gushed to his eyes, tears which had not glistened there for many a long year; and yet he knew not wherefore, he knew not, he could not, had he been asked, have defined the cause of that strong emotion; but the more he looked upon that beautiful face, the faster and thicker came those visions on his soul.  Memories came rushing back, days of his fresh and happy boyhood, affections, long slumbering, recalled in all their purity, and his bosom yearned towards home, as if no time had elapsed since last he had beheld it, as if he should find all those he loved even as he had left them.  And what had brought them back? who was the youth on whom he gazed, and towards whom he felt affection strangely and suddenly aroused, affection so powerful, he could not shake it off?  Nothing in all probability to him; and vainly he sought to account for the emotions those bright features awakened within him.  Rousing himself, as symptoms of life began to appear in the exhausted form before him, he desired that the youth might be carried to his own cabin.  He was his countryman, he said; an officer of equal rank it appeared, from his epaulette, and he should not feel comfortable were he under the care of any other.  On bearing him from the deck to the cabin, a small volume fell from his loosened vest, which Mordaunt raised from the ground with some curiosity, to know what could be so precious to a youthful sailor.  It was a pocket Bible, so much resembling one Mordaunt possessed himself, that scarcely knowing what he was about, he drew it from his pocket to compare them.  “How can I be so silly?” he thought; “is there anything strange in two English Bibles resembling each other?” He replaced his own, opened the other, and started in increased amazement.  “Charles Manvers!” he cried, as that name met his eye.  “Merciful heaven! who is this youth? to whom would this Bible ever have been given?” So great was his agitation, that it was with difficulty he read the words which were written beneath.

“Edward Fortescue! oh, when will that name rival his to whom this book once belonged?  I may be as brave a sailor, but what will make me as good a man?  This Sacred Book, he loved it, and so will I.”  Underneath, and evidently added at a later period, was the following: 

“I began to read this for the sake of those beloved ones to whom I knew it was all in all.  I thought, for its own sake, it would never have become the dear and sacred volume they regarded it, but I am mistaken; how often has it soothed me in my hour of temptation, guided me in my duties, restrained my angry moments, and brought me penitent and humble to the footstool of my God.  Oh, my beloved Ellen, had this been my companion three years ago as it is now, what misery I should have spared you.”