self to be a stout advocate of
church and king. Still, Sir Gervaise Oakes, on occasions, was more than
usually disposed to seriousness, and was even inclined to be devout; but
it was without much regard to theories or revelation. At such moments,
while his opinions would not properly admit him within the pale of any
Christian church, in particular, his feelings might have identified him
with all. In a word, we apprehend he was a tolerably fair example of
what vague generalities, when acting on a temperament not indisposed to
moral impressions, render the great majority of men; who flit around the
mysteries of a future state, without alighting either on the
consolations of faith, or discovering any of those logical conclusions
which, half the time unconsciously to themselves, they seem to expect.
When Bluewater made his last remark, therefore, the vice-admiral looked
anxiously at his friend; and religion for the first time since the other
received his hurt, mingled with his reflections. He had devoutly, though
mentally, returned thanks to God for his victory, but it had never
occurred to him that Bluewater might need some preparation for death.

"Would you like to see the Plantagenet's chaplain, again, Dick?" he
said, tenderly; "you are no _Papist_; of _that_ I am certain."

"In that you are quite right, Gervaise. I consider all churches--_the_
one holy _Catholic_ church, if you will, as but a means furnished by
divine benevolence to aid weak men in their pilgrimage; but I also
believe that there is even a shorter way to his forgiveness than through
these common avenues. How far I am right," he added, smiling, "none will
probably know better than myself, a few hours hence."

"Friends _must_ meet again, hereafter, Bluewater; it is irrational to
suppose that they who have loved each other so well in this state of
being, are to be for ever separated in the other."

"We will hope so, Oakes," taking the vice-admiral's hand; "we will hope
so. Still, there will be no ships for us--no cruises--no victories--no
triumphs! It is only at moments like this, at which I have arrived, that
we come to view these things in their proper light. Of all the past,
your constant, unwavering friendship, gives me the most pleasure!"

The vice-admiral could resist no longer. He turned aside and wept. This
tribute to nature, in one so manly, was imposing even to the dying man,
and Galleygo regarded it with awe. Familiar as the latter had become