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ular at one time, and is not unworthy watching for his victim in some shelof Dibdin himself:

tered cove or wave-worn cavern, in love

with the stress of storm, and claiming The foe thought he'd struck, when he kinship with the guiding stars. It is cried out "Avast,"

curious to note that "honest Allan" And the colors of Old England he

seems to have shared the opinion of nailed to the mast,

every landsman that a “sheet" is a And he died like a true British sailor!

sail, though the loblolly boy in any

herring-man could have put him right. Equally good of its class, though too

Nor did he disdain to assert an imposartificial in sentiment for a true song

sible thing when he sang of a ship of the sea, is Barry Cornwall's "The

sailing from an English port and leavSea." Its literary merit accounts for

ing “England on the lee," as "the bilits popularity; but it lacks a salt-water

low follows free,” in ignorance of the odor, and savors of Cockneydom rather

fact that to perform such a feat the than of norwesters. Put it alongside

vessel must be on a wind, and that “on one of Dibdin's, and you see how un.

a lee” is an expression unknown to seareal it is, simply because it is descrip

faring men. Wherefore it was not judi. tive rather than dramatic, and teems

cious on part of Cunninghame to come with images that would never enter the

down on Dibdin for his ignorance of mind of a sailor. It is a poet's song, but not the song of a

ships and sailors' speech. As a matter sea poet, and

of fact very few sea lyrics have been probably no seaman has ever sung it.

penned by practical seamen, and fewer Although the poet aver that

still are free from error. Among such

are those by Falconer and John If a storm should come and awake the deep,

Macken, author of "The Harp and the What matter? I shall ride and sleep,

Desert," who, under the pseudonym of

Ismael Fitzadam, acquired notoriety we honestly do not believe him, not

some seventy years ago. By birth and withstanding his further assurance that education an Irish gentleman, by nahe has lived "full fifty summers a rov- ture a poet, Macken served on board a er's life."

King's ship in the Mediterranean unRedolent far more of blue water is der Exmouth, and wrote a long descripAllan Cunninghame's “A wet sheet and tion of the bombardment of Algiers. a flowing sea,” which, though marred Subsequently, he died broken-hearted, by faulty nautical expressions, is a unable to obtain from the government wholesome and spirited song, little, if any recognition of the efforts of his at all, inferior to Barry Cornwall's. muse. Scarcely less pitiable was the Cunninghame was, in fact, about the fate of Thomas Dibdin, who, overstrongest of Dibdin's rivals. The Eng. shadowed by the fame of his father, lishman's most racy staves are after all "lived neglected and died forlorn." but the songs of impressed alongshore Though he was the author of such men, while the Scot sings of Vikings sterling favorites as “The right little, and sea rovers, the Robin Hoods of tight little island," "When Vulcan ocean, who counted piracy a thing of forged the bolts of Jove," and "All's honor. Dibdin's jolly mariner, with a Well," his contemporaries denied him pocket full of prize money, and keep bread, nor has posterity given him so ing up his acquaintance with blue wa- much as a stone. ter all in the way of business, has lit- As a writer of songs we may set tle in common with the sea robber Charles Dibdin not far from Burns and

Béranger and Tom Moore. Had he Equally strange is it that so fer
been a daintier versifier his influence England's great naval victories should
would have been less, for no truly have roused the hearts of our poets tu
poetic song has ever yet become widely song. Charles Dibdin failed in the only
popular. The secret of his power is to two efforts to which they moved bim,
be found in an easy flow of versifica- and Trafalgar and the death of Nelson
tion, a keen perception of character, were left to the tender mercies of hired
and a power of drawing it with intense rhymesters.
realism. He has a thick brush and a We fear that the age of sea songs is
heavy touch, but the likeness stands out past. Such nautical ditties as have iz
sharp and clear, and from Sheerness to our day flowed from the pens of ballad-
Shanghai Jack recognizes his mess. mongers are cast in a different moold
mate. He tunes his lyre to every mood There is little to be said in praise of
of the sailor, and is as much at home the fin de siècle people's poet, who i
in a pæan over a vanquished "Master content to chant the praises of the OW
Brueys" or Van Tromp, as in a lament Kent Road, and to recount in shat-
over the absence of "lovely Nan." bling doggerel the kitchen-cupboar

In conclusion it occurs to us to ask, loves of cook and constable, or the coi-
What were our real poets about, while ing of barmaids and beer-bemused
a legion of poetasters, vastly inferior "Johnnies." “Annie Laurie" does
to Dibdin, were pouring out sea staves, now-a-days just as well for the fort
good, bad and indifferent? Why did castle as anything else. Such inanities
Scott never write a song of the sea, or as “Tarara-boom-de-ay” have found 1
Wilson, a brother Tory of the deepest home in the hearts of men whose
dye, or Southey, staunch adherent of grandsires sang over bowls of "flip"
Church and King? It was left for songs that are now heard only as lispel
young Thomas Campbell to write "Ye by wooden-throated tenors at a penny
Mariners of England” and “The Battle reading. You may write a song for a
of the Baltic," two of the noblest lyrics sailor, but you cannot make him sing
ever penned in praise of seamen. it.
Temple Bar.

