and appeal to friends who had wronged me for their interest to get me released, I have looked the hardship and degradation before me in the face, and sought to encounter it manfully.  The ordeal has been thus far most severe, and I have yet two years of trial before me.  As I am where I am by my own act, I will not complain, and yet, I have felt it hard to be cut off from all the sympathy and kind interest of my friends—­to have no word from home—­to feel that none cares for me.  I know that I have offended both my father and grandfather past forgiveness, and my mind is made up to seek for no reconciliation with them.  I cannot stoop to that.  I have too much of the blood of the Loftons in my veins.

“But why write this to you, Jenny?  You will hardly understand how such feelings can govern any heart—­your own is so gentle and innocent in all of its impulses.  I have other things to say to you!  Since our meeting I have never ceased to think of you!  I need no picture of your face, for I see it ever before me as distinctly as if sketched by the painter’s art.  I sometimes ask myself wonderingly, how it is that you, a simple country maiden, could, in one or two brief meetings, have made so strong an impression upon me?  But, you bore my mother’s name, and your face was like her dear face.  Moreover, the beauty of goodness was in your countenance, and a sphere of innocence around you; and I had not strayed so far from virtue’s paths as to be insensible to these.  Since we parted, Jenny, you have seemed ever present with me, as an angel of peace and protection.  In the moment when passion was about overmastering me, you stood by my side, and I seemed to hear your voice speaking to the rising storm, and hushing all into calmness.  When my feet have been ready to step aside, you instantly approached and pointed to the better way.  Last night I had a dream, and it is because of that dream that I now write to you.  I have often felt like writing before; now I write because I cannot help it.  I am moved to do so by something that I cannot resist.

“Yesterday I had a difficulty with an officer who has shewn a disposition to domineer over me ever since the cruise commenced.  He complained to the commander, who has, in more than one instance shown me kindness.  The commander said that I must make certain concessions to the officer, which I felt as humiliating; that good discipline required this, and that unless I did so, he would be reluctantly compelled to order me to the gangway.  Thus far I had avoided punishment by a strict obedience to duty.  No lash had ever touched me.  That degradation I felt would be my ruin; and in fear of the result I bore much, rather than give any petty officer the power to have me punished.  ‘Let me sleep over it, Captain,’ said I, so earnestly, that my request was granted.