able where you are. This is a nice
cottage, quite large enough for your small family. Fine view of the sea
from these front windows, and all ready furnished to your hand,--nothing
to find of your own but plate and linen; a pump, wood-house and
coal-bin, and other conveniences,--all under one roof. An oven--"

"Stop," cried the old lady, "you need say nothing about that, Kitson.
The oven is good for nothing. It has no draught; and you cannot put a
fire into it without filling the house with smoke."

"Pshaw!" muttered the old man. "A little contrivance would soon put that
to rights."

"I tried my best," retorted the wife, "and I could never bake a loaf of
bread in it, fit to eat."

"We all know what bad bread you make, Mrs. Kitson," said the captain. "I
know that it can be baked in; so hold your tongue, Madam! and don't
contradict me again. At any rate, there's not a smoky chimney in the
house, which after all is a less evil than a cross wife. The house, I
say, is complete from the cellar to the garret. And then, the rent--why,
what is it? A mere trifle--too cheap by one half,--only twenty-five
pounds per annum. I don't know what possessed me, to let it so low; and
then, my dear, the privilege you enjoy in my beautiful flower-garden and
lawn. There is not many lodging-houses in the town could offer such
advantages, and all for the _paltry_ consideration of twenty-five pounds
a-year."

"The cottage is pretty, and the rent moderate, Captain," said Flora. "We
have no fault to find, and you have not found us difficult to please."

"Oh, I am quite contented with my tenants; I only want them to know when
they are well off. Look twice before you leap once--that's my maxim; and
give up this mad Canadian project, which I am certain will end in
disappointment."

And with this piece of disinterested advice, away toddled our gallant
naval commander, to finish with Kelly the arrangement of his pots and
kettles, and superintend the right adjustment of the clothes-lines, and
the hanging out of Mrs. Lyndsay's clothes.

Do not imagine, gentle reader, that this picture is over-charged.
Captain Kitson is no creature of romance, (or was not, we should rather
say; for he has long since been gathered to his fathers); but a brave,
uneducated man; who during the war had risen from before the mast to the
rank of Post Captain. He had fought at Copenhagen and Trafalgar, and
distinguished himself in many a severe contest on the main during