The "Hyacinth" never reached her destined port. Her fate was conjectured, but was not ascertained, as it would be in the present time of superior arrangements in agency and communication. Her owners received their insurance as for a total loss, and James Wilson believed that his hapless son had been entombed in the ocean. At the commencement of the war between England and her revolted colonies of North America, two commissioners were sent out, in the hope that differences might be reconciled and peace restored. The Earl of Carlisle and Mr. Eden (afterwards Lord Auckland) were proceeding on this mission in a frigate, and after having encountered very stormy weather, they fell in with a boat in which were several persons, reduced to the utmost extremity by hunger and fatigue. They were rescued, and recovered their strength by rest and nutrition. All, except one, were sailors, and they were, perhaps very summarily, added to the frigate's crew. The landsman was of a melancholy temperament, although young and naturally strong. He was, however, of an humble and unpresuming manner, which did not indicate vulgarity or ignorance. He expressed a desire to make himself useful, cleaned some watches for the officers, and kept the plate of their mess in proper order. Curiosity induced Lord Carlisle to accost him, and the communication resulted in several acts of kindness on the part of the nobleman, which were respectfully and gratefully, and perhaps it may be said, gracefully, received. His Lordship's interest in the poor shipwrecked fellow increased; and on their arrival in America, he obtained for his protégé, from Sir Henry Clinton, an ensigncy in the army. Meanwhile Christian Wilson was forgotten in Skinner Row by all except one. They had "mourned him dead in his father's _house_." His family never adverted to his fate, for the subject was of painful recollection in more senses than one. But Mary Tudor, although she seldom spoke of Christian, would not admit that he was dead. Suitors for her hand were numerous, but to none would she give the slightest encouragement, and Delancy soon discovered that indifference was too mild a term to describe her feeling towards him. Some years had passed. Her father had attained complete senectude, but was still sound in mind and hale in body. He lived happily with his daughter, who consulted his wishes on every subject, except his anxiety to see her married in comfort and respectability before he died. She had attained to her twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth year, and she was particularly intimate with the family of the person from whom this narrative is derived. In fact, it was her only intimacy, and in her intercourse with them she frequently avowed her conviction that the "lost one" would return.