which is usually termed love, and which so blinds both parties that they cannot before marriage perceive each other’s faults, those matches which are called love matches, seldom or ever turn out happily.  I do not mean to say but that they sometimes do; but, like a lottery, there are many blanks for one prize.  Believe me, Tom, there is no one who has your interest and welfare at heart more than I have.  I have known you since you were a child, and have watched you with as much solicitude as any parent.  Do you think, then, that I would persuade you to what I thought would not contribute to your happiness?  Do, my dear boy, make Bramble, Bessy, yourself, and all of us happy, by weaning yourself from the memory of one who was undeserving of you, and fixing your affections upon her who will be as steadfast and as true to you as the other was false and capricious.”

I promised Anderson that I would think seriously of what he said; and I kept my word, using all my endeavors to drive the image of Janet from my memory, and substitute that of Bessy.  I often recalled the latter to my mind as she lay, beautiful and motionless, after having rescued her father from the waves, and at last dwelt upon the image with something more than interest.  The great point when you wish to bring yourself to do anything is to make up your mind to it.  I did so, and soon found that Bessy was rapidly gaining possession of my heart.

I remained several days at Greenwich.  My mother was still as busy as ever, attempting to obtain lodgers in her house who were people of family; and this unwearied system was a source of great vexation to my sister.  “Oh, Tom,” she would sometimes say, “I almost wish sometimes, selfish as it is, that you were married to Bessy, for then I should be able to live with you, and escape from this persecution.”

“Better marry yourself, dear,” replied I.

“There is but little chance of that, Tom,” replied Virginia, shaking her head.

On my return to Deal I found that Bramble had remained at the cottage ever since my departure.  Our greeting was warm, and when I went over to Bessy, for the first time since she had returned from school, I kissed her.  She colored up, poor girl, burst into tears, and hastened to her own room.

“I hope that was in earnest, Tom,” said Bramble, fixing his eye upon me inquiringly, “otherwise it was cruel.”

“It was indeed, father,” replied I, taking him by the hand.

“Then all’s right, and God bless you, my dear good boy.  You don’t know how happy you have made me—­yes, and now I will say it—­poor Bessy also.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

In which a new Character appears upon the Stage, and I play the part of a Pilot on Shore.

“A frigate has anchored in the Downs, Tom, and makes the signal for a pilot,” said Bramble, coming into the cottage, with my telescope in his hand.  “There is but you and I here—­what do you say?—­will you venture to take her up to the Medway?”