ing and my country
as my patrons. My mind exulted in the idea. 'Well, then,' I exclaimed,
'I will be a hero, and, confiding in Providence, I will brave every
danger!'"

In that hour Nelson leaped from boyhood to manhood. Thenceforth the
purpose of his life never changed. From that time, as he often said
afterward, "a radiant orb was suspended in his mind's eye, which urged
him onward to renown."

His health improved very much during the homeward voyage, and he was
soon able to resume duty again.

At nineteen he was made second lieutenant of the Lowestoffe; and at
twenty he was commander of the Badger. Before he was twenty-one, owing
largely to his courage and presence of mind in face of every danger,
and his enthusiasm in his profession, "he had gained that mark," says
his biographer, Southey, "which brought all the honors of the service
within his reach."

Pleasing in his address and conversation, always kind and thoughtful in
his treatment of the men and boys under him, Nelson was the best-loved
man in the British navy,--nay, in all England.

When he was appointed to the command of the Boreas, a ship of
twenty-eight guns, then bound for the Leeward Islands, he had thirty
midshipmen under him. When any of them, at first, showed any timidity
about going up the masts, he would say, by way of encouragement, "I am
going a race to the masthead, and beg that I may meet you there." And
again he would say cheerfully, that "any person was to be pitied who
could fancy there was any danger, or even anything disagreeable, in the
attempt."

"Your Excellency must excuse me for bringing one of my midshipmen with
me," he said to the governor of Barbados, who had invited him to dine.
"I make it a rule to introduce them to all the good company I can, as
they have few to look up to besides myself during the time they are at
sea." Was it any wonder that his "middies" almost worshiped him?

This thoughtfulness in small matters is always characteristic of truly
great, large-souled men. Another distinguishing mark of Nelson's
greatness was that he ruled by love rather than fear.

When, at the age of forty-seven, he fell mortally wounded at the battle
of Trafalgar, all England was plunged into grief. The crowning victory
of his life had been won, but his country was inconsolable for the loss
of the noblest of her naval heroes.

"The greatest sea victory that the world had ever known was won," says
W. Clark Russell, "but at such a