How agreeable he was about the small hours, chirping over his grog;
alternating between reminiscences of "My tutor's daughter" and recitals
of choice morsels in verse and prose; misquoting, to the utter
annihilation of rhythm and sense, but all with perfect gravity, good
faith, and satisfaction!
_Nec te, memorande, relinquam_--true Tom Lynton! not clever, not even
high-bred, but loved by every one for the honestest and kindest heart
that ever was the kernel of a rough rind.
Do we not remember that supper where the Fathers of England were being
discussed? Every one, drawn on by the current, had a stone to throw at
his relieving officer, the complaint, of course, being a general
tightness in the supplies. At last, Tom, who, though his own sire was an
austere man, could not bear to hear the absent run down, broke in,
gravely remonstrating,
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "remember they're our _fellow-creatures_, at
all events."
They drank "Lynton and the Governors" with a compound multiplication of
cheers.
I might mention more; but a face rises just now before me which makes me
close the muster-roll--the face of one who united in himself many, very
many of the best qualities of the others; of one whom I shrink from
naming here, lest it should seem that I do so lightly--a face that I saw
six hours before its features became set forever.
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