midnight; but, owing to the darkness, and tide and half-tide, which

must always make night attacks so uncertain on the coasts of the
Channel, the divisions separated. One could not arrive at all; another

not till near daybreak. The others made their attack gallantly; but
the enemy were fully prepared: every vessel was defended by long poles,

headed with iron spikes, projecting from their sides: strong nettings
were braced up to their lower yards; they were moored by the bottom to

the shore, they were strongly manned with soldiers, and protected by
land batteries, and the shore was lined with troops. Many were taken

possession of; and, though they could not have been brought out, would
have been burned, had not the French resorted to a mode of offence,

which they have often used, but which no other people have ever been
wicked enough to employ. The moment the firing ceased on board one of

their own vessels they fired upon it from the shore, perfectly
regardless of their own men.

The commander of one of the French divisions acted like a generous
enemy. He hailed the boats as they approached, and cried out in English:

"Let me advise you, my brave Englishmen, to keep your distance: you can
do nothing here; and it is only uselessly shedding the blood of brave

men to make the attempt." The French official account boasted of the
victory. "The combat," it said, "took place in sight of both countries;

it was the first of the kind, and the historian would have cause to make
this remark." They guessed our loss at four or five hundred; it

amounted to one hundred and seventy-two. In his private letters to the
Admiralty, Nelson affirmed, that had our force arrived as he intended,

it was not all the chains in France which could have prevented our men
from bringing off the whole of the vessels. There had been no error

committed, and never did Englishmen display more courage. Upon this
point Nelson was fully satisfied; but he said he should never bring

himself again to allow any attack wherein he was not personally
concerned; and that his mind suffered more than if he had had a leg shot

off in the affair. He grieved particularly for Captain Parker, an
excellent officer, to whom he was greatly attached, and who had an aged

father looking to him for assistance. His thigh was shattered in the
action; and the wound proved mortal, after some weeks of suffering and

manly resignation. During this interval, Nelson's anxiety was very
great. "Dear Parker is my child," said he; "for I found him in

distress." And when he received the tidings of his death, he replied:
"You will judge of my feelings: God's will be done. I beg that his hair

may be cut off and given me; it shall be buried in my grave. Poor Mr.
Parker! What a son has he lost! If I were to say I was content, I

should lie; but I shall endeavour to submit with all the fortitude in
my power. His loss has made a wound in my heart, which time will

hardly heal."
"You ask me, my dear friend," he says to Lady Hamilton, "if I am

going on more expeditions? and even if I was to forfeit your friendship,
which is dearer to me than all the world, I can tell you nothing. For, I

go out: I see the enemy, and can get at them, it is my duty: and you
would naturally hate me, if I kept back one moment. I long to pay them

for their tricks t'other day, the debt of a drubbing, which surely I'll
pay: but WHEN, WHERE or HOW, it is impossible, your own good sense must

tell you, for me or mortal man to say." Yet he now wished to be
relieved from this service. The country, he said, had attached a

confidence to his name, which he had submitted to, and therefore had
cheerfully repaired to the station; but this boat business, though it

might be part of a great plan of invasion, could never be the only one,
and he did not think it was a command for a vice-admiral. It was not

that he wanted a more lucrative situation; for, seriously indisposed as
he was, and low-spirited from private considerations, he did not know,

if the Mediterranean were vacant, that he should be equal to undertake
it. He was offended with the Admiralty for refusing him leave to go to

town when he had solicited: in reply to a friendly letter from
Troubridge he says, "I am at this moment as firmly of opinion as ever,

that Lord St. Vincent and yourself should have allowed of my coming to
town for my own affairs, for every one knows I left it without a thought

for myself."
His letters at this time breathe an angry feeling toward Troubridge,

who was now become, he said, one of his lords and masters. "I have a
letter from him," he says, "recommending me to wear flannel shirts.

