the good old man ! had a 
 special eye to me when he could, he seized me from 
 behind by the collar of my jacket, and with rough, 
 but saving violence, jerked me away with a force 
 that stretched me my whole length on the deck. 
 I lay stunned for a moment ; but was roused almost 
 immediately, by a tremendous shock, which made 
 the whole ship quiver from her bows to her stern. 
 I started up, just as every one else almost fell flat 
 down ; for we had been forced to put the helm up, 
 and let the vessel run before the wind ; and she had 
 been ploughing through the waters at such a 
 furious rate, that the sudden check overthrew every- 
 thing. We thought all was over with us. It seemed 
 evident that we had struck upon a rock ; and it 
 was equally evident that we must go down. The 
 ship being stuck fast, offered of course an infinitely
 
 lieutenant's story. 349 
 
 greater resistance to the on-coming waves, than 
 when driven hefore the wind ; and they now struck 
 her with such force, that it seemed a miracle that 
 she hung together for a moment. 
 
 We had previously fired guns as signals of dis- 
 tress, but now they were all quite useless. Con- 
 sternation sat on every face; and happy indeed 
 was he who had not then his " faith to seek." 
 Trial enough it was for those whose anchor for 
 eternity was cast on safe shores ; but what it must 
 have been for others one dare not think ! My 
 first feeling was heart-lifting thankfulness that 
 Mary was not there ; my second, one of agony, lest 
 I should be lost to her. Then succeeded a won- 
 derful calm, a peaceful gi^^ng up of myself, and her, 
 and everything, to the good governance of God, — 
 to His gracious keeping. The thorough feeling 
 that "love ruled might" — left no room for fear 
 within my heart. 
 
 The happiness of that moment of perfect trust I 
 can never forget ; nor can words convey the idea 
 of it to another. I had not sought it ; but had 
 merely power passively to receive the impressions 
 which God was pleased to make upon my mind ; 
 but never can I be sufficiently grateful that they 
 were of a nature, not only to afford me such 
 strength and peace then, but to be a perpetual 
 source of thankful enjoyment whenever their 
 blessed remembrance returned "upon my soul.
 
 350 THE FIRST 
 
 I have often since felt this same unsought, 
 supernatural peace and quietude poured into my 
 heart under circumstances of exciting trouble, — 
 but never to the same degree as then. 
 
 I was soon, however, roused to a fresh sense 
 of the fearful strait we were in, by the rough 
 grasp of old Lawrence's iron hand. He shook 
 mine as if bidding me farewell ; though the old 
 habits of discipline and respect, mixing curiously 
 with the feeling of equality produced by a common 
 danger, made him beg my pardon for doing so. 
 
 " It's all right, with you, Sir," he added ; " and 
 I feel somehow as if it was with me too. — God 
 bless you. Sir, God bless you for teaching me the 
 way to Heaven; and if I get there as I hope, 
 through the blessed Lord, — it will be pleasant to 
 thank you for it there again — and for ever." 
 
 I wrung the old man's hand in silence ; for my 
 soul was for the moment overpowered at the idea 
 he presented before it : of his being for ever 
 grateful to me for his salvation. I could have 
 prostrated myself in devoted adoration before 
 God; and I felt an almost delirious gratitude — 
 enhanced by the terror of that dread hour — at 
 thinking that the soul of this humble, childlike 
 Christian m.ight be saved through my instmmen- 
 tality; "snatched as a brand from the burning," 
 or, (which image as may be supposed came with 
 peculiar force to me at that moment) caught up
 
 lieutenant's story. 351 
 
 as a drowning wretch from the whelming waters. 
 " Oh, the riches both of the depths and of the 
 heights of redeeming love !" Oh ! the ineffable 
 power of God, which at such a moment could 
 transport the soul into regions of happiness, which 
 in securer hours we might seek for long in vain ! 
 
 After a few moments, Lawrence again spok^e ; 
 though it was with difficulty that his voice could 
 be heard amid the din and ciTish of noises which 
 surrounded us. We were ?11 clinging to the 
 rigging, or lashed to other parts of the vessel to 
 save ourselves from being washed overboai'd ; for 
 every mountain -wave that came, broke over us, 
 and swept the deck from stem to stern. 
 
