We were both born in the same village, and drew our nourishment from the same source in infancy. Yes, we have lain encircled in each other’s arms in the same cradle, and fond affection grew with our growth. But ah! how different were our conditions in life;—she the offspring of one who could boast of rank and wealth, whilst I was brought forth in comparative obscurity and poverty.

Agnes was the daughter of a baronet, to whom my father was head gardener; her mother resigned her existence in giving birth to her child, and the first tears of the infant were shed upon the cold inanimate bosom of that being to whom she was indebted for her life. My maternal parent having been confined about the same time, was selected as wet-nurse on account of her excellent health and gentleness of disposition, and the little Agnes was removed to our cottage, which was surrounded by a shrubbery tastefully laid out, and situated in the most delightful and romantic part of the grounds.

Sir Edward Melville was generous, and even condescending, to his inferiors, as long as they preserved an unqualified respect for his dignified rank; but if any one aimed at superior station, or failed in due reverence to himself, he became vindictive and revengeful. His principles were of so aristocratic a nature, that he considered it an ordination of divine authority for riches and titles to rule, and for humble obscurity to be content with tacit submission. Soon after the decease of his lady, he was appointed envoy to a foreign court, and a maiden aunt officiated as mistress at the castle during his absence; but the pride and malice of her heart rendered her hated and feared by all around her, and it was only at the cottage of her nurse in which Agnes always found an affectionate bosom as a depository for her griefs, and where the soothings of tenderness were ever ready to calm the perturbation of her mind.

It is impossible to define the feelings of childhood, for, as we grow more advanced in years, the softer sympathies become deadened by intercourse with the world and witnessing the scenes of misery which every where present themselves. Solomon hath said, “Childhood and youth are vanity;” yet what would I not give to possess the same innocence of heart, the same purity of thought which I enjoyed in my early years.

In our amusements, Agnes and myself were inseparable; and when removed from the haughty control of her aunt, we indulged in those little endearments which innocence inspires. Although my father’s condition in life was humble, he nevertheless possessed a cultivated taste, and was well acquainted with the works of the best writers of the day,—his leisure hours being occupied in reading (for through the kindness of the steward, he had free access to Sir Edward’s library and could obtain the loan of any book he wanted) and imparting instruction to myself. At the age of six, I could read tolerably well and understand what I read; but no book delighted me so much as the affecting tale of Paul and Virginia, which was my favourite volume, and often has the sweet Agnes mingled her tears with mine while perusing its pages.

Agnes had an elder brother, but he seldom associated with us, for his aunt had centred all her regards in him, and instilled into his mind every notion of high birth and exalted parentage. Yet he was not happy; for when he did deign to share our childhood’s sports, I can well remember the burst of passion which agitated him if I did not immediately comply with his wishes and submit to his caprice. But the last two years before Sir Edward’s return, he had been under the management of a tutor, whose kindness I shall never forget. This worthy and excellent man was also a constant visiter at the cottage whenever his duties would permit, and to his instructions am I indebted for whatever portion of knowledge I possess.

When I had attained my eighth year, intelligence arrived of Sir Edward’s return to England, and his intention of visiting the castle; yet much as I desired to see the father of Agnes, still I can remember a dejection came upon my spirits, young as I was, and I seemed to dread it as something which foreboded evil. At length he came, and received me with great kindness as the foster-brother of Agnes; but never shall I forget his terrible look, when with the playful familiarity of childhood, the dear girl put her little white arms round my neck. It was the first time I had ever witnessed such a display of rage, and it left an impression on my mind which time can never efface. I was removed from the castle, and nothing but the persuasions of a nobleman who accompanied him, would have prevented the dismissal of my father from his situation.

In a few days afterwards, the baronet with his sister and children went to the metropolis, and four years elapsed before we met again; but though nothing is sooner erased from the memory of a child than past events, yet the remembrance of the companion who shared our infantine amusements seldom quits us through life: and so I found it with Agnes. Since we had parted, I devoted myself assiduously to learning and had made great proficiency in writing and drawing, to the latter of which accomplishments I was particularly attached. Nor was I deficient in athletic exercises, for nothing gave me greater delight than skimming through the liquid element, climbing the lofty mountain, or breaking through the thick mazes of the forest. The scenery in Paul and Virginia raised a desire in my mind to imitate the former, and often have I ascended the highest tree, sitting for hours on its topmost branches and gazing towards the road where I had last seen the equipage of Sir Edward disappear.

