take him to sea.  However it happened, the suggestion staggered Suckling, who well knew the lad’s puny frame and fragile constitution.  “What has poor little Horatio done,” cried he, “that he, being so weak, should be sent to rough it at sea?  But let him come, and if a cannon-ball takes off his head, he will at least be provided for.”  Under such gloomy foreboding began the most dazzling career that the sea, the mother of so many heroes, has ever seen.[1] Spain, after a short hesitation, yielded the British demands, so that war did not come, and the “Raisonnable,” with other ships, was again put out of commission.  The incident of the Falkland Islands, however, had served the purpose of introducing Nelson to his profession, for which otherwise the opportunity might not have offered.  Being so young when thus embarked, he, in common with many of the most successful seamen of that day, got scanty schooling; nor did he, as some others did, by after application remedy the eccentricities of style, and even of grammar, which are apt to result from such early neglect.  His letters, vigorous and direct as they are, present neither the polished diction of Collingwood, nor the usual even correctness of St. Vincent and Saumarez, but are, on the contrary, constantly disfigured by awkward expressions and bad English.  There was rarely, however, danger of mistaking his meaning, as was sometimes charged against Lord Howe.

Here, before fairly parting with the humble home life, of which the motherless boy had seen, and was throughout his career to see so little, is a fit place to introduce two anecdotes associated with those early days which his biographers have transmitted to us.  We of these critical times have learned to look with incredulity, not always unmixed with derision, upon stories relating to the childhood of distinguished men; but it can safely be said that the two now to be given are in entire keeping, not merely with particular traits, but with the great ruling tenor of Nelson’s whole life.  He and his elder brother were going to school one winter day upon their ponies.  Finding the snow so deep as to delay them seriously, they went back, and the elder reported that they could not get on.  The father very judiciously replied:  “If that be so, I have of course nothing to say; but I wish you to try again, and I leave it to your honour not to turn back, unless necessary.”  On the second attempt, the elder was more than once for returning; but Horatio stuck it out, repeating continually, “Remember it was left to our honour,” and the difficult journey was accomplished.

The children in this instance seem to have felt that there was danger in going on.  The other recorded occurrence shows in the lad that indifference to personal benefit, as distinguished from the sense of conspicuous achievement, which was ever a prominent characteristic of the man.  The master of his school had a very fine pear-tree, whose fruit the boys coveted, but upon which none dared hazard an attempt.  At last Nelson, who did not share their desires, undertook the risk, climbed the tree by night, and carried off the pears, but refused to eat any of them,—­saying that he had taken them only because the others were afraid.