able man; adding, that he was determined to meet his fate, whatever might be the consequence of his return to England. This transaction, which does equal honour to both Admirals, shows the generous nature of Hawke, who found in my father a kindred spirit, worthy of his future friendship and protection. Under the auspices of this patron, he shared in the glory of the fight with the French fleet, under Marshal Conflans, off Quiberon, in 1759, and, being preferred after the action to the post of first lieutenant of the Royal George, bearing Sir Edward's flag, he advanced him through the successive stages of his subsequent promotion-their mutual attachment only ceasing with the life of that illustrious commander.

A reputation so well earned was rewarded, not only with preferment, but by the esteem and affection both of officers and men. The sailors respected him for his gallantry, and loved him for his humanity-virtues in which he emulated the brilliant example of his patron. In the selection of his earliest naval friends, he had shown great discernment; for they subsequently became the most distinguished officers in the service. When, in his turn, he became a patron, his example as a commander, aided by the high integrity of his character, and the native benevolence of his disposition, drew around him a number of young officers, whose brilliant career richly repaid the obligations they received from him. Several of them, who rose to distinction, afterwards presented him with their portraits. These were hung round his room, and he took an honest pride in showing to his visitors these memorials of his "younkers," relating some honourable trait of each of them in succession. Among these was Horatio Nelson, who, to the last hour of his life, regarded him with the affection of a son, and with the respect of a pupil. The following extract from a letter written many years after, amidst the anxieties of his exalted station, shows the unabated attachment with which he regarded the guide of his youth.

My dear Friend,

Palermo, Feb. 9, 1799.

I well know your own goodness of heart will make all due allowance for my present situation, and that truly I have not the time or power to answer all the letters I receive at the moment. But you, my old friend, after twenty-seven years' acquaintance, know that nothing can alter my attachment and gratitude to you. I have been your scholar.

It is you who taught me to board a French man-of-war by your conduct when in the Experiment. It is you who always said, "Lay a Frenchman close, and you will beat him;" and my only merit in my profession is being a good scholar. Our friendship will never end but with my life; but you have always been too partial to me. The Vesuvian republic being fixed, I have now to look out for Sicily; but revolutionary principles are so prevalent in the world, that no monarchical government is safe, or sure of lasting ten years.

Believe me ever your faithful and affectionate friend,

NELSON.

While Nelson was yet a private captain, and his merits unknown beyond the limits of his own immediate friends, my father always spoke of him with a prophetic anticipation of his future greatness, such was the sagacity with which he penetrated the character of that extraordinary man. When at length Nelson returned to England his old friend was rapidly sinking into the grave; yet the desire to behold once more the hero whom he still regarded with the affection of a parent, occupied his thoughts during the last days of his life. But this wish was not gratified he never saw him again. Nelson, when informed of his death, hastened to pay the last tribute of respect to his remains; and though on that occasion I was deeply engaged with my own sorrows, I could not be insensible to the unequivocal proofs of grateful attachment which he then showed to his early patron.

The principles of my father's character are, perhaps, better understood by viewing him in the retirement of domestic life, than in his professional relations; for it is only in private that the more delicate traits of disposition are to be observed. There is a certain exterior worn by most men in their intercourse with the world, which produces a general resemblance; but this is thrown aside upon their return home, and the nicer peculiarities of character, hidden from the public eye, are disclosed without reserve in the bosom of their own families. Thus it was with my father. The playfulness of his disposition never appeared to such advantage as at his own fireside;-and though the warmth of his benevolence, which beamed on his venerable countenance, diffused itself wherever he came, it glowed with peculiar ardour towards those more closely connected with him. He was no party man. Though cordially attached to his church and king, he

was neither a bigot in religion nor in politics. He had great reluctance to controversy, and enjoyed the friendship of men of worth of all parties. His father, indeed, was a staunch Jacobite, and he thus inherited Tory principles. He used to relate that, when a boy, he was often sent with presents to relieve the poor Highlanders confined in the Tower, after the rebellion of 1745. One of these poor fellows (who deserved a better fate) gave him his leathern belt as a keepsake a few days before his execution; and in treasuring up this simple relic, he fostered the political opinions with which it was associated. With all this partiality, he reprobated the heartless ingratitude of Prince Charles; and among the honourable distinctions of his late sovereign's character, he most of all admired his tenderness to the last of the Stuarts.

The remembrance of any considerable act of kindness became a part of my father's constitution. It cost him no effort to retain it in his memory. He never seemed to feel the burden of an obligation, and it arose to his mind whenever he had an opportunity to requite it. The child, the friend, nay, even the dog of any one to whom he was obliged, was sure to receive some acknowledgment. I shall never forget a visit to the tomb of his naval patron, in the little village of Swatheling, which called up all his gratitude at the distance of twenty years. rough old admiral who accompanied us struggled hard to hide his emotion, but my father gave free course to his feelings, while the tears stole down their rugged cheeks in sympathy.

