pleasure among foreign scenes and people; his heart invariably flies back to his first impressions. If you find him sailing from the antipodes, and ask whither he is going, he answers, "home," if it is towards England that he steers. His vows, his sentiments, at whatever distance he may be, are always turned towards her.[1] They went below for divine service. Corinne perceived that her first conjecture was unfounded, and that Nevil's intentions were less solemn than she supposed; then she reproached herself for having feared, and again felt all the embarrassment of her situation; for every one present believed her the wife of Lord Nevil, and she could say nothing either to confirm or to destroy this idea. Oswald suffered as cruelly. Such faults as weakness and irresolution are never detected by their possessor, for whom they take new names from each fresh circumstance; sometimes he tells himself that prudence, sometimes that delicacy defers the moment of action, and prolongs his suspense. Corinne, in spite of her painful thoughts, was deeply impressed by all she witnessed. Nothing speaks more directly to the soul than divine service on board ship, for which the noble simplicity of the Reformed Church seems particularly adapted. A young man acted as chaplain, with a firm, sweet voice; his face bespoke a purity of soul; he stood "severe in youthful beauty," a type of the religion fit to be preached amidst the risks of war. At certain periods the English minister pronounced prayers, the last words of which were repeated by the whole assembly; these confused, yet softened tones, coming from various distances, reanimated the interest of the whole. Sailors and officers alike knelt to the words, "Lord, have mercy upon us!" The captain's cutlass hung by his side, suggesting the glorious union of humility before God, and courage among men, which renders the devotion of warriors so affecting. While all these brave fellows addressed the God of Hosts, the sea was seen through the ports; the light sound of its now peaceful waves was audible, as if to say, "Your prayers are heard." The chaplain concluded with a petition peculiar to English sailors: "And may God grant us the grace to defend our happy constitution abroad, and to find, on our return, domestic peace at home." What grandeur is contained in these simple words! The preparatory and continual study which the navy demands, the life led in those warlike and floating cloisters, the uniformity of their grave toils, is seldom interrupted, save by danger or death. Nevertheless, sailors often behave with extreme gentleness and pity towards women and children, if thrown on their care; one is the more touched by this, from knowing the heedless coolness with which they expose their lives in battle, and on the main where the presence of man seems something supernatural. Nevil and Corinne were again rowed on shore; they gazed on Naples, built like an amphitheatre, thence to look on the spectacle of nature.