"No, sir, I have never been at close quarters yet. And I doubt--or at

least I am certain that I should not like it. I am afraid that I should

want to run down below."

Mr. Twemlow, having never smelled hostile powder, gazed at him rather

loftily, while the young man blushed at his own truth, yet looked up

bravely to confirm it.

"Of all I have ever known or met," said Admiral Darling, quietly,

"there are but three--Nelson and two others, and one of those two was

half-witted--who could fetch up muzzle to muzzle without a feeling of

that sort. The true courage lies in resisting the impulse, more than

being free from it. I know that I was in a precious fright the first

time I was shot at, even at a decent distance; and I don't pretend to

like it even now. But I am pretty safe now from any further chance, I

fear. When we cut our wisdom-teeth, they shelf us. Twemlow, how much

wiser you are in the Church! The older a man gets, the higher they

promote him."

"Then let them begin with me," the Rector answered, smiling; "I am old

enough now for almost anything, and the only promotion I get is stiff

joints, and teeth that crave peace from an olive. Placitam paci, Mr.

Scudamore knows the rest, being fresh from the learned Stonnington.

But, Squire, you know that I am content. I love Springhaven, Springhaven

loves me, and we chasten one another."

"A man who knows all the Latin you know, Rector--for I own that you beat

me to the spelling-book--should be at least an Archdeacon in the Church,

which is equal to the rank of Rear-Admiral. But you never have pushed

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