224 MEMOIR OF FLEEMING JENKIN 



courtesy, as he lay dying, is not to be described. 

 There he lay, singing his old sea songs ; watching 

 the poultry from the window with a child's delight ; 

 scribbling on the slate little messages to his wife, 

 who lay bed-ridden in another room ; glad to 

 have Psalms read aloud to him, if they were of 

 a pious strain checking, with an ' I don't think 

 we need read that, my dear,' any that were gloomy 

 or bloody. Fleeming's wife coming to the house 

 and asking one of the nurses for news of Mrs. 

 Jenkin, * Madam, I do not know,' said the nurse ; 

 ' for I am really so carried away by the Captain 

 that I can think of nothing else.' One of the last 

 messages scribbled to his wife and sent her with 

 a glass of the champagne that had been ordered 

 for himself, ran, in his most finished vein of childish 

 madrigal : ' The Captain bows to you, my love, 

 across the table.' When the end was near and it 

 was thought best that Fleeming should no longer 

 go home but sleep at Merchiston, he broke his 

 news to the Captain with some trepidation, know- 

 ing that it carried sentence of death. ' Charming, 

 charming charming arrangement,' was the Cap- 

 tain's only commentary. It was the proper thing 

 for a dying man, of Captain Jenkin's school of 

 manners, to make some expression of his spiritual 

 state ; nor did he neglect the observance. With 

 his usual abruptness, * Fleeming,' said he, ' I 

 suppose you and I feel about all this as two Chris- 



