The Middy And The Moors

CHAPTER ONE.

AN ALGERINE STORY.

THE HERO IS BLOWN AWAY, CAPTURED, CRUSHED, COMFORTED, AND ASTONISHED.

One beautiful summer night, about the beginning of the present century,
a young naval officer entered the public drawing-room of a hotel at
Nice, and glanced round as if in search of some one.

Many people were assembled there--some in robust, others in delicate,
health, many in that condition which rendered it doubtful to which class
they belonged, but all engaged in the quiet buzz of conversation which,
in such a place, is apt to set in after dinner.

The young Englishman, for such he evidently was, soon observed an
elderly lady beckoning to him at the other end of the _salon_, and was
quickly seated between her and a fragile girl whose hand he gently took
hold of.

"Mother," he said, to the elderly lady, "I'm going to have a row on the
Mediterranean. The night is splendid, the air balmy, the stars
gorgeous."

"Now, George," interrupted the girl, with a little smile, "don't be
flowery. We know all about that."

"Too bad," returned the youth; "I never rise to poetry in your presence,
Minnie, without being snubbed. But you cannot cure me. Romance is too
deeply ingrained in my soul. Poetry flows from me like--like anything!
I am a midshipman in the British Navy, a position which affords scope
for the wildest enthusiasm, and--and--I'll astonish you yet, see if I
don't."

"I am sure you will, dear boy," said his mother; and she believed that
he would!

"Of course you will," added his sister; and she at least hoped that he
would.