I had been thinking of something pretty and poetical to say when I presented it, but the words died on my lips, and I extended it in silence with the trembling hand of diffidence.
"'Now,' said he, with a benignant smile, turning the flowers round and round, as if admiring them all, 'I am the envy of every young man present.

They would all exchange the laurels of the soldier for the blossoms gathered by the hand of beauty.' "'Let me have the privilege of holding them for you, sir, while we remain,' said Mr.St.James, with a courtly grace consistent with the name he bore, and they were submitted with equal courtesy to his keeping.
"These are trifles to relate, my Gabriella, but they had an influence on my life and yours.

They laid the foundation of a dislike and jealousy in the mind of my step-mother, that embittered all our future intercourse.
'The child' was distinguished, not only by the hero who was the lion of the scene, but by the stranger she was resolved to charm, and her usually bright countenance was clouded with malice and discontent.
Forgetful of politeness, she hurried away those who came in the same barge with herself, anxious to see me immured once more in the walls of the Fort.
"After our distinguished host had bidden farewell to his elder guests, whom he accompanied to the steps, he turned to me with a look so benign and affectionate I never shall forget it, and stooping, kissed my forehead.
"'As your father's friend, and your country's father, dear child, permit me'-- he said, then giving my hand to St.James, who was waiting to assist me into the barge, bowed a dignified adieu.
"'You do indeed make us envy you, sir,' cried St.James, as he stood with uncovered head in the centre of the boat, while it glided from the walls, and holding up the bouquet which he had had the boldness to retain.
"The statesman smiled and shook his snow-crowned head, and there he stood, long after we receded from the rocks, his tall, erect figure defined on the dark blue sky.
"I never saw that noble form again.

The brave old soldier died a soldier of the Cross, and fills a Christian's grave.

He sleeps in death, embosomed in the quiet shades he loved best in life.
'And Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To deck the turf that wraps his clay.' "I did not think of paying this tribute to his memory; but that scene was so indelibly stamped on my mind, I could not help delineating it.