which would rob the beloved object of all affections but the one. I know
my Helen loves her father--loves him, perhaps, as well, or better, than
she does me. Well, in spite of that, I love him too. Do you know, I never
see that erect form, that model of courage and probity, come into a room,
but I say to myself, 'Here comes my benefactor; but for this man there
would be no Helen in the world.' Well, dearest, an unexpected
circumstance has given me a little military influence (these things do
happen in the City); and I really believe that, what with his
acknowledged merits (I am secretly informed a very high personage said,
the other day, he had not received justice), and the influence I speak
of, a post will shortly be offered to your father that will enable him to
live, henceforth, in England, with comfort, I might say, affluence.
Perhaps he might live with us. That depends upon himself.

"Looking forward to this, and my own still greater happiness, diverts my
mind awhile from the one ever-pressing anxiety. But, alas! it will
return. By this time my Helen is on the seas--the terrible, the
treacherous, the cruel seas, that spare neither beauty nor virtue, nor
the longing hearts at home. I have conducted this office for some years,
and thought I knew care and anxiety. But I find I knew neither till now.

"I have two ships at sea, the _Shannon_ and the _Proserpine._ The
_Proserpine_ carries eighteen chests of specie, worth a hundred and
thirty thousand pounds. I don't care one straw whether she sinks or
swims. But the _Shannon_ carries my darling; and every gust at night
awakens me, and every day I go into the great room at Lloyd's and watch
the anemometer. O, God! be merciful, and bring my angel safe to me! O,
God! be just, and strike her not for my offenses!

"Besides the direct perils of the sea are some others you might escape by