is he not, doctor?-one

articles of war, is a very suspicious onemuch older than he appears to be. He is evidently well educated, and should he turn out to be a spy, in what a situation we are placed! We must not permit him to have any the least communication with any one on board. Where did you stow him, Flylightly, before he made his appearance on the quarter-deck ?"

"Please your honour, I'll never do a kind action again; but the boy looked so pitiful like, so I took him below, and got him some decent clothes, for his land-going rig, the little of it that he had, was torn and drenched; and then, as I messes forward, he warn't observed much in the darkness of the lower deck, for he was lying about most of the time among the bags and chestesses, and if any one did see him they took him only for one of the ship's boys-don't think, Sir Hugh, fifty people on board have seen his face."

"So much the better," said Sir Hugh; "but the question now is what we must do with him. I can tell you, from his manners and his whole deportment, that I suspect him to be a person of some distinction; and, since the mischief is done, we must now make the best of it. I shall treat him some way in the manner of a state-prisoner. I will not have him either talked about or talked to. As to speaking to, or noticing him, let every one beware of that, Mr. Flood. Those midshipmen, more curious than magpies-only let me catch one of them taking a cross-jack look at this stranger! Let the young gen tlemen know this, and stand clear. You may retire, Mr. Flood. You understand my wishes on this disagreeable matter-let them be obeyed."

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Ay, ay, Sir Hugh," said the first lieutenant, retiring, with inaudibly-uttered imprecations upon fat, sleepy look-outs, and impudent little blackguard boys who steal aboard ships in middle watches.

"Now are you not a pretty fellow- —a beauty of a boy, you Flylightly, to involve us all in this scrape? We must put you in irons until we arrive at some station where there may be sufficient ships to try you by a court-martial, and then you'll swing."

"As to the swinging, your honour, Sir Hugh, if it is to be my lot, why, I'll take it like a man, seeing as how it'll be nothing for which I'm ashamed, or that 'll bring disgrace upon the ship; but pray, Sir Hugh, don't 'ee put me in bilboes-I couldn't 'scape if I tried,-and sitting still hour after hour, and day after day, my own flesh would soon suffocate me."

"The man is quite correct in his notions, Sir Hugh," said the doctor; "though how he came to be so profound in physiology is the mystery. Don't you think that you have sufficient power vested in you to tuck him up at once, and the occasion would justify it? Consider, Sir Hugh, the torture of the poor wretch for so many weeks before we can dispose of him in a regular manner. It will be quite a mercy to the poor fellow-only see how much he is now suffering."

"Thank 'e, Doctor M'Quillet, for that ere same mercy, but I'd rather be 'scused having any of it. I'll live as long as I can, just to obsarve what'ull happen next. An old woman once told me, that you can die when you like, but you can only live as long as you can, and so I will, if you please, sir; and I don't much think Sir Hugh will put

me in irons either. If his honour had but seen how pitiful the poor half-drowned lad looked when he begged mercy of me, I almost thinks as how he'd adone the same."

"Say no more, Flylightly, say no more-we must all do our duty. I won't put you in irons yet. You must be discreet."

Sir Hugh then rang for his steward, and bade him take the obese seaman into his berth, give him a glass of grog, use him well, but not permit him to have communication with any person whatever.

In accordance with the plan settled between the captain and the surgeon, the carpenter and his crew were ordered immediately to build a small and convenient cabin round the foremost starboard gun in the fore-cabin. This was done as if by magic. It made a most comfortable and pleasant berth, having a glazed port-hole to admit both light and air. One of the captain's own cots was slung and duly supplied with bedding, and nothing omitted to make the little retreat absolutely luxurious. Three or four hours sufficed to effect all this.

In the mean time, Doctor M'Quillet visited the patient from time to time, of whom he reported most favourably. At length, he intimated to his commander that she was sufficiently recovered to be equal to an interview, and that she wished it

"We must be as secret as possible, doctor," said the captain, bracing himself up for the meeting, "and on no account must her sex be known or suspected."

"That is perfectly understood. I am silent as a dismissed patient." The surgeon bowed, and left the captain's presence. Sir Hugh stole on tip-toe into the after cabin, and found the stranger standing respectfully to meet him. She had, with a woman's innate propriety, scrupulously arranged her dress, although it was one that was repugnant to her feelings. She seemed more beautiful than ever, though very pale, from the effects of her late bleeding, and her intense emotions. As Sir Hugh approached, she gracefully slipped upon one knee, and taking his hand, and kissing it, said, "Forgive your child, and bless me, O my father!"

