Talbot knowing that Emily was bespoken, paid her no more than the common attentions which courtesy demands; but to Clara his demeanour was very different:  and her natural attractions were much enhanced in his eyes, by the friendship which we had entertained for each other ever since the memorable affair of swimming away from the ship at Spithead; from that time he used jocularly to call me “Leander.”

But before I proceed any further with this part of my history, I must beg leave to detain the reader one minute only, while I attempt to make a sketch of my dear little sister Clara.  She was rather fair, with a fine, small, oval, well-proportioned face, sparkling black and speaking eyes, good teeth, pretty red lips, very dark hair, and plenty of it, hanging over her face and neck in curls of every size; her arms and bust were such as Phidias and Praxiteles might have copied; her waist was slender; her hands and feet small and beautiful.  I used often to think it was a great pity that such a love as she was should not be matched with some equally good specimen of our sex; and I had long fixed on my friend Talbot as the person best adapted to command this pretty little, tight, fast-sailing, well-rigged smack.

Unluckily, Clara, with all her charms, had one fault, and that, in my eyes, was a very serious one.  Clara did not love a sailor.  The soldiers she doated on.  But Clara’s predilections were not easily overcome, and that which had once taken root grew up and flourished.  She fancied sailors were not well bred; that they thought too much of themselves or their ships; and, in short, that they were as rough and unpolished as they were conceited.

With such obstinate and long-rooted prejudices against all of our profession, it proved no small share of merit in Talbot to overcome them.  But as Clara’s love for the army was more general than particular, Talbot had a vacant theatre to fight in.  He began by handing her to dinner, and with modest assurance seated himself by her side.  But so well was he aware of her failing, that he never once alluded to our unfortunate element; on the contrary, he led her away with every variety of topic which he found best suited to her taste:  so that she was at last compelled to acknowledge that he might be one exception to her rule, and I took the liberty of hoping that I might be another.

One day at dinner Talbot called me “Leander,” which instantly attracted the notice of the ladies, and an explanation was demanded; but for a time it was evaded, and the subject changed.  Emily, however, joining together certain imperfect reports which had reached her ears, through the kindness of “some friends of the family,” began to suspect a rival, and the next morning examined me so closely on the subject, that fearing a disclosure from other quarters, I was compelled to make a confession.