lands on the shores of his new world, after a voyage
of more than two months over seas hitherto unexplored by man, and in
vessels which nothing but a special providence could have kept from
foundering in the mighty waters. The man who could carry out such a
purpose in the teeth of such overwhelming opposition, discouragement,
and difficulty, may well claim our admiration for courage of the highest
and noblest order."

No one spoke for a moment, and then Mr Huntingdon said, "Well, Kate,
Columbus was a brave man, no doubt, and deserves the best you can say of
him; and I think I see what you mean, from his case, about the greatness
and superiority of moral courage."

"I am glad, Walter, that I have satisfied you on that point," was her
reply. "You see there was no sudden excitement to call out or sustain
his courage. It was the bravery of principle, not of mere impulse. It
was so grand because it stood the strain, a daily-increasing strain, of
troubles, trials, and hindrances, which kept multiplying in front of him
every day and hour as he pressed forward; and it never for a moment gave
way under that strain."

"It was grand indeed, aunt," said Walter. "I am afraid my courage would
have oozed out of every part of me before I had been a week on board one
of those caravels. So all honour to Christopher Columbus and moral
courage."

That same morning, when Miss Huntingdon was at work in her own private
sitting-room, there came a knock at the door, followed by the head of
Walter peeping round it.

"May I come in, auntie? I've a favour to ask of you."

"Come in, dear boy."

"Well, Aunt Kate, I've been thinking over what you said at breakfast
about moral courage, and I begin to see that I am uncommonly short of
it, and that Amos has got my share of it as well as his own."

"But that need not be, Walter," said his aunt; "at least it need not
continue to be so."

"I don't know, auntie; perhaps not. But, at any rate, what father calls
old-fashioned courage is more in my line; and yet I don't want to be
quite without moral courage as well,--so will you promise me just two
things?"

"What are they, Walter?"

"Why, the first is to give me a bit of a hint whenever you see me--what
I suppose I ought to call acting like a moral coward."

"Well, dear boy, I can do that. But how am I to give the hint if others
are by? for you would not like me to speak out before your father or the
servants."

"I'll tell you, au