ips, very dark hair, and plenty of it, hanging over her face
and neck in curls of every size; her arms and bust were such as Phidias
and Praxiteles might have copied; her waist was slender; her hands and
feet small and beautiful. I used often to think it was a great pity
that such a love as she was should not be matched with some equally good
specimen of our sex; and I had long fixed on my friend Talbot as the
person best adapted to command this pretty little tight fast-sailing
well-rigged smack.

Unluckily Clara, with all her charms, had one fault, and that in my eyes
was a very serious one. Clara did not love a sailor. The soldiers she
doated on. But Clara's predilections were not easily overcome, and that
which had once taken root grew up and flourished. She fancied sailors
were not well-bred; that they thought too much of themselves or their
ships; and, in short, that they were as rough and unpolished as they
were conceited.

With such obstinate and long-rooted prejudices against all of our
profession it proved no small share of merit in Talbot to overcome them.
But as Clara's love for the army was more general than particular,
Talbot had a vacant theatre to fight in. He began by handing her to
dinner, and with modest assurance seated himself by her side. But so
well was he aware of her failing, that he never once alluded to our
unfortunate element; on the contrary, he led her away with every variety
of topic which he found best suited to her taste so that she was at last
compelled to acknowledge that he might be one exception to her rule, and
I took the liberty of hoping that I might be another.

One day at dinner Talbot called me "Leander," which instantly attracted
the notice of the ladies, and an explanation was demanded; but for a
time it was evaded, and the subject changed. Emily, however, joining
together certain imperfect reports which had reached her ears, through
the kindness of "some friends of the family," began to suspect a rival,
and the next morning examined me so closely on the subject that, fearing
a disclosure from other quarters, I was compelled to make a confession.

I told her the whole history of my acquaintance with Eugenia, of my last
interview, and of her mysterious departure. I did not even omit the
circumstance of her offering me money; but I concealed the probability
of her being a mother. I assured her that it was full four years and a
half since we had met; and that, as she