Mark Seaworth. William Henry Giles Kingston

and who would watch over me, and guard me from danger. I put out my little arms and threw them round her neck, and returned her kisses with right good-will.

      Dear Mrs. Clayton had faithfully fulfilled her promise of carefully nursing my little sister, by holding her half the night in her arms, during the raging of the storm, fearful that any harm should come to her new-found treasure; and it was only when the sea subsided, and the ship was more steady, that she would consent to place her in a little cot which had been slung by her side. In the afternoon all the passengers were again collected together on deck. We, of course, afforded the subject of general conversation and curiosity. Speculations of all sorts were offered as to who we could be—where we could have come from, and how it happened that we were in an open boat in the condition in which we were found. I was asked all sorts of questions; but to none of them could I return a satisfactory answer. I had some indistinct idea of having been on board another ship, and of there being a great disturbance, and of my crying very much through fear; and I suspect that I must have cried myself to sleep, and remained so when I was put into the boat. Ellen Barrow had taken me under her especial protection, though everybody, more or less, tried to pet me, and I was very happy. Scarcely four-and-twenty hours had passed, it must be remembered, since, without food or human aid, we floated on the open ocean, the dying and the dead our only companions; and now we were on board a well-found ship, and surrounded by kind friends, all vying with each other to do us service. Sir Charles every now and then, as I passed him, patted me on the head; and as I looked up I liked the expression of his countenance, so I stopped and smiled, and frequently ran back to him. In this manner we shortly became great friends.

      “I wonder what their names can be!” exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, as those most interested in us were still sitting together in earnest consultation. “The boy’s initials are M.S., and the little girl’s E.S., that is certain. If we cannot discover their real names, we must give them some ourselves.”

      “Oh, let them be pretty ones, by all means!” cried Ellen Barrow. “I must not let my pet be called by an ugly name. Let me consider—it must not be romantic either, like invented names found in novels.”

      “I should advise you to choose the surname first for both the children, and then settle the respective Christian names,” remarked the judge.

      “Will you help us, Sir Charles?” asked Miss Barrow.

      “No, my dear young lady—I propose that our committee abide by your choice, if I am allowed to have a word to say about the Christian name—so on your shoulders must rest the responsibility,” was Sir Charles’s answer.

      “It must begin with S, that is certain,” said Ellen Barrow, speaking as she thought on. “Something to do with the sea: Seagrave—I don’t like that; Seaton—it might do. What do you think of Seaworth, Sir Charles? It is a pretty name and appropriate—Seaworth—I like Seaworth.”

      “So do I; and I compliment you on the selection,” said the judge. “Let the surname of the children be Seaworth from henceforth, till the real name is discovered; and now for a Christian name for the boy. It must begin with M. I do not like long names, and I have a fancy for one in particular—I must beg that he be called Mark. I had a friend of that name, who died early. Do you object to it, Miss Ellen?”

      “I had not thought of it, certainly,” said Ellen Barrow. “I was going to propose Marmaduke; but let me try how it sounds in combination with Seaworth—Mark Seaworth—Mark Seaworth. A very nice name; I like it, and I am sure I shall like it very much in a short time.” So, thanks to Sir Charles and Ellen Barrow, I was called Mark Seaworth.

      Mrs. Clayton now claimed the right of naming her little charge. It was a matter, however, of still longer consideration. Emily, and Eliza, and Elizabeth, and a number of others beginning with E were thought of, but none seemed to please.

      “Give her the name of her mother, then,” said Sir Charles.

      “How do you know it?” exclaimed several voices.

      “The mother of us all,” replied the judge, smiling.

      “Oh dear, yes! Let her be called Eva rather,” exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, delighted. “It is a sweetly pretty name, and not often used.”

      “I meant simply Eve; but Eva is an improvement on my idea,” said Sir Charles.

      “Eva, Eva,” was pronounced in chorus by all the party; and by that name my little sister was afterwards christened. Thus this important matter was finally arranged.

      Several days passed away without the occurrence of anything worthy of note, that I have heard of. My little sister slowly gained strength and health under the careful nursing of Mrs. Clayton.

      One fine day, sweet Ellen Barrow was, as usual, romping with me about the deck—now running after me—now catching hold of me to fondle me, and then letting me go for the sake of again chasing me; and though I struggled and screamed when she overtook me, I cannot say that I was either alarmed, or that I disliked the treatment I received. Sir Charles was calmly watching us all the time, with a smile on his countenance. At last the young lady, weary with her exertions, threw herself into a seat, while I came and nestled by her side. After looking at us for a few minutes he came nearer to her.

      “My dear young lady,” he said, “will you answer me a question?”

      “A hundred, Sir Charles,” she answered, “if you are kind enough to ask them; for I do not think you will prove a censorious father confessor.”

      “Well, then, as you give me leave, I may venture to ask you more than one,” said Sir Charles. “In the first place, tell me what you propose doing with that little boy when you get ashore.”

      “Doing with him, Sir Charles? Why, I daresay Captain and Mrs. Clayton will assist me in taking charge of him,” replied Ellen Barrow, with a puzzled expression. “But I do not think, I own, that I had thought at all about the future.”

      “I thought not, my dear Miss Barrow,” said Sir Charles, smiling. “The young seldom think of the future; but we old people are taught by many a severe lesson the importance of preparing for it. Now, as Captain and Mrs. Clayton can scarcely wish to have the responsibility of taking charge of both your little pet and his sister, and as he has no claim on any here on board in particular, I have resolved to constitute myself his guardian till his natural protectors can be found. Captain Willis, who has a sort of legal right over him, consents to my wish; so I intend to take him with me when we land. Pray, therefore, make the most of him now you have him; but do not fix your heart on him entirely, for though I hope you may often see him, I cannot let you have him altogether.”

      “What! Sir Charles, do you really intend to adopt the dear little fellow?” exclaimed Miss Barrow with animation. “He will, indeed, be fortunate; but I should be very, very sorry if I thought that I was not to see him again,” she added, while a tear stood in her bright eye, and, turning round she gave me a hug and a kiss, which I thought very good of her.

      “Till his rightful guardians are found, I propose to take entire charge of him,” said Sir Charles. “I will do my best to fulfil the important duty I have undertaken; it is not a light one, I own. It is not only to train up the boy to perform well his allotted task in this world, to fear God, to act honourably towards his neighbour, to overcome difficulties, and to secure a good place in the rank of fame and fortune among his fellow-men, but to prepare an immortal soul for eternity.”

      Well, indeed, did that good man fulfil his self-imposed duty and utterly beyond all return are the benefits I received from him.

      Alas! that so few who have the charge of youth should think of their deep responsibilities as he did. How many private tutors I have met with, who think they have done their duty when they have taught their pupils the sufficient knowledge of Latin and Greek, and mathematics to enable them to enter the universities, without a thought beyond—without pointing out to them, clearly and unmistakably, whatever may be their station in life, that they must have responsibilities, and that they should so act in everything they do here, that they may be ever prepared for entering the life which