We were now in our twelfth year; the baronet was gone abroad taking his son with him, and Agnes with her aunt, who had married a gouty old colonel, took up their abode at the castle. The colonel was an “Honourable,” but the very reverse of his lady or her brother; he was destitute of their pride, and I was frequently permitted to pass whole days at the castle in reading to and amusing him. In these pursuits Agnes was generally at my side when the absence of her aunt allowed it, and I number some of those hours as the happiest of my life. Her instructress was a mild and amiable woman, of Christian meekness and piety; she had drunk deep from the cup of sorrow, and there was a pensive melancholy imprinted on her countenance which powerfully interested the best feelings of the heart.

Thus passed two happy years, during which I felt my soul more strongly linked with every thing that concerned the gentle Agnes. I was as yet unacquainted with the cause of these feelings, and the first time that the truth opened to my heart was on my fifteenth birth-day. My father, whom I had occasionally assisted in his labours, gave a little féte in remembrance of it. It was the height of summer; the most respectable youths and lasses in the village were assembled to a dance in the park. The colonel was wheeled to the spot in his garden-chair, and her aunt being absent on a visit, Agnes graced the festival.

It was a happy and a lovely group beneath the wide-spreading branches of the trees, and when the dance commenced, Agnes became my partner. Oh, then I felt how precious she was to my happiness, as her light airy form was pressed in my arms! but when I contrasted the coarseness of my apparel with the delicate texture of her dress, a pang of deep humiliation stung me to the quick. At this moment, a young man in a travelling dress advanced towards us; it was Sir Edward’s son. His face was flushed with anger; he seized the arm of his sister with a wild impetuosity that caused her to cry out, and I immediately interfered; he raised his riding-whip and struck me—yes, struck me to the earth. I sprang upon my feet, but was instantly held fast and forced to the cottage, whilst Agnes was hurried away to the castle. Ah! then I felt what it was to love, and despair took possession of my mind; all other considerations seemed swallowed up, and I determined to fly from the place. Parents, kindred, all but Agnes were forgotten, and ere the dawn broke upon the cottage or the castle, I was far on my way from home.

In the early part of the morning I was accosted by a gentlemanly man, who offered me a seat in a post-chaise. This I gladly accepted, and found he was a naval officer about to join his ship at Plymouth, and he proposed my serving my country. The world was all before me, and to my romantic mind there was a magic in the expression, and before another day had elapsed I was entered on the books of the Amphion frigate as a volunteer. There was no time for reflection; I was wearied with my journey, sleep overpowered my faculties, and before the dawn arose the ship was out at sea. Never shall I forget my sensations when I first beheld the expanse of ocean, without a single speck to break its monotonous appearance. Blue waters all around and the clear heaven above, while the tall ship, reflecting her image on the waves, passed majestically through the briny element.

I was ignorant of etiquette, and without ceremony respectfully addressed my friend, the lieutenant; but he repulsed my familiarity with coldness, and directed a lad to take me to his cabin, where he immediately joined me. Here he explained the nature of the service, and the distance which it was deemed necessary to keep up between the officers and crew. He then made inquiry as to my clothes, and generously supplied me with some linen from his own stock. The ship’s tailor altered one of his jackets, and in a short time I was equipped as a sailor. But, ah, how many hours of bitter mortification and anguish did I undergo! I had every thing to learn, was often ill-used, and every day increased the distance from all I loved, without being able to inform them of my situation, as the frigate was bound to the East Indies. Remorse prayed upon my mind; I had not contemplated leaving England, much more leaving it without letting them know where I was; but now their affectionate hearts were wrung with my indiscretion. Agnes too!—but the remembrance of the sweet girl was ever accompanied by the recollection of the blow I had received from her brother, and I determined to persevere in the profession in which I had engaged.