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"Come, come, my sweet girl," said Sir Hugh, in a half-bantering tone that was most wretchedly assumed; 'young ladies don't find papas, and papas don't acknowledge daughters, in this off-hand way. What makes you suppose that you are my daughter?" "And then she replied solemnly thus: "If you are Sir Hugh Eustace, of Glen Grove Hall, in the county of Rutland, and a postcaptain in his Majesty's navy, of a verity you are indeed my father!" "I am certainly that Sir Hugh Eustace, my pretty one, but how that should make you suppose yourself to be my daughter I am at a loss to conceive. I was never married."

"So much the more woe upon you and upon us ! Sir Hugh Eustace, I have been bred up in a severe school-know, my father, that I am a Christian, not in profession only, but in my very heart and soul. I have come to save you-I have braved much-I have suffered more. They have called me an enthusiast-grave and old men, who should have known better, have whispered about insanity-if faith, and hope, and prayer be madness, then indeed am I mad; but I

see with a light not of this world—I have but two sole guides of conduct-my duty and my God."

"Calm yourself—this excitement, after all that you have undergone, may bring on fever. Our first business should be to understand each other. Tell me your story-take this wine. Pray you, speak quietly and rationally."

"I do-I will:-the little that I have to say is soon told. Until seven weeks past I knew of no parent; I had fancied myself an orphan. As such, I was brought up in a christian school, near Clapham, by three pious ladies. For the first years of my infancy the stipend for my board and education was regularly paid, but when I had attained my twelfth year these payments ceased. But my good friends,-my more than parents, would not cast me off, and until seven weeks since I enjoyed with them the greatest of sublunary bliss-a life of charity, of religion, and divine love."

“Whoever they or you may be, I honour them for it."

"O you shall do more-much more than this-they have saved your daughter's soul."

“What is the name you bear?" said the captain, in dreadful agitation.

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"A name that you too well know- Florence Fontbelle Hartley." My heart is crushed-go on, go on-why did I not know this before?" exclaimed Sir Hugh, who now suffered unresistingly his hand to remain between those of Florence, whose eyes, full at once with tenderness and awe, thus fixed upon his countenance, continued to address him.

"I was amidst my pure and loving companions when the three sisters called me away, and placing me in the midst of them, they prayed the Redeemer to vouchsafe to me grace and strength to meet my coming trials. How they suffered those dear instructresses!—and I prayed also in terror; and then they told me that my mother-that Florence Fontbelle-Captain Sir Hugh Eustace, your Florence Fontbelle,—who was not, but who ought to have been, the wife of your bosom, was lying in the cells of Newgate, under sentence of transportation."

"I am punished!—would that I had died yesterday!"

"This Florence Fontbelle-my mother-my poor dear motherwept over me, but was impenitent. At first she cursed you,-long, and vehemently, and bitterly."

"The barbed and poisoned arrow has returned to my bosom; I'm wofully striken."

"But better and holier thoughts, and then tears, followed-I brought them—I, your daughter-and ere I was torn from her arms, she blessed you-she prayed God to bless you-I heard it-doubt not that it is true-she blessed even you."

"I am a very wretch!"

"It is six weeks since; and they permitted me to see her, as they told me, for the last time. She was more composed. How magnificent was she in the decay of her beauty! How sublimely grand was the expression of her once angel countenance, when she confessed, for the first time, that she knew that her Saviour lived, and

in His glorious name sent you her forgiveness! But then she made me vow a vow, and a sinful one my heart tells me it is not. I vowed to her to seek you out, despite of all pain, of all trouble-even to the ends of the earth, or wherever heaves the everlasting ocean, and to do her bidding. I now do it. Thus she bade me- Return to him that cross, which he gave me when I was innocent and he honourable -bid him acknowledge you as his daughter. Should he hesitate— should he, who deserted the mother seem inclined to abandon his daughter, kneel before him, uncover your neck, and show him the stain common to us both; and if he resist that, pray of God to turn his heart, and leave him.' Behold, O my father," said she, kneeling at his feet, and uncovering her bosom," the sign! To pray for you I will never cease-leave you I cannot,"

Sir Hugh took her in his arms, and wept over her bitterly.
"Call me your daughter, and bless me !"

