“A haughty spirit,” it is said, “goeth before a fall.” Had such been the spirit of Sir Jahleel Brenton, it is easy to imagine how it would have been inflated and increased by the admiration and excitement occasioned by his victory; and it is as easy to conceive, that on a mind in such a state, the sudden shock of adversity would have come with an overwhelming force. Happily for him, he had long before learned in a better school than that of the world, the nature of the things by which he was surrounded. He knew what he was justified in seeking, but he also knew the limits under which it was to be sought. Thankful for what God had been pleased to give, he was ready to resign what God was pleased to recall; and while the hand of God was seen in everything, he saw no injustice in the treatment he was exposed to, no public ingratitude in the circumstances which marred his prospects; but only behold another trial in a change of condition; and blessed God for the consolations with which that trial was to be accompanied. The narrative may be resumed from Sir Jahleel’s own notes. He says, “my wound now continued to make a gradual progress, and at the end of the year (1811) Mr. Clive considered all exfoliation at an end. I had now put aside my crutches, and could walk with tolerable facility with two sticks. I therefore began to look forward once more to active service. Your dear mother used all the arguments which tenderness and affection could suggest to dissuade me from it; but the same feeling towards her, and my beloved children, stimulated me to exertion, and would have deprived me of my own approbation and peace of mind, had I remained in a state of inactivity longer than was absolutely necessary. I accordingly applied for a ship. Mr. Yorke, then first Lord of the Admiralty, in the most friendly and earnest terms, requested me not to run the risk of a relapse, by going again to sea; having however persisted in my application, he appointed me to the Stirling Castle, a new ship of seventy-four guns, then at Chatham, intended at my own request to be sent to the Mediterranean. In the middle of March 1812, I took command of this ship, and removed with my family to Brompton, near Chatham, and here another period of happiness occurs, which will frequently present itself to my recollection, unsolicited from the association with my professional duties. My profession had ever been my delight from the very early period of my life at which I entered it, and no circumstance, however happy, had as yet possessed the power to tranquillize my mind on shore, whilst I considered myself capable of active service.”