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patient practice. Genius at first is little more than a great capacity for receiving discipline. Singing and acting, like the fine dexterity of the juggler with his cups and balls, require a shaping of the organs towards a finer and finer certainty of effect. Your muscles-your whole framemust go like a watch, true, true, to a hair. That is the work of youth before habits have been determined. You would find, after your education in doing things slackly for one and twenty years, great difficulties in study; you would find mortification in the treatment you would get when you presented yourself on the footing of skill. You would be subjected to tests; people would no longer feign not to see your blunders. You would at first be accepted only on trial. You would have to keep your place in a crowd, and, after all, it is likely you would lose it and get out of sight; any success must be won by the utmost patience. If you determine to face these hardships and still try, you will have the dignity of a high purpose, even though you may have chosen unfortunately. You will have some merit, though you may win no prize. You have asked my judgment on your chances of winning. I don't pretend to speak absolutely; but, measuring probabilities, my judgment is, you will hardly achieve more than mediocrity."

Gwendolen turned pale during this speech. At that moment she wished she had not sent for Herr Klesmer; this first experience of being taken on some other ground than that of her social rank and her beauty was becoming bitter to her. His words had really bitten into her selfconfidence, and turned it into the pain of a bleeding wound. But she controlled herself and rose from her seat before she made any answer. It seemed natural that she should At last she turned towards Klesmer and said with almost her usual air of proud equality, which in this inter

pause.

view had not been hitherto perceptible, "I have to thank you for your kindness this morning. But I can't decide now. In any case I am greatly obliged to you. It was very bold of me to ask you to take this trouble.'

When he had taken up his hat and was going to make his bow, Gwendolen's better self, conscious of an ingratitude which the clear-seeing Klesmer must have penetrated, made a desperate effort to find its way above the stifling layers of egotistic disappointment and irritation. Looking at him with a glance of the old gayety, she put out her hand, and said with a smile, "If I take the wrong road it will not be because of your flattery."

"God forbid that you should take any road but where you will find and give happiness," said Klesmer fervently. Then in foreign fashion, he touched her fingers lightly with his lips, and in another minute she heard the sound of his departing wheels upon the gravel.-Daniel Deronda.

SHIPWRECKED.

FROM THE FRENCH OF FRANÇOIS COPPÉE.

BEFORE the wine-shop which o'erlooks the beach
Sits Jean Goëllo, rough of mien and speech;
Our coast-guard now whose arm was shot away
In the great fight of Navarino Bay:

Puffing his pipe he slowly sips his grog,

And spins sea-yarns to many an old sea-dog
Sitting around him.

Yes, lads, hear him say,

"Tis sixty years ago this very day

Since first I went to sea; on board, you know,

Of La Belle Honorine-lost long ago,—

An old three-masted tub, rotten almost,

Just fit to burn, bound for the Guinea coast.
We set all sail. The breeze was fair and stiff.
My boyhood had been passed 'neath yonder cliff,
Where an old man-my uncle, so he said-
Kept me at prawning for my daily bread.

At night he came home drunk. Such kicks and blows,
Ah me! What children suffer no man knows!

But once at sea 'twas ten times worse I found.
I learned to take, to bear, and make no sound.
The rope's-end, cuffs, kicks, blows, all fell on me
I was a ship's boy-'twas natural, you see-
No man had pity. Blows and stripes always;
For sailors knew no better in those days.
I ceased to cry. Tears brought me no relief;
I think I might have perished of mute grief,
Had not God sent a friend-a friend-to me.
Sailors believe in God-
-one must at sea.
On board that ship a God of mercy then

Had placed a dog among those cruel men.

We soon grew friends, fast friends, true friends, God knows.

When all the forecastle was fast asleep,

And our men caulked their watch, I used to creep

With Black among some boxes stowed on deck,

And with my arms clasped tightly round his neck,

I used to cry and cry and press my head

Close to the heart grieved by the tears I shed.

Night after night I mourned our piteous case,

While Black's large tongue licked my poor tear stained face,

Poor Black! I think of him so often stil!!

At first we had fair winds our sails to fill;
But one hot night when all was calm and mute
Our skipper-a good sailor though a brute-
Gave a long look over the vessel's side,

Then to the steersman whispered half aside,
"See that ox-eye out yonder? It looks queer."

66

The man replied, The storm will soon be here.

Hullo! All hands on deck! We'll be prepared!
Stow royals! Reef the courses! Pass the word!"
Vain! The squall broke ere we could shorten sail;
We lowered the topsails, but the raging gale
Spun our old ship about. The captain roared
His orders-lost in the great noise on board.

The gale grew worse and worse. She sprang a leak,
Her hold filled fast. We found we had to seek
Some way to save our "Lower a boat!"
The captain shouted. Before one could float

Our ship broached to.

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The strain had broke her back Like a whole broadside boomed the awful crack. She settled fast. Landsmen can have no notion Of how it feels to sink beneath the ocean. As the blue billows closed above our deck, And with slow motion swallowed down the wreck, I saw my past life by some flash outspread, Saw the old port, its ships, its old pier head, My own bare feet, the rocks, the sandy shore. Salt water filled my mouth. I saw no more.

I did not struggle much-I could not swim.
I sank down deep, it seemed, drowned but for him.
For Black, I mean, who seized my jacket tight,
And dragged me out of darkness back to light;
The ship was gone, the captain's gig afloat.
By one brave tug he brought me near the boat.
I seized the gunwale, sprang on board and drew
My friend in after me. Of all our crew,
The dog and I alone survived the gale;
Afloat with neither rudder, oars, nor sail!

For five long nights and longer dreadful days
We floated onward in a tropic haze.

Fierce hunger gnawed us with its cruel fangs,

And mental anguish with its keener pangs.

Each morn I hoped; each night when hope was gone My poor dog licked me with his tender tongue.

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Under the blazing sun and starlit night
I watched in vain. No sail appeared in sight,
Round us the blue spread, wider, bluer, higher.
The fifth day my parched throat was all on fire,
When something suddenly my notice caught-
Black-shivering, crouching underneath a thwart
He looked-his dreadful look no tongue can tell,
And his kind eyes glared out like coals of hell!

Here, Black! Old fellow, here!" I cried in vain.
He looked me in the face and crouched again.
I rose; he snarled, drew back. How piteously
His eyes entreated help! He snapped at me!
Then I knew all! Five days of tropic heat
Without one drop of drink, one scrap of meat,
Had made him rabid. He whose courage had
Preserved my life-my messmate, friend-was mad!

You understand? Can you see him and me,
The open boat tossed on a brassy sea,-

A child and a wild beast on board alone,
While overhead streams down the tropic sun,
And the boy crouching, trembling for his life?
I searched my pockets and I drew my knife,
And at that moment with a furious bound

The dog flew at me. I sprang half around.
He missed me in blind haste. With all my might
I seized his neck and grasped and held him tight.
I felt him writhe and try to bite, as he
Struggled beneath the pressure of my knee;
His red eyes rolled; sighs heaved his heavy coat,
I plunged my knife three times in his poor throat.

And so I killed my friend. I had but one.
What matters how, after that deed was done,
They picked me up half dead, drenched in his gore
And took me back to France. Need I say more?

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