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My much-wronged child, may your heavenly Fatlier in his goodness sufficiently bless and reward you-your earthly father cannot."

Pain and pleasure, the wormwood of sorrow and the sweets of a strange joy, were wonderfully and mysteriously mingled in the bosoms of both. Sir Hugh gazed upon his child as if, by one look, he might make up for the neglect of eighteen years, and she was at once happy and sad. After a long pause, during which they had a little recovered from their distressing emotions, she turned to him with a seraphic smile, and said gently, "My dear father, I have a letter to you from my mother. I have not broken the seal, but I fear me that it is illegible-see how worn and torn it is; and though I have dried it in the best manner that I am able, the sea-water must have obliterated much of the writing. But do not read it now, father; you are already too much moved."

"Give it me, even now, Florence. This bitter ordeal must not be repeated-once, and no more."

Captain Sir Hugh Eustace turned his countenance from his newlyfound daughter, broke the seal of the letter, and perused its contents. The heaving of his manly frame told of the violence of his agitation, but he carefully avoided looking at Florence. At length, placing the letter in his bosom, he exclaimed, "That struggle is over; one more, and perhaps my mind will find some little repose. It is now my turn to kneel at your feet, Florence; I do so humbly and contritely, to ask you to give me the pardon of your mother. It is her wish-let me hear it from your mouth-your parent kneels to you."

Without any false scruples she permitted him to assume the humble posture before her, and she said to him solemnly, "My mother pardons you. Rise, dear father, and kiss me: henceforth let love, duty, and obedience from me to you be the rule of my conduct." And then much remained to be explained. She told him that her mother, having once fallen, proceeded in the downward course, until all her family withdrew their countenance from her, and that latterly she had formed a connexion with an artful and a splendid villain, who, having initiated her into all the secrets of swindling upon the grand scale, justice had overtaken them both, and transportation for life had been passed upon the paramour, of seven years upon her mother.

And then she simply and pathetically told him, how she had fainted when she was torn from her mother in the prison, how fever and delirium had succeeded, and how kindly she had been nursed by the ladies at Clapham-and that there much valuable time had been lost. She then related how, when she was sufficiently recovered, her vow to her mother had haunted her, and that she and her friends had sought counsel of the Lord in long prayer, and that it was borne in upon them that she should do all that she could to fulfil it-that they found that the Amelia had sailed-that her only chance of her meeting her father was, that the ship might put into some port in the Channel; and that she had, attended by a trusty old lady, followed it on land, along the coast-how they had bribed a smuggler to put her on board-that when they got near the ship he refused to come alongside in the dead of the night, for fear either of being pressed, or perhaps of something worse-that she grew desperate, knowing the ship was on the point of sailing, and that, at her earnest entreaty, he had promised to assist her clandestinely on board-that she had fallen into the sea, and that, at last, she had, she knew not how, for her faithless boatman had deserted her, contrived to climb into the head. She then spoke of her shame at finding she had lost much of her dress, and of the kindness shown to her by the dull and fat Flylightly.

In his turn, Sir Hugh, after bestowing upon her every token of pity and affection, intimated to her, that even under the religious guidance of her three schoolmistresses, she had acted a little rashly. That pious vows were, no doubt, very acceptable things to heaven, but that the best intentions should be carried out by worldly means. That enthusiasm in all things, a seaman's duty excepted, was bad and unsafe.

To all this cold reasoning of Sir Hugh his daughter did not assent. In religious matters she was firm, and she fully believed that it was, in her, a religious duty, at all hazards, and at the sacrifice of all appearances, to fulfil the vow made to her mother, and make known her wishes to him.

"But see, my dear Florence, in what a strange predicament you have placed me. You have, at the risk of your life, smuggled yourself on board this ship. I cannot acknowledge you now, and here, publicly as my daughter. This would expose us both to ridicule. I have not even clothes necessary to your sex. You must still pass here as a lad; and I must make up the best account that I am able." "O my dear father, it is sinful towards God, all craft and all pretence, that partakes of the nature of bearing false witness. Think of the peril of your eternal soul."

I am

"Florence-my dear Florence, you will drive me mad. already suffering most acutely, do not let us embitter our strange union by religious controversy. There is now but one course to follow -you must remain on board here in the strictest incognito, until I am able to place you in some asylum worthy of your own excellence. Wait till we return to England, and I will prove to you, in very act and spirit, a loving and indulgent father."