A

Good breeding is said to be the daughter of good nature. There was an unaffected cordiality in my father's hospitality, a frank familiarity towards an old friend, a respect and tenderness to women of all ranks, and ages, and complexions, which marked the generous spirit of an English gentleman of the old school. Towards young persons he had none of the chillness and austerity of age. He treated them on equal terms; and they learned many a valuable lesson from his conversation, while they fancied themselves only amused. He had an excellent library, which before his death was nearly exhausted in presents to his youthful friends. Of this I had some years ago a very gratifying proof, on visiting a Spanish gentleman, in the island of Majorca, who unexpectedly to me opened a little cabinet filled with the best English authors, which my father had given him when a student in London.

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The fireside, on a winter evening, was a scene highly picturesque, and worthy of the pencil of Wilkie. The veteran sat in his easy chair, surrounded by his children. A few grey hairs peeped from beneath his hat, worn somewhat awry, which gave an arch turn to the head, which it seldom quitted. The anchor button, and scarlet waistcoat trimmed with gold, marked the fashion of former times. Before him lay his book, and at his side a glass prepared by the careful hand of a daughter, who devoted herself to him with a tenderness peculiarly delightful to the infirmities of age. The benevolent features of the old man were slightly obscured by the incense of a cigárre" (the last remnant of a cock-pit education) which spread its fragrance in long wreaths of smoke around himself and the whole apartment. A footstool supported his wounded leg, beneath which lay the old and faithful Newfoundland dog stretched on the hearth. Portraits of King Charles the First and Van Tromp (indicating the characteristic turn of his mind) appeared above the chimney-piece; and a multitude of prints of British heroes covered the rest of the wainscot. A knot of antique swords and Indian weapons garnished the old-fashioned pediment of the door; a green curtain was extended across the room, to fence off the cold air, to which an old sailor's constitution is particularly sensitive. Such was the picture.

The servants, who reverenced his peculiarities, served him with earnest affection. Even his horse confided in his benevolence as much as the rest of the household; for when he was of opinion that the morning ride was sufficiently extended, he commonly faced about, and as my father generally rode in gambadoes, (not the most convenient armour for a conflict with a self-willed steed,) he generally yielded to the caprice of his horse. The chief personage in his confidence was old Boswell, the self-invested minister of the extraordinaries of the family, who looked upon the footman as a jackanapes, and on the female servants as incapable of "understanding his honour." Boswell had been in his time a smart young seaman, and formerly rowed the stroke-oar in the captain's barge. After many a hard gale and long separation, the association was renewed in old age, and to a bystander had more of the familiarity of ancient friendship, than of the relation of master and servant. "Has your honour any further commands?" said Boswell, as he used to enter the parlour in the evening, while,

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throwing his body into an angle, he made his reverence, and shut the door with his opposite extremity at the same time. “No, Boswell, I think not, unless indeed you are disposed for a glass of grog before you go." "As your honour pleases," was the established reply. A word from my father soon produced the beverage, at the approach of which the old sailor was seen to slide a quid into his cuff, and prepare for action. "Does your honour remember when we were up the Mississippi, in the Nautilus sloop of war?" Ay, my old friend, I shall never forget it, 'twas a happy trip, the poor Indians won all our hearts.” "Ah, but your honour, there was worse company than they in the woods there. Mayhap you recollect the great black snake that clung about the serjeant of marines, and had well nigh throttled him?” "I do, I do, and the poor fellow was obliged to beat its head to pieces against his own thigh. I remember it as though it was but yesterday." And the rattle-snake too, that your honour killed with your cane, five and forty feet." Avast, Boswell!" cried my father, “mind, your reckoning there, 'twas but twelve, you rogue, and that's long enough in all conscience." These scenes were highly amusing to our occasional visitors, and are still remembered with delight by those of his familiar friends who yet survive him.

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If benevolence was the striking feature of his disposition, religion was the guide of his conduct, the anchor of his hope, the stay of all his confidence. There was an habitual energy in his private devotions, which proved the firm hold which Christianity had obtained over his mind. Whether in reading or in conversation, at the name of God he instantly uncovered his head, by a spontaneous movement of religious feeling. Nothing but illness ever kept him from church. His example there was a silent reproof to the idle and indifferent. I see him still in imagination, kneeling, unconscious of all around him, absorbed in earnest prayer, and though his features were concealed, the agitation of his venerable head indicated the fervour of his supplications. The recollection has often quickened my own indolence.

Such was the man whose memory was endeared to all who knew his worth, affording us a beautiful example of a true old English officer. Dec. 26, 1822.