The lieutenant was my sincere friend; he took every opportunity to promote my interests, and I endeavoured by all the means in my power to profit by his kindness and to testify my gratitude. At first, I was much persecuted by the seamen and the other boys; but when they found me desirous of learning and attentive to my duty, every one conspired to render me assistance, and I soon became a favourite with both officers and men. On one occasion, whilst the ship was lying nearly becalmed, one of the junior midshipmen, as he was playing about the rigging, fell overboard; I instantly dashed into the sea, and supported him from sinking till a boat was lowered down and took us up. This act, for which I claim no merit, brought me under the immediate notice of the captain, who witnessed it, and I was removed to the quarter deck to do duty as a midshipman. Every one expressed satisfaction at my promotion, and my new messmates vied with each other in manifesting their generous feelings.

After a passage of four months, we arrived at Madras, and I lost no time in acquainting my parents with my destination; but, unfortunately, the letter never reached their hands, as the ship which conveyed it was wrecked off the Cape of Good Hope, and every soul perished. Scarcely had we time to refit and victual, when orders were received to proceed to the China seas, as two French frigates had been seen cruising among the islands. Thither we hastened, and continued our search after them for six months, but without success, and at the expiration of that time we returned to Madras. It would be useless for me to enumerate the many places we visited during our stay in India, which occupied upwards of three years. Despatches were prepared for us, and we sailed for England.

Throughout the whole period of my absence, I had never heard from home; but still the fond remembrances of early enjoyments in that sweet spot clung to my soul, and Agnes in all her loveliness was ever present to my imagination, prompting me to many an honourable action and restraining me from every thing which could bring discredit on my affection; indeed I may truly say, that to her I was indebted for the respect and esteem I enjoyed from every one on board. Often did I rejoice in my heart at the prospect of once more embracing those who were so dear to me, and as often did the sickening sensations of distracting doubt agitate my breast.

One lovely evening, the sky was beautifully serene; the ocean like a clear mirror reflected the golden rays of the setting sun, and the light breeze just lulled the spreading sails to sleep, propelling the ship almost imperceptibly along at the rate of three knots⁠[7] an hour. It was one of those evenings that baffle the painter’s art, and only the poet can portray; The first watch was drawing to a close; it had struck seven bells;⁠[8] the seamen on the look-out had proclaimed “all’s well,” and every thing was again hushed to solemn stillness. I was standing on the gangway full of pensive musings, watching a bright star just kindling on the verge of the horizon. It beamed like a ray of hope, irradiating the gloom which hung heavy upon my heart; suddenly it expanded like the glowing meteor, and the ocean was illuminated with a red and gory tinge. I was struck with astonishment, but at the same moment an exclamation resounded fore-and-aft, “A ship on fire! a ship on fire!” and the horrid conviction was, alas! too evident. In a few minutes the flames were distinctly visible, and the ship was pronounced to be about five miles distant. Never before did I witness such alacrity among our crew, as in that hour of peril. The captain and every officer and man were on deck immediately; and as it was impossible for the frigate to approach in sufficient time to rescue the sufferers, before ten minutes had elapsed from the period of first noticing the fire, every boat was in motion towards the scene of danger.

It fell to my lot to command the captain’s gig, a swift-pulling boat with seven men, who bent to their oars with all the might of brave and generous spirits. As we drew near, the destructive element raged with increasing fury, and the shrieks of the wretched creatures came mingling with the crackling of the flames and the crash of falling masts. The frigate had fired guns and hoisted lights to show them succour was at hand, and the boats’ crews occasionally cheered to announce that they were approaching to their rescue. The shouts were returned from the burning ship, but so wild, so fearful, that they sounded like the yell of expiring agony that still clung to hope and life. I would have dashed instantly alongside, but the old coxswain respectfully warned me of the danger of such a measure.

