ous to a youthful sailor.
It was a pocket Bible, so much resembling one Mordaunt possessed
himself, that scarcely knowing what he was about, he drew it from his
pocket to compare them. "How can I be so silly?" he thought; "is there
anything strange in two English Bibles resembling each other?" He
replaced his own, opened the other, and started in increased amazement.
"Charles Manvers!" he cried, as that name met his eye. "Merciful
heaven! who is this youth? to whom would this Bible ever have been
given?" So great was his agitation, that it was with difficulty he read
the words which were written beneath.

"Edward Fortescue! oh, when will that name rival his to whom this book
once belonged? I may be as brave a sailor, but what will make me as good
a man? This Sacred Book, he loved it, and so will I." Underneath, and
evidently added at a later period, was the following:

"I began to read this for the sake of those beloved ones to whom I knew
it was all in all. I thought, for its own sake, it would never have
become the dear and sacred volume they regarded it, but I am mistaken;
how often has it soothed me in my hour of temptation, guided me in my
duties, restrained my angry moments, and brought me penitent and humble
to the footstool of my God. Oh, my beloved Ellen, had this been my
companion three years ago as it is now, what misery I should have spared
you."

Other memorandums in the same style were written in the blank leaves
which appeared attached for the purpose, but it so happened that not one
of them solved the mystery which so completely puzzled Mordaunt. The
name of Fortescue was utterly unknown to him, and increased the mystery
of the youth's having produced such a strange effect upon his mind.
There were many names introduced in these memorandums, but they
explained nothing; one only struck him, it was one which in his hours of
suffering, of slavery, ever sounded in his ear, the fondly-remembered
name of her whom he longed to clasp to his aching heart--it was
_Emmeline_; and as he read it, the same gush of memory came over him as
when he first gazed on Edward. In vain reason whispered there were many,
very many Emmelines in his native land; that name only brought one to
his remembrance. Though recovering, the youth was still much too weak
and exhausted to attempt speaking, and Mordaunt watched by his couch for
one day and two nights, ere the surgeon permitted him to ask a question
or Edward to answer it. Of