The Leander was a fifty-gun ship, and well known to the profession, as having formed one of the line of battle in the action of the Nile, though not strictly of that class, and for having afterwards maintained a glorious, though unsuccessful fight with a large French seventy-four, the Généreux, by which she was taken when on her way to England with Nelson’s despatches. She was a pretty ship of her class, and became permanently endeared to the memory of all who sailed on board, especially to those who first went to sea in her, and there found a practical illustration of the beautiful thought—that our ‘march is on the mountain wave, our home is on the deep.’ This character, indeed, gives the navy of England its peculiar distinction, and mainly contributes to its success. We do truly make the ship our home; we have no other thoughts of professional duty or of happiness but what are connected with the vessel in which we swim; we take a pride in her very looks, as we might in those of a daughter; and bring up her crew to honourable deeds, as we should wish to instruct our sons. The rate of sailing of each ship in a fleet, is a subject of never-ending discussion amongst all classes of the officers, midshipmen, and crews, every one of whom considers his own individual honour involved in all that his ship does, or is capable of doing. This is true, almost universally; but it is most striking, no doubt, in our first ship, which, like our first love, is supposed to drink up, from the opening flower of our young feelings, the richest drops of sentiment, never to be outdone, or even equalled, by future attachments! I owe, indeed, much good companionship and many sincere obligations to other vessels; yet I am sure that, if I live to be Lord High Admiral, the old Leander must still remain nearest and dearest to my nautical heart. I remember every corner about her—every beam—every cabin—every gun. I even look back to the strict school on board of her, with much of that affectionate sort of interest with which I observe Eton men regard the place of their education. Whenever any of the old set meet, who were shipmates together at the happy time I speak of, every other topic is swept from the board, and, for hours together, the boyish adventures, and even the most ordinary events of the dear old ship, form, out of all sight, the most delightful subject of conversation. It signifies nothing, that every one of the party has gone over the same round of stories and jokes, in the same company, fifty times; they invariably come back again, recommended by increasing interest, and by that genuine freshness of spirits, so ‘redolent of joy and youth, it breathes a second spring.’