We were now within a short distance of the vessel, and oh, what a sight of horror was presented! The ports were all open, and the flames pouring from them as from so many mouths, seemed eager for their prey. Numbers of poor creatures were swimming towards us, whilst others held pieces of shattered spars with a strong convulsive grasp. The fore part of the ship was nearly consumed, and the upper part abaft was rapidly falling in. Those who could swim we left for other boats to take up, and pulling under the stern, we lay unobserved by the gun-room ports, while the fiery fragments came tumbling thick about us. Trusting to my skill in swimming should it be deemed requisite to jump overboard, I instantly entered the port-hole, and the ship having fallen off before the wind, what little air there was, drove the greatest part of the smoke forward; yet there was an almost insupportable heat, and the suffocating vapours bade defiance to my efforts to penetrate further. A feeling I could not account for, an indescribable feeling urged me on, and I reached the gun-room ladder, at the bottom of which lay a human being whose sufferings apparently were over. I passed my hand quickly to the heart to feel if any palpitation yet remained, and discovered that the individual was a female. She was yet living, and in a few minutes was safely in the boat. Again I returned with three of my crew, and soon had the satisfaction of rescuing eight poor wretches, who lay in a state of insensibility, and must soon have perished. Stimulated by success, we penetrated to the burning deck above, and never shall I forget the horror of the spectacle. Here all was brilliancy and light; and the devouring element, rolling its huge volumes over many a devoted victim, roared in its fierceness, as if to stifle the thrilling scream of the last death-pang. Several half-burnt and mangled bodies could be distinguished in the flames, and many others lay in a senseless state, unaware of the awful doom awaiting them.

Near the transom abaft, sat a woman with an infant in her arms, seeming unconscious of any object moving near her. She saw not our approach, but her eyeballs wildly glared upon the red hue of the burning fabric. I spoke to her, shook her arm, but her eyes still continued fixed: alas! the film of death was on them. She heeded me not, but clasped her infant closer to her bosom, gave one wild, one dismal shriek, and mortal agony was over. The moments became exceedingly precious, and the smiling infant—for it smiled amid the horrors of the appalling scene—was secured, and several poor wretches were dragged to the gun-room scuttle, where they were thrown down, risking their limbs to save their lives, and the boat was completely filled, almost to sinking. Yet numbers were still left behind, and roused from their stupor by the increasing heat, came rushing to the port, and plunging headlong into the sea. It was but changing their mode of death, for the watery element, equally fatal with that from which they strove to escape, ingulfed them in its dark abyss, at once their destruction and their grave.

I was compelled to put some of my rescued party in the launch, and then pulled briskly for the frigate. The female I had thus saved was still insensible; but yet, as she lay extended in the stern sheets of the boat, with her head resting on my knees, I could feel the tremulous palpitation of her heart, and hope whispered that she might yet recover. She appeared to be young, but her dark hair hung in thick flakes down her face, so as to conceal her features. The worthy coxswain had wrapped the infant in his jacket, and it was now sweetly sleeping in the box by his side. Several of the sufferers, restored to fresh air, speedily recovered; but it was only to lament some one whom they supposed had perished.

In the bows of the boat an elderly man raised his white head, and with incoherent language inquired where he was. The bowman soothed him, and tried to explain his situation; “But my son! my daughter!” he exclaimed, “where are they?” then turning to the burning ship continued, “wretched—wretched man, they are lost—lost for ever—and I yet live!” He struggled to throw himself into the sea, but overcome with weakness, fell backward.

At this moment, another voice faintly uttered “My father! my father!” A cry of ecstacy burst from the old man’s lips:—it was his son. The youth lay near him, and the exclamation drew my attention towards him; he started up like one awaking from a frightful dream, and glared wildly around. But, oh God! in what language can I portray the various feelings which alternately took possession of my soul, when fixing his look on me, I saw the countenance of Sir Edward’s son. A sick shuddering came upon me. The old man had called upon his daughter, and in an instant the inanimate body of the young female was raised in my arms. I parted the dark tresses that obscured her face, and as the red glare of light shone upon it, recognised my Agnes. Yes, it was she; my arm had encircled her neck—my hand had been pressed upon her heart; but then I knew her not, and now to find her thus! Sobs of anguish and tumultuous bursts of joy followed in rapid succession. “You have saved her, sir,” said the coxswain, and a glow of pleasure filled my heart.

