CHAPTER XXIV.
"I labour to diffuse the important good Till this great truth by all be understood, That all the pious duty which we owe Our parents, friends, our country, and our God, The seeds of every virtue here below, From discipline and early culture grow." WEST.
The different chapters of a novel remind me of a convoy of vessels.

The incidents and _dramatis personae_ are so many respective freights, all under the charge of the inventor, who, like a man-of-war, must see them all safely, and together, into port.

And as the commanding officer, when towing one vessel which has lagged behind up to the rest, finds that in the meantime another has dropped nearly out of sight, and is obliged to cast off the one in tow, to perform the same necessary duty towards the sternmost, so am I necessitated for the present to quit Nicholas and Newton, while I run down to Edward Forster and his _protegee_.
It must be recollected that, during our narrative, "Time has rolled his ceaseless course," and season has succeeded season, until the infant, in its utter helplessness to lift its little hands for succour, has sprung up into a fair blue-eyed little maiden of nearly eight years old, light as a fairy in her proportions, bounding as a fawn in her gait; her eyes beaming with joy, and her cheeks suffused with the blush of health, when tripping over the sea-girt hills; meek and attentive when listening to the precepts of her fond and adopted parent.
"Faithful," the Newfoundland dog, is no more, but his portrait hangs over the mantel-piece in the little parlour.

Mrs Beazely, the housekeeper, has become inert and querulous from rheumatism and the burden of added years.

A little girl, daughter of Robertson, the fisherman, has been called in to perform her duties, while she basks in the summer's sun or hangs over the winter's fire.