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like being laid up in this way. Never mind, my dear creature ! you shall soon be handsome again.”

The name of this personage, who thus made love to his vessel, was Wilhelm Barentz. He was a young man, apparently not thirty years of age, of diminutive stature, and delicate proportions. His face was handsome, but womanish. His movements were rapid and restless, and there was that appearance in his eye which would have warranted the supposition that he was a little flighty, even if his conduct had not fully proved the fact.

No sooner were the ecstasies of the Captain over, than Philip introduced himself to the Captain, naming his appointment. “Oh! you are the first mate of the Vrow Katerina. Sir, you are a very fortunate man. Next to being captain of her, first mate is the most enviable situation in the world.”

Certainly not on account of her beauty,” observed Philip; " she may have many other good qualities.”

“ Not on account of her beauty! Why, Sir, I say (as my father has said before me, and it was his Vrow before it was mine) that she is the handsomest vessel in the world. At present, you cannot judge : and besides being the handsomest vessel, she has every good quality under the sun.”

“ I am glad to hear it, Sir,” replied Philip; " it proves that one should never judge by appearances. But is she not very old ?"

“Old ! not more than twenty-eight years-just in her prime. Stop, my dear Sir, till you see her dancing on the waters, and then you will do nothing all day but discourse with me upon her excellence, and I have no doubt but we shall have a very happy time together.”

“ Provided the subject is not exhausted,” replied Philip.

“ That it never will be on my part: and, allow me to observe, Mr. Vanderdecken, that any officer who finds fault with the Vrow Katerina quarrels with me. I am her knight, and I have already fought three men in her defence, I trust I shall not have to fight a fourth.”

Philip smiled: he thought that she was not worth fighting for; but he acted by the suggestion, and, from that time forward, he never ventured to express an opinion against the beautiful Vrow Katerina.

The crew were soon complete, the vessel rigged, her sails bent, and she was anchored in the stream, surrounded by the other ships composing the fleet about to be despatched. The cargo was then received on board, and, so soon as her hold was full, to Philip's great vexation, there came an order to receive on board 150 soldiers and other passengers, many of whom were accompanied by their wives and families. Philip worked hard, for the Captain did nothing but praise the vessel, and, at last, they had embarked all, and the fleet was ready to sail.

It was now time to part with Amine, who had remained at the hotel, and to whom Philip had dedicated every spare moment that he could obtain. The fleet was expected to sail in two days, and it was decided that, on the following, they should part. Amine was cool and collected. She felt convinced that she should see her husband again, and with that feeling she embraced him when they separated on the beach, and he slipped into the boat in which he was pulled on board.

“ Yes,” thought Amine, as she watched the form of her husband, as the distance between them increased-—" yes, I know that we shall

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meet again. It is not this voyage which is to be fatal to you or to me; but I have a dark foreboding that the next, in which I shall join you, will separate us for ever-in which way, I know not-but it is destiny. The priests would talk of free-will. Is it free-will which takes him away

from me? Would he not rather remain on shore with me? Yes. But he is not permitted, for he must fulfil his destiny. Free-will! Why, if it were not destiny, it were tyranny. I know not why, but I feel, and have long felt, as if these priests are my enemies; and why I know not: they are both good men, and the creed they teach is good. Good-will and charity, love to all, forgiveness of injuries, not judging others. All this is good; and yet my heart whispers to me thatbut the boat is alongside, and Philip is climbing up the vessel. Farewell, farewell, my dearest husband. I would I were a man! No, no! 'tis better as it is."

Amine watched till she could no longer perceive Philip, and then walked slowly to the hostelrie. The next day, when she rose, she found that the fleet had sailed at daylight, and the channel, which was so crowded with vessels, was now untenanted.

“ He is gone,” muttered Amine; now for many months of patient, calm enduring, - I cannot say of living, for I exist but in his presence.”

(To be continued.)

MEMOIR OF MR. SERJEANT TALFOURD, M.P.

