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to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind as to the privileges
to be annexed to it. I am not particularly disposed to favour a tenant.
The park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers,
or men of any other description, can have had such a range;
but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the pleasure-grounds,
is another thing. I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being
always approachable; and I should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard
with respect to her flower garden. I am very little disposed
to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour,
I assure you, be he sailor or soldier."

After a short pause, Mr Shepherd presumed to say--

"In all these cases, there are established usages which
make everything plain and easy between landlord and tenant.
Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands. Depend upon me
for taking care that no tenant has more than his just rights.
I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous
for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him."

Here Anne spoke--

"The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least
an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and
all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard enough
for their comforts, we must all allow."

"Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is very true,"
was Mr Shepherd's rejoinder, and "Oh! certainly," was his daughter's;
but Sir Walter's remark was, soon afterwards--

"The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see
any friend of mine belonging to it."

"Indeed!" was the reply, and with a look of surprise.

"Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds
of objection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons
of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours
which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly,
as it cuts up a man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows old
sooner than any other man. I have observed it all my life.
A man is in greater danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise
of one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to,
and of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in
any other line. One day last spring, in town, I was in company
with two men, striking instances of what I am talking of;
Lord St Ives, whose father we all know to have been a country curate,
without bread to eat; I was to give place to Lord St Ives,
and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking personage
you can imagine; his face the colour of mahogany, rough and rugged
to the last degree; all lines and wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side,
and nothing but a dab of powder at top. `In the name of heaven,
who is that old fellow?' said I to a friend of mine who was standing near,
(Sir Basil Morley). `Old fellow!' cried Sir Basil, `it is Admiral Baldwin.
What do you take his age to be?' `Sixty,' said I, `or perhaps sixty-two.

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