untempted to condemn; but he is wiser,
as he is safer, who puts more reliance on the goodness of God than on
his own merits."

A ray of satisfaction gleamed athwart the pale countenance of the
priest--a sincerely pious man, or fear of personal consequences might
have kept him aloof from such a scene--and he closed his eyes while he
expressed his gratitude to God in the secret recesses of his own spirit.
Then he turned to the prince and spoke cheeringly.

"Son," he said, "if thou quittest life with a due dependence on the Son
of God, and in this temper toward thy fellow-creatures, of all this
living throng thou art he who is most to be envied! Address thy soul in
prayer once more to Him who thou feelest can alone serve thee."

Caraccioli, aided by the priest, knelt on the scaffold; for the rope
hung loose enough to permit that act of humiliation, and the other bent
at his side.

"I wish to God Nelson had nothing to do with this!" muttered Cuffe, as
he turned away his face, inadvertently bending his eyes on the
Foudroyant, nearly under the stern of which ship his gig lay. There, in
the stern-walk, stood the lady, already mentioned in this chapter, a
keen spectator of the awful scene. No one but a maid was near her,
however; the men of her companionship not being of moods stern enough
to be at her side. Cuffe turned away from this sight in still stronger
disgust; and just at that moment a common cry arose from the boats.
Looking round, he was just in time to see the unfortunate Caraccioli
dragged from his knees by the neck, until he rose, by a steady
man-of-war pull, to the end of the yard; leaving his companion alone on
the scaffold, lost in prayer. There was a horrible minute of the
struggles between life and death, when the body, so late the tenement of
an immortal spirit, hung, like one of the jewel-blocks of the ship,
dangling passively at the end of the spar, as insensible as the wood
which sustained it.

CHAPTER XV.

"Sleep, sleep, thou sad one, on the sea;
The wash of waters lulls thee now;
His arm no more will pillow thee,
Thy hand upon his brow;
He is not near, to hurt thee, or to save:
The ground is his--the sea must be thy grave."

DANA.

A long summer's evening did the body of Francesco Caraccioli hang
suspended at the yard-arm of the Minerva; a revolting spectacle to his
countrymen and to most of the strangers who had been the witnesses of