’My England at sea will be your parlour-window looking down the grass to the river and rushes; and when you do me the honour to write, please tell me the names of those wildflowers growing along the banks in Summer.’  The old lady replied immediately, enclosing a cheque for fifty pounds:  ’Colonel Halkett informs me you are under a cloud at Steynham, and I have thought you may be in want of pocket-money.  The wild-flowers are willowherb, meadow-sweet, and loosestrife.  I shall be glad when you are here in Summer to see them.’

Nevil despatched the following:  ’I thank you, but I shall not cash the cheque.  The Steynham tale is this: 

I happened to be out at night, and stopped the keepers in chase of a young fellow trespassing.  I caught him myself, but recognized him as one of a family I take an interest in, and let him run before they came up.  My uncle heard a gun; I sent the head gamekeeper word in the morning to out with it all.  Uncle E. was annoyed, and we had a rough parting.  If you are rewarding me for this, I have no right to it.’

Mrs. Beauchamp rejoined:  ’Your profession should teach you subordination, if it does nothing else that is valuable to a Christian gentleman.  You will receive from the publisher the “Life and Letters of Lord Collingwood,” whom I have it in my mind that a young midshipman should task himself to imitate.  Spend the money as you think fit.’

Nevil’s ship, commanded by Captain Robert Hall (a most gallant officer, one of his heroes, and of Lancashire origin, strangely!), flew to the South American station, in and about Lord Cochrane’s waters; then as swiftly back.  For, like the frail Norwegian bark on the edge of the maelstrom, liker to a country of conflicting interests and passions, that is not mentally on a level with its good fortune, England was drifting into foreign complications.  A paralyzed Minister proclaimed it.  The governing people, which is looked to for direction in grave dilemmas by its representatives and reflectors, shouted that it had been accused of pusillanimity.  No one had any desire for war, only we really had (and it was perfectly true) been talking gigantic nonsense of peace, and of the everlastingness of the exchange of fruits for money, with angels waving raw-groceries of Eden in joy of the commercial picture.  Therefore, to correct the excesses of that fit, we held the standing by the Moslem, on behalf of the Mediterranean (and the Moslem is one of our customers, bearing an excellent reputation for the payment of debts), to be good, granting the necessity.  We deplored the necessity.  The Press wept over it.  That, however, was not the politic tone for us while the Imperial berg of Polar ice watched us keenly; and the Press proceeded to remind us that we had once been bull-dogs.  Was there not an animal within us having a right to a turn now and then?  And was it not (Falstaff, on a calm world, was quoted) for the benefit of our