 " There's no saying, you know, Sir," he began, 
 " how these sort of things may turn out, and 
 you may get ashore, while I go to the bottom. 
 If so, you'll remember the lad, at Mrs. Storers, 
 No. 25, Paradise Court, Pancrass. His father, 
 and mother, and gra'mother's dead, and the old 
 man will be gone then too ; and he is but a slip 
 of a lad, and never was a strong 'un ; and a 
 helping hand, or a kind word even, does a deal 
 o' good sometimes when the heart is down, as 
 his is hke to be. He took on dreadful bad when 
 my poor woman went, but then he had me with 
 him ; but now, — all alone — " 
 
 The old man tm-ned away, for his voice was 
 choked. I assured' him that should God spare
 
 352 THE FIRST 
 
 my life, I would always keep an eye upon the boy. 
 He nodded in grateful acknowledgment ; but he 
 feared to speak, I think, lest his pent-up feelings 
 should give way. I said a few cheering words ; 
 and after a while, recovering himself, he began 
 again, but with great hesitation : 
 
 "If it should be t'other way. Sir — for no one 
 knows how these things may chance — and I should 
 be the one to be spared — if there was anything I 
 could do for you, Mrs. St. Clair, I should be proud 
 and happy to do it ; — that is — not happy like — 
 for I pray the Lord it may not be so — but ready, 
 you know. Sir, — glad to pleasure you, if there were 
 anything you might wish." 
 
 " Thank you, Lawrence," I replied. " These 
 greedy w^aters will never give up my body I suspect 
 if once they get it ; but if by any chance it should 
 be found, I should wish you to take this ring off 
 my finger, and my letter-case from my pocket, 
 and let Miss Sydney have them, when you could ; 
 and give this picture round my neck, to my dear 
 mother ; tell her it was what I loved best on earth, 
 of things not living, — so sent it to her." 
 
 As I said this, the thought of what the sorrow 
 of the two beings I loved so much would be, 
 rushed so fearfully over my mind, that it over- 
 whelmed me for a moment. My head sunk upon 
 my arm, and a storm of uncontrollable anguish 
 heaved my breast ; but it was a suffering too deep
 
 lieutenant's story. 353 
 
 for tears, and found vent only in groans of mortal 
 agony. 
 
 " Don't take on, Sir," said the old seaman, in a 
 hoarse voice ; " I'll do it, please God ; though I 
 pray the Lord I mayn't have it to do. But am I 
 to say never a word from you to the young lady ? 
 nothing but the ring and the pocket-book ^" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," I replied hastily ; " om* 
 hearts are one, old man, and she will know what I 
 would say." 
 
 At that moment there was a cry that the dead- 
 lights were stove in, and the water pouring in tor- 
 rents into the Captain's cabin. 
 
 All then gave themselves up for lost ; and the 
 frantic shrieks of despair — mingled with oaths and 
 curses — which sounded on every side — ^joined to 
 the creaking, and groaning of the timbers, the 
 raving of the winds, and furious tumult of the 
 waters — made it seem as if we were in the infernal 
 regions. It was in vain that I tried to speak a word 
 of peace, and faith to those near me; the God 
 whom they had despised in the day of safety, they 
 seemed to find an insane joy in blaspheming in 
 their hour of peril ; and such horror seized me at 
 hearing their fearful oaths, as almost took away 
 every particle of my strength. 
 
 The only being to whom my words seemed of 
 any comfort, was young SomerviUe ; who, crouched 
 down by my side, was clinging to me with one hand, 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 354 THE FIRST 
 
 whilst the other was clasped over his eyes, as 
 though with the sight, he could shut out also the 
 sense of danger. Through his slight fingers how- 
 ever, the tears trickled fast, as he rocked himself 
 from side to side, murmuring with his touching, 
 childish voice : "If I could only have seen him 
 again ! — if I could only have seen him, once 
 more ! " 
 
 Well did I feel who that " him" was ; and the 
 yearning love of this young heart, touched me to 
 the very soul. I bade him not despair ; but pray 
 to God to love, and to protect him, for His sake, 
 who when on the raging waters, said " Peace," and 
 they obeyed Him ; and as he listened to my words 
 the mournful cry of his heart ceased, and he 
 answered, " I will — I will." 
 
 Lowering the boats was out of the question 
 then ; they could not have lived a moment in such 
 a sea. But as long as there was life, there was 
 hope ; so I lashed the boy to a coop that was near, 
 and bid him trust himself to the mercy of God. 
 All this takes long in telling, but occupied but few 
 minutes in doing. 
 
