ck, and neither of them for
the sea? Don't like their taste. No spirit of salt-water within them."

"But neither of them deficient in spirit for a life on shore. But,
however, to set your heart at ease, for the naval honour of our family,
Sir George, I have a nephew, who, I think, some few years hence will
prove a brave and gallant son of Neptune. The accounts we have of him
are most pleasing. He has inherited all poor Charles's spirit and
daring, as well as that true courage, for which you have said my brother
was so remarkable."

"Glad of it--glad of it; but what nephew? who is he? A nephew of Mr.
Hamilton's will not raise the glory of the Delmont family; and you had
only one brother, if I remember rightly?"

"Have you quite forgotten the beautiful girl, who, when I last had the
pleasure of meeting you in such a scene as this, was the object of
universal attraction? You surely remember my father's favourite Eleanor,
Sir George?"

"Eleanor--Eleanor--let me think;" and the old sailor for a moment put
himself in a musing attitude, and then starting, exclaimed, "to be sure
I do; the loveliest girl I ever cast eyes upon;--and what has become of
her? By the bye, there was some story about her, was there not? She
chose a husband for herself, and ran off, and broke her poor father's
heart. Where is she now?"

"Let her faults be forgotten, my dear Sir George," replied Mrs.
Hamilton, with some emotion. "They were fully, painfully repented. Let
them die with her."

"Die! Is she, too, dead? What, that graceful sylph, that exquisite
creature I see before me now, in all the pride of conscious loveliness!"
and the veteran drew his rough hand across his eyes in unfeigned
emotion, then hastily recovering himself, he said, "and this boy--this
sailor is her son. I can hardly believe it possible. Why he surely
cannot be old enough to go to sea."

"You forget the number of years that have passed, Sir George. Edward is
now eighteen, as old, if not older, than his mother was when you last
saw her."

"And when did poor Eleanor die?"

"Six years ago. She had been left a widow in India, and only reached her
native land to breathe her last in my arms. You will be pleased, I
think, with her daughter, though, on second thought, perhaps, she may
not be quite lively enough for you; however, I must beg your notice for
her, as her attachment to her brother is so excessive, that all relating
to the sea is to her in the highest degree inter