Does he care for me? NO: but never mind. They shall work hard to get me
again. The cold has settled in my bowels. I wish the Admiralty had my

complaint: but they have no bowels, at least for me. I daresay
Master Troubridge is grown fat; I know I am grown lean with my

complaint, which, but for their indifference about my health, could
never have happened; or, at least, I should have got well long ago in a

warm room with a good fire and sincere friend." In the same tone of
bitterness he complained that he was not able to promote those whom he

thought deserving. "Troubridge," he says, "has so completely prevented
my ever mentioning anybody's service, that I am become a cipher, and he

has gained a victory over Nelson's spirit. I am kept here, for what?--he
may be able to tell, I cannot. But long it cannot, shall not be." An end

was put to this uncomfortable state of mind when, fortunately (on that
account) for him, as well as happily for the nation, the peace of Amiens

was just at this time signed. Nelson rejoiced that the experiment was
made, but was well aware that it was an experiment. He saw what he

called the misery of peace, unless the utmostvigilance and prudence
were exerted; and he expressed, in bitter terms, his proper indignation

at the manner in which the mob of London welcomed the French general who
brought the ratificationsaying, "that they made him ashamed of his

country."
He had purchased a house and estate at Merton, in Surrey, meaning to

pass his days there in the society of Sir William and Lady Hamilton. He
had indulged in pleasant dreams when looking on to this as his place of

residence and rest. "To be sure," he says, "we shall employ the
tradespeople of our village in preference to any others in what we want

for common use, and give them every encouragement to be kind and
attentive to us." "Have we a nice church at Merton? We will set an

example of goodness to the under-parishioners. I admire the pigs and
poultry. Sheep are certainly most beneficial to eat off the grass. Do

you get paid for them, and take care that they are kept on the premises
all night, for that is the time they do good to the land. They should be

folded. Is your head-man a good person, and true to our interest? I
intend to have a farming-book. I expect that all animals will increase

where you are, for I never expect that you will suffer any to be killed.
No person can take amiss our not visiting. The answer from me will

always be very civil thanks, but that I wish to live retired. We shall
have our sea-friends; and I know Sir William thinks they are the best."

This place he had never seen till he was now welcomed there by the
friends to whom he had so passionately" target="_blank" title="ad.多情地；热烈地">passionatelydevoted himself, and who were not

less sincerely attached to him. The place, and everything which Lady
Hamilton had done to it, delighted him; and he declared that the longest

liver should possess it all. Here he amused himself with angling in the
Wandle, having been a good fly-fisher in former days, and learning now

to practise with his left hand what he could no longer pursue as a
solitary diversion. His pensions for his victories, and for the loss of

his eye and arm, amounted with his half-pay to about L3400 a-year. From
this he gave L1800 to Lady Nelson, L200 to a brother's widow, and L150

for the education of his children; and he paid L500 interest for
borrowed money; so that Nelson was comparatively a poor man; and though

much of the pecuniary embarrassment which he endured was occasioned by
the separation from his wife--even if that cause had not existed, his

income would not have been sufficient for the rank which he held, and
the claims which would necessarily be made upon his bounty. The

depression of spirits under which he had long laboured arose partly from
this state of his circumstances, and partly from the other disquietudes

in which his connection with Lady Hamilton had involved him--a
connection which it was not possible his father could behold without

sorrow and displeasure. Mr. Nelson, however, was soon persuaded that the
attachment, which Lady Nelson regarded with natural jealousy and

resentment, did not in reality pass the bounds of ardent and romantic
admiration: a passion which the manners and accomplishments of Lady

Hamilton, fascinating as they were, would not have been able to excite,
if they had not been accompanied by more uncommon intellectual

endowments, and by a character which, both in its strength and in its
weakness, resembled his own. It did not, therefore, require much

explanation to reconcile him to his son--an event the more essential to
Nelson's happiness, because, a few months afterwards, the good old man

died at the age of seventy-nine.
Soon after the conclusion of peace, tidings arrived of our final and