to its end. It was not for nothing that
this man was the nautical grandson of Cook.

Sailing orders arrived from London on July 17th, and on the following day
the Investigator sailed from Spithead. Mrs. Flinders was at this time
residing with her friends in Lincolnshire. She had been ill from fretful
disappointment when forbidden to sail with her husband, but had recovered
before they parted. Many a weary, bitter year was to pass before she
would see him again; years of notable things done, and of cruel wrongs
endured; and then they were only to meet for a few months, till death
claimed the brave officer and fine-spirited gentleman who was Matthew
Flinders.

From the correspondence of these weeks a few passages may be chosen, as
showing the heart-side of a gallant sailor's nature. He wrote to his wife
in June: "The philosophical calmness which I imposed upon thee is fled
from myself, and I am just as awkward without thee as one half of a pair
of scissors without its fellow," an image for separation which may be
commended to any poet ingenious enough to find a rhyme for "scissors."
The following is dated July 7th: "I should not forget to say that the
gentle Mr. Bauer seldom forgets to add 'and Mrs. Flinders' good health'
after the cloth is withdrawn, and even the bluff Mr. Bell does not forget
you...Thou wilt write me volumes, my dearest love, wilt thou not? No
pleasure is at all equal to that I receive from thy letters. The idea of
how happy we MIGHT be will sometimes intrude itself and take away the
little spirits that thy melancholy situation leaves me. I can write no
longer with this confounded pen. I will find a better to-morrow. May the
choicest blessings of Heaven go with thee, thou dearest, kindest, best of
women."

This one was written from the Cape in November: "Write to me constantly;
write me pages and volumes. Tell me the dress thou wearest, tell me thy
dreams, anything, so do but talk to me and of thyself. When thou art
sitting at thy needle and alone, then think of me, my love, and write me
the uppermost of thy thoughts. Fill me half a dozen sheets, and send them
when thou canst. Think only, my dearest girl upon the gratification which
the perusal and reperusal fifty times repeated will afford me, and thou
wilt write me something or other every day. Adieu, my dearest, best love.
Heaven bless thee with health and comfort, and preserve thy full
affection towards thy very own, Matthew Flinders."

To retur