(With a Portrait.) Rather more than twenty years ago, Thomas Noon Talfourd being then not quite twenty years of age, visions of poetical paradises floated before his eager eyes. The fictions of the future were invested by him with all the reality that could attach to the facts of the past. Far-off wastes and regions rude," sands and shores and desert wildernesses," speaking by airy tongues that had the practical effect of publishers' advertisements, were “put into the witness-box” to give evidence of the progress of poetry; and with the ear of an enraptured and confident fancy he heard other Wordsworths holding mysterious converse with the oracles of Nature—other Miltons charming with their music realms less shadowy but not less magnificent than those of their own creation --and even other Shakspeares relating, in tones of mingled solemnity and laughter, the marvellous story of the human heart. He was young, and of a nature essentially youthful in itself. He was full of the true poetic faith. “True poets, protested he,“ are in this world, but they are above it. They live and breathe beyond the influence of its strife, anticipating the enjoyments of a future paradise, such as that which he pictured to himself as the sure and splendid result of the advancement of knowledge, the progress of morals, and the refining influences of the imagination. “Surely,” he exclaims, at the close of an eloquent sketch of the history of poetry, a masterly examination of the claims of the great poets of the time, and a brilliant exposition of the poetic faculty in a picture of the blessings and delights which the cultivation of it can alone confer upon social existence—“ surely the very hope of such a The boy,

consummation, however dim and distant, is sufficient to forbid us to despair of the future triumphs of genius, and to arm us against the eloquence that would check all our noblest impulses, by making us believe that the world is too old to be any longer romantic." in Mr. Talfourd's case, is father to the man. The glory that was once so bright has not vanished from before his eyes, and the present time, no less than the season of early youth, is to him the hour

“Of glory in the grass, and splendour in the flower." The hope of the consummation he then devoutly wished for has been his strengthener and companion through life, and has inspired him, amidst pursuits and duties calculated not to feed but to stifle the inclinations of a poetical temperament, to make a memorable addition to the triumphs of genius in our own time. Armed simply in this hope, we find him still protected from the evil influences of the law,” preserving his natural taste uncontaminated by the vicious lessons of professional study, and his natural sympathies unweakened by the splendid success with which that study has been rewarded ; in short, cherishing more fondly his first faith through every temptation to abjure it, retaining his childish confidence in the truth of fiction while hunting, day by day, for such facts as are the necessary food of lawyers, and still refusing, in spite of the most disheartening realities, to believe that the world is “ too old to be romantic.”

His own example is an evidence of the truth of his theory. Even the world of Westminster Hall is not too old to be romantic. In the subject of this notice we have a living proof that a man who is true to himself may be true not only to his profession but to the still higher purposes which nature meant him to serve. Conscious that, though educated for the law, he was born for literature, he may be at once in the world and above it.” He may wear the coif and not forego his right to the bays. He may be a Queen's Serjeant and Apollo's servitor at the same time. The cause in which he is engaged need not deaden him to the cause of mankind. His larger apprehension and sympathy may take in Shakspeare as well as Blackstone ; he may feel and comprehend not merely the laws themselves but the objects for which they were made, the interests which they embrace, and the humanities they vindicate and protect. He may read the poets for something better than to pervert a happy passage into a clap-trap, or drag forth a couplet as a crutch to a lame argument; and his opinion may be not less sound, or written with less clearness, because he cherishes in the most sacred corner of his heart an intense reverence for the great recognised masters of thought and composition. It is preposterous to suppose that he would more imperfectly understand the motives, actions, and position of an individual, because he perfectly understands all qualities of human dealing; that he should be less qualified to do justice to a client, because he can fathom the injustice that is done to humanity ; that he cannot weigh facts because he can estimate fiction; or that he is disqualified from mastering the immediate by his sympathy with the remote. It is easier to count the stones in the street than the stars in heaven; and the eye of imagination that can achieve the more difficult triumph need not allow matter-of-fact to monopolise the glory of the easier task.

Mr. Serjeant Talfourd was born at Reading, the town which he now

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