Sir Edward and his son had relapsed into stupor, and shortly afterwards we reached the frigate. I sprang upon the deck to inform the captain who it was that I had brought, and then returned to the boat to see my only—my richest treasure safely conducted up the side. In my arms I carried the dear girl to the captain’s cabin, and stole one kiss from those lips which I had pressed with such delight in early infancy—clasped her to my heart, and then hastened back to my duty.

Once more I reached the ship; but all approach was now impossible, and we could only pick up those who were enabled to swim, and occasionally by great hazard run so close as to receive some poor sufferer from the wreck. Yet there were many who still remained, and dreading to trust themselves to the sea, hung tremblingly between two deaths. My boat was once more filled, as were also all the rest, and we made for the frigate, which had arrived within a short distance.

Suddenly an awful explosion shook the whole atmosphere; the glare of light was for a moment increased, and the next succeeding minute a shower of blazing timbers fell in every direction around, and the pale moon alone shed her silvery effulgence on the transparent wave. No shouts—no shrieks were to be heard; the bitterness of death was passed, and all was as tranquil as the grave. Happily the burning ruin had struck none of the boats, and we soon afterwards put the sufferers on board the frigate. The boats then again repaired to the place, but except the shattered remnants of the wreck, no trace was left. The swelling billow rolled smoothly on, and that gallant ship with many a stout heart, was buried beneath its deceitful surface. Still we passed across and across in every direction, and long after the sun had kindled up the day, our search was continued; but nothing met our view, except mutilated fragments of human bodies and pieces of blackened timber. All hands repaired on board, the boats were hoisted in, and the frigate pursued her course for England.

On getting aboard, I hastened to the surgeon and inquired the state of Agnes and her friends. They had all recovered, and were composed in slumber. Etiquette forbade my entering the precincts of the cabin uninvited, yet I lingered near the door, and the steward gave me all the information I could obtain. Duty compelled me to attend in another part of the ship, after which I hastened to my berth and equipped myself in uniform for the forenoon watch. The master’s mate had been promoted to a lieutenancy, and I had been appointed to fill the vacant station, and never was I more studious in adjusting my dress, whilst a feeling of pride animated me under the reflection that I had endeavoured to earn my present distinction solely by my own efforts.

We had saved ninety-seven people, including passengers, out of one hundred and forty-three. The ship was an East Indiaman on her passage out, and Sir Edward was going to Bombay to fill a high official station. No one could tell how the fire had originated, but it was supposed to have been occasioned by the communication of some combustible matter with the fodder stowed in the orlop deck for the live stock. But so amazingly rapid had been its spread, that the boats were rendered useless before they could be got out, excepting one small jolly-boat, which sunk soon after it was lowered down.

Notwithstanding my attention to dress, it would be impossible to describe the tumult of agitation under which I laboured. Parents—home—Agnes, all rushed upon my heart, and the cruel blow which had occasioned my departure mingled with the rest. When relieving the watch I found my friend, the lieutenant upon deck, and to him I briefly related my situation. He had heard parts of my story before; but when I told him all, he advised me to suffer things to take their course, to manifest a becoming spirit, and by no means to show resentment. He said the captain had spoken very highly of me for my exertions and humanity, and was greatly pleased with my conduct. Praise is sweet from those who despise unmeaning flattery, and this came like a reviving cordial to my drooping mind.

Soon after ten o’clock, Sir Edward awoke considerably refreshed, and with his children returned thanks to Heaven for safety. They afterwards came on deck, and as the young man ascended, a feeling of indignation filled my breast; but it was momentary, and I walked forward to conceal my agitation, which became almost insupportable, particularly when I heard the captain’s voice hailing me, and guessed the purport of his call. Mustering all my resolution, I approached them as they stood abaft, but who can paint the different looks, of father, son, and daughter, as the captain presented me to their notice. The recognition was immediate, and each seemed to have a conflict of passions in the breast. Sir Edward took my hand with coldness, and then pressed it ardently; his son walked away, giving me a glance that betrayed humbled pride, whilst the sweet countenance of Agnes spoke volumes to my soul, and told me I had been treasured in her memory with fond affection. I would have inquired for my parents; but while the question hung upon my lips, a well-remembered face displayed itself,—it was the old butler of the family. As soon as it was possible, I took the old man aside, and from him learned every particular. My father had been dismissed from his situation, and had struggled with many difficulties; but a relation of my mother had left them a handsome competency at his death, and their only unhappiness proceeded from ignorance of my fate. They had mourned my loss as for one who would never return. I briefly ran over my adventures to him, and only on one subject was I silent; but this was unnecessary, as he told me of many circumstances which gladdened my heart.