 Lawrence had disappeared from my side. I had 
 been busied with Edward Somerville, so had not 
 seen what had become of him ; but on looking 
 round, I justf caught a glimpse of his weather- 
 beaten head, disappearing down the hatchway. 
 1 started forward to follow him, for I understood
 
 lieutenant's story. 355 
 
 in a moment what was the forlorn-hope on which he 
 had bravely volunteered ; and I determined to lessen 
 his danger if possible, by sharing it. But the 
 Captain bade me stay where I was : 
 
 " There are hands enough for the work," he said, 
 "if it can be done — ; if not — !" 
 
 I then found that foiu- other men had been 
 ordered below to help Lawrence ; and I had nothing 
 to do but to wait the anxious result like the rest. 
 I went back to Somerville, who had been in despair 
 when he saw me leave his side ; and told him he 
 must rouse his spirits, and try to look boldly on 
 the danger, or he would never be ready, if called 
 on, to venture his life as that brave old seaman 
 had done. This animated him a Httle ; but he 
 was so young ! scarcely twelve years old, and 
 so slight and w^eakly. Oh ! parents little know 
 what they do, w^hen they send children out on 
 such hard services. It was far worse, as I 
 have said before, in those days — fifteen years 
 ago — than it is now, and boys were sent out at 
 an earher age ; but it is bad enough even now, 
 God knows ! 
 
 The moments seemed like ages as we waited 
 to see if the men below succeeded in their bold 
 attempt ; but many had not passed when a man 
 who had secured himself in amongst the mizen 
 shrouds exclaimed : that " one of them had been 
 washed out of the cabin window ;" the sad truth 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 THE FIRST 
 
 of which was in a few moments more, fearfully 
 confirmed, by the body being borne towards us 
 on the crest of a huge wave, and cast with frightful 
 force on the deck, — half hid in a shroud of froth, 
 and foam. Though we all had to cling on to the 
 ship for our lives ; yet many an effort w^as made 
 to catch the body as it passed, and save it from 
 the fury of the waters. But in vain ! and, hor- 
 rible it was to see it thrown about, and dashed 
 against the masts and sides ; striking against, fii'st 
 one thing, then another, as the retreating waters 
 dragged it over again. 
 
 The moment I saw it, I knew it to be Law^- 
 rence's body ; and I might have been certain too 
 by the tranquillity of the features, and the helpless 
 manner in which it rolled over and over in the 
 waters, — the long thin hair now swept across the 
 face, and now streaming back from the high daring 
 brow, — that the spirit of the brave old man was 
 not there, but at peace. Yet when once again the 
 body, now sinking, now floating, was borne past 
 us in the sea, and thrown against the ship's side, 
 close to me as I was still standing on the waist, 
 near Somerville, I lost all thought of everything 
 but saving him ; and loosing my hold of the vessel, 
 I caught at his clothes as he passed, and was in a 
 moment dragged overboard with him. 
 
 Ah ! what a shriek came from Edward Somer- 
 ville as he saw^ me go over! — piercing, in the
 
 lieutenant's story. 357 
 
 shrillness of his child's voice, through all the roar- 
 ing and raving of the storm ; for what can drown 
 the cry of human agony ? 
 
 But soon the gurgling waters as they poured in 
 at my ears, and down my gasping throat, choked 
 all sense and hearing. I was a good swimmer ; 
 but what could human arms avail against 
 such a sea? — against such waves, breaking, as 
 they did, against the vessel, and rushing back 
 with such fury against the other waters, as sent 
 their clashing heads curling to the very sky; 
 while around them was a chaos of foaming eddies 
 and whirlpools. Exertion was vain ; and human 
 strength, as nought ! A moment's struggling, a 
 moment's frightful, frantic agony, one gasp — 
 another — and another; — and the green waters 
 had closed above my head. And then came a 
 sensation of indescribable peace, and a bright glory 
 flitted before me, mingled with visions of green 
 fields, and meadows, and calm waters ; then sleep 
 — sleep — sleep. 
 
 [As much of the narrative following the events just 
 recorded, could not have been circumstantially known to 
 Mr. St. Clair, it is thought ^best to relate it as received 
 from other sources.] 
 
 END OF VOL. L
 
 L ON D ON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.