son, which I do with deep pleasure, for the excellence both of end and

means."

The old man bowed at the praise of his wine, and the young one at that

of his father. Then, after the usual pinch of snuff from the Rector's

long gold box, the host returned to the subject he had been full of

before this interruption.

"The question we have in hand is this. What is to be done with our

friend Blyth? He was getting on famously, till this vile peace came.

Twemlow, you called it that yourself, so that argument about words is

useless. Blyth's lieutenancy was on the books, and the way they carry

things on now, and shoot poor fellows' heads off, he might have been

a post-captain in a twelvemonth. And now there seems nothing on earth

before him better than Holy-Orders."

"Admiral Darling is kind enough to think," said Scudamore, in his mild,

hesitative way, blushing outwardly, but smiling inwardly, "that I am too

good to be a clergyman."

"And so you are, and Heaven knows it, Blyth, unless there was a chance

of getting on by goodness, which there is in the Navy, but not in the

Church. Twemlow, what is your opinion?"

"It would not be modest in me," said the Rector, "to stand up too much

for my own order. We do our duty, and we don't get on."

"Exactly. You could not have put it better. You get no vacancies by shot

and shell, and being fit for another world, you keep out of it. Have you

ever heard me tell the story about Gunner MacCrab, of the Bellerophon?"

"Fifty times, and more than that," replied the sturdy parson, who liked

to make a little cut at the Church sometimes, but would not allow any

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