Being officer of the forenoon watch, it was my turn to dine with the captain. This I would gladly have declined, but it was impossible without a breach of regulations; and at the appointed hour, after putting on my full-dress, I entered the cabin, and at the captain’s request, took my seat by the side of Agnes. Sir Edward looked displeased and bit his lips; his son arose from the table and muttered something about “plebeian rank;” whilst the sweet girl was almost fainting with alarm. The captain had noticed a strange peculiarity at the first interview, and, as I understood afterwards, had answered many inquiries respecting me. My friend, the lieutenant, had also given him some hints, but he was not the man to see honest humility abused; for he himself had risen from an obscure origin, and through his own merits had climbed every gradation to his present command. Beloved by his crew and universally respected in the service, he despised the proud aspirings of those who considered high birth as the greatest recommendation. Without discomposing himself, he directed the steward to remove the young gentleman’s plate to another table. Sir Edward keenly felt this, and rising up, demanded whether his present condition had so far reduced him in the captain’s estimation, as to render him the object of insult?

“Sir Edward,” replied the captain calmly, “when you have explained your meaning, I shall be better able to answer you; at present I am involved in mystery.”

“Look there!” said the baronet, pointing towards me, “the son of my gardener! Look there!” continued he, turning to his son, “the heir to the richest baronetage in Great Britain; and that”—pointing to Agnes, “to my shame be it spoken, is my daughter.”

I offered to withdraw. “Sit still, Mr. ——,” said the captain, rising at the same time himself with all the dignity that marked his character. “Sir Edward,” he coolly answered, “it is not in my nature to taunt any one with obligations. I view mankind as united to me by the strongest ties, and whether it was a beggar or a duke, should consider I had only done my duty in snatching a fellow-creature from destruction. But where, let me ask, would your baronetage have been, had not this young officer stepped between you and the grave? Where would your ungrateful sort have been, but for his timely aid? And where would this sweet girl, of whom any father ought to be proud,—where, I say, would she have been, but for the youth whom you despise?” He grew warm. “By heaven! Sir Edward, you would have found the sharks no respecters of rank or riches; they revel in the glorious spoils of death without troubling themselves whether their prey is of noble or ignoble birth, and you long, ere now, might have satiated their ravenous appetites.” The baronet shuddered. “As for this young officer, he has been upwards of three years under my command; I have watched him silently and secretly; he is a noble fellow, and shall never want a friend while these old timbers hold together! If he has injured you or your daughter, prove it, and I instantly discard him!”

“He has! he has!” exclaimed both Sir Edward and his son. I felt myself almost inspired with eloquence, and briefly told my tale.

“If (said I) to love Miss Agnes is a crime, it is one that has to me produced the most happy results, and never, never will I resign it. To that love I am indebted for my present situation; has been the pole-star of my heart, but never till this moment did my lips publicly avow it. This then, sir, is the injury I have committed, and it now remains with you to drive me from your patronage, or still to cherish the obscure individual whom you have been pleased to raise.”

“Drive you away, my boy!” replied the captain; “no, no! I should indeed consider you unworthy of my notice, could you associate with so lovely a lass and remain insensible to her amiable disposition and beauty. But what says the fair lady? Does she too despise the poor but honest sailor?”

A faint smile passed across her pallid cheek as she distinctly uttered—“He has preserved my father’s life.” At that moment, thrown off my guard, I caught her hand and pressed it to my lips. Both her father and her brother saw it, but they neither spoke nor moved.

“Come, come,” said the captain, as he turned round to hide the gathering tear; “let us sit down to dinner, and we’ll discuss the matter afterwards. At present, thank God, you are safe; the young folks have yet many years to pass over their heads, and a thousand things may happen. Thus much, however, I will say; if ever he disgraces his cloth, I will be the first to oppose his designs; but if, on the contrary, he continues in the same honourable course he has begun, I will support him with hand and heart; so, Sir Edward, you will have two opponents instead of one.”

