"My brother," said the sweet-tempered Faith, "never tries to be a fool,
Lord Nelson; he only tries to be a poet."

This made people laugh; and Nelson, feeling that he had been rude to a
youth who could not fairly answer him, jumped from his chair with the
lightness of a boy, and went round to Frank Darling, with his thin
figure leaning forward, and his gray unpowdered hair tossed about, and
upon his wrinkled face that smile which none could ever resist, because
it was so warm and yet so sad.

"Shake hands, my dear young friend," he cried, "though I can not offer
the right one. I was wrong to call you a fool because you don't look at
things as I do. Poets are almost as good as sailors, and a great deal
better than soldiers. I have felt a gift that way myself, and turned out
some very tidy lines. But I believe they were mainly about myself, and I
never had time to go on with them."

Such little touches of simplicity and kindness, from a man who never
knew the fear of men, helped largely to produce that love of Nelson
which England felt, and will always feel.

"My lord," replied the young man, bending low--for he was half a cubit
higher than the mighty captain--"it is good for the world that you have
no right arm, when you disarm it so with your left one."



CHAPTER VI