around my
neck in a frenzy of grief. I beheld her emotions with a countenance as
unmoved as the figure-head of a ship; while she covered my stoic face
with kisses, and washed it with her tears. I almost wondered what it
all meant, and wished the scene was over.

My father helped me out of this dilemma; taking me firmly by the arm, he
led me out of the room; my mother sank upon the sofa, and hid her face
in her pocket-handkerchief. I walked as quickly to the coach as common
decency would permit. My father looked at me, as if he would inquire of
my very inward soul whether I really did possess human feelings? I felt
the meaning of this, even in my then tender years; and such was my sense
of propriety, that I mustered up a tear for each eye, which, I hope,
answered the intended purpose. We say at sea, "When you have no decency
sham a little;" and I verily believe I should have beheld my poor mother
in her coffin with less regret than I could have foregone the gay and
lovely scenes which I anticipated.

How amply has this want of feeling towards a tender parent been recalled
to my mind, and severely punished, in the events of my vagrant life!

CHAPTER TWO.

Injuries may be atoned for and forgiven: but insults admit of no
compensation. They degrade the mind in its own esteem, and force it
to recover its level by revenge.

JUNIUS.

There are certain events in our lives poetically and beautifully
described by Moore as "green spots in memory's waste." Such are the
emotions arising from the attainment, after a long pursuit, of any
darling object of love or ambition; and although possession and
subsequent events may have proved to us that we had overrated our
enjoyment, and experience have shown us "that all is vanity," still
recollection dwells with pleasure upon the beating heart, when the
present only was enjoyed, and the picture painted by youthful and
sanguine anticipation in glowing and delightful colours. Youth only can
feel this; age has been often deceived--too often has the fruit turned
to ashes in the mouth. The old look forward with a distrust and doubt,
and backward with sorrow and regret.

One of the red-letter days of my life was that on which I first mounted
the uniform of a midshipman. My pride and ecstasy were beyond
description. I had discarded the school and school-boy dress, and, with
them, my almost stagnant existence. Like the chrysalis changed into a
butterfly, I fluttered