Sir Edward resumed his seat, his son returned to the table, but it was evidently with great mortification, and the dinner passed off tolerably well.

The infant I had taken from its dying mother, was the son of a female passenger going to join her husband, an officer in the army who had preceded her about twelve months, at a time when it was impossible she could accompany him. The little innocent did not want for nurses in the frigate, as a great many women had been saved, and every seamen was anxious to caress and fondle the child. It was afterwards restored to its father; and both their names were returned amongst the killed on the plains of Waterloo,—the former a colonel, the latter a captain in his father’s regiment. But to proceed.

After touching at the island of Flores for a supply of water and fresh provisions, we pursued our course for home; and though from my junior station I could not join the company of Sir Edward and his family, nor even approach the captain without his sanction, unless on duty, yet Agnes took frequent opportunities for conversing with me. I did not venture to mention my ardent attachment, or request a return of her esteem; yet I had the satisfaction of knowing that we regarded each other with feelings of affection, founded upon the purest desire of promoting each other’s happiness. None but those who have witnessed, can form an idea of the beauties of a fine clear summer evening passed upon the smooth surface of the ocean; it is the season when the officers assemble on the quarter-deck, and as they pace fore-and-aft, enjoy the social and unrestrained converse which is precious to the heart. The falling shades of twilight conceal the anxious look as busy Memory conjures up scenes of past joys, and Hope portrays the coming future. It was at these hours that Agnes generally came on deck, and I had the inexpressible pleasure of enjoying her society; for Sir Edward had relaxed in his haughtiness though his son remained impenetrably stubborn.

At length we arrived in England, and the baronet repaired to London; but previously to his departure I received the most solemn assurances of the attachment of Agnes. To my friend, the lieutenant, I was indebted for this last interview; and in his presence our vows of fidelity were pledged. A few weeks afterwards, the baronet with his son and daughter once more embarked for Bombay. Agnes wrote me a farewell letter, and every energy of my soul was aroused to fresh exertions in my profession, under the hope of one day calling her mine. As soon as duty would admit, I visited my parents, whose joy at seeing me again exceeded all bounds. They were very comfortably settled, and it was not amongst the least of their gratifications to behold their only child arrayed in the naval uniform of his country.

It would be a useless, though perhaps not altogether an uninteresting task, for me to detail the events of the seven succeeding years, during which I frequently endeavoured to get on the East India station, and at last obtained my desire. At this time I was first-lieutenant of a frigate, (as through the interest of the captain, I received a commission almost immediately after passing my examination,) and had amassed a very handsome property in prize-money; but I knew it would be necessary for me to gain higher promotion before Sir Edward would listen to my proposals. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing Agnes afforded me the most lively emotions of pleasure. To this moment I can remember the delight which swelled my soul when we anchored at Bombay, particularly as we had captured an enemy’s ship that had long been a great annoyance to commerce in the Indian seas, as it seemed to promise me another step.

As soon as duty would permit, I went on shore and eagerly hastened to the residence of Sir Edward, where almost the first individual that met my sight was the old butler. From him I learned that the baronet had been consigned to the tomb about nine months;—that young Sir Edward retained an important and lucrative office,—and that the gentle Agnes, harassed by the importunities (I afterwards heard cruelties) of her brother to become the wife of an extremely wealthy but depraved libertine, had sunk broken-hearted to the grave! and the old man, with many tears, placed in my hands her last letter addressed to me, with a small box containing her miniature and several other mementos of an affectionate heart.

I shall not attempt to describe the anguish of my spirit at this heavy disappointment; at first it seemed to wither up my faculties, as if the only incentive to exertion was entirely destroyed, and all my future prospects were thenceforward to be dark and dreary. Many years have flown away since, and I am now an old post captain; but though I have seen hundreds of beautiful and pleasing women, I am still single. My affection for the devoted Agnes—my first, my only love—remains unshaken, and I look forward to that happy union in the blissful realms of immortality which knows neither separation nor sorrow.