of you and my good father, the dearest friends I have in this world.  I live as Sir William’s son in the house, and my glory is as dear to them as their own; in short, I am under such obligations as I can never repay but with my eternal gratitude.”  “Naples is a dangerous place,” he sagely tells Lord St. Vincent, “and we must keep clear of it.  I am writing opposite Lady Hamilton, therefore you will not be surprised at the glorious jumble of this letter.  Were your Lordship in my place, I much doubt if you could write so well; our hearts and our hands must be all in a flutter.”  Matters progressed; within ten days the veteran seaman learned, among other concerns of more or less official importance, that “Lady Hamilton is an Angel.  She has honoured me by being my ambassadress to the queen:  therefore she has my implicit confidence and is worthy of it.”

That such intimacy and such relations resulted in no influence upon the admiral’s public action is not to be believed.  That he consciously perverted his views is improbable, but that he saw duty under other than normal lights is not only probable, but evident.  His whole emotional nature was stirred as it never had been.  Incipient love and universal admiration had created in him a tone of mind, and brought to birth feelings, which he had, seemingly, scarcely known.  “I cannot write a stiff formal public letter,” he tells St. Vincent effusively.  “You must make one or both so.  I feel you are my friend, and my heart yearns to you.”  Such extravagance of expression and relaxation of official tone has no pertinent cause, and is at least noteworthy.  The Court, or rather the Queen through Lady Hamilton, took possession of him.  He became immediately one of the little coterie centring round Her Majesty, and he reflected its tone and partisanship, which, fostered probably in the intimate conversations of the two women, were readily transmitted to the minister by the wife whom he adored.  The Queen, impetuous, enterprising, and headstrong, like her mother and sister, moved more by feminine feelings of hatred and revenge against the French than by well-balanced considerations of policy, not only favored war, but wished to precipitate the action of the Emperor by immediately attacking the French in the Roman territory.  The decision and daring of such a course was so consonant to Nelson’s own temperament that he readily sympathized; but it is impossible to admit its wisdom, from either a political or military standpoint.  It was an excessively bad combination, substituting isolated attacks for co-operation, and risking results upon the chance of prompt support, by a state which would be offended and embarrassed by the step taken.