Alan Walters.

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incident; nothing will happen now; only listen to the tones." So she sat entirely quiet, with her eyes fixed upon the stage.

“This portrait is charmingly beauti. ful,” sang Tamino.

"Thine,” whispered Hubert. “Thy picture in the rococo frame, Mozart's vibrating tones and trills winding about it."

She turned towards him. “What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," he said again, “it was much too far-fetched to explain it to you now."

"It is indeed very hard, and I do not understand it at all," she said sadly.

Whilst he, excited by the day passed at her side, by the wine at dinner, by the music, talked ceaselessly between the acts, she remained silent, but this silence was more congenial to him than otherwise. He did not ask whether she understood all that he said to her, if she only listened to him with that earnest expression. He spoke of his work, which the public would understand after the lapse of time. One day he would be so celebrated that artists and laymen would follow him, would believe in him. And then he told her of his youthful love, to which he had before only alluded. She had understood him as no one ever would do again.

"Bah! that is over," he cried, "and it is well. I was then very young. Do you not know the verse:

laugh when something pleases them. The greatest lyrical writer of the Germans is no longer esteemed by them, Therefore, as I tell you, I conquered that ancient history long ago. For now I have you! And you will stay with me, you child. And you love me and you will continue to love me. Beside you, my Lisbeth, I do not need to be afraid that I will love unluckily the second time, and therefore be considered a fool, as the verse has it. You have not somewhere a wooer who is more comfortably off than I am."

She looked down at her lap that be should not see the tears in her eyes. She was not weeping over what he said to her, for she scarcely heard it, but over this lack of comprehension, this strangeness, which so oppressed her today for the first time.

In the second act she asked him to look at his watch. The Frau Doctor's maid must be at home punctually at half past ten. What if she should be late!-But he did not notice her anxiety. It would not matter. He was going to come for her in a couple of days. Did she think that he was going to have bis bride remain a servant-maid any longer? To morrow he was going to Berlin to talk over the prospect with the Professor and some people and then he would return to prepare for the wedding.

“What! what is that?" he cried charmed with her shy contradiction. "You must first equip your sister and get her a place? Why? We will do that together later. I tell you, I will be married, will have a house and a home and make my way and push on! When we are married we will not go to Italy on a wedding journey as bas been the custom from time immemorial. We will go to England, better-to Glasgow, where new thoughts, new styles and new motives rule, which you, unin. fluenced by the classical age will see with fresh eyes.

And," he continued

Wer zum ersten Male liebt, Sei's auch glücklos, is ein Gott, Aber wer zum zweiten Male.

"Oh, well, you haven't read Heine, you do not know it? But you needn't blush on that account. Poor child, how sensitive you are to-day. Be com. forted, it is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, to-day it is no longer the fashion. There are very respectable people, of well regulated minds who look sober when they are sad, and only

softly, for the music had again com- opened and there stood the Frau Docmenced and the people on the seat be- tor before her in her red sleeping gown fore them turned round and motioned and the light in her hand:him to be still—"and if then you are "It is you at last! Where have you not pleased with what I think beauti- been so late? I thought something ful, if you do not feel with me, my must have happened to you—Now, do lines and my color-ideas, also myself speak.” and my thought,then, then—"

“Ah, Frau Doctor! Yes, we were at He looked into her eyes, smiling, lov- the theatre. If the Frau Doctor will ing, in careless security. The music only excuse me this once," she stamplayed, Tamino and Papageno, after mered. enduring the most singular trials, were The lady looked at her with a penehappily united with their best loved, trating glance. “Were you with Dr. and there was a wonderfully beautiful Ehren? And he is really going to tableau for conclusion. She saw it all marry you? Lisbeth, if he only does and heard the music and understood not some day repent, and then you will nothing of it all.

also be unhappy!" It was already late, long past She turned and went back with her eleven, when he took her home.

silver lamp in which the light was "Good night, my love,” he said, “till flickering, to her sleeping room. to morrow. At six o'clock in the even- As if her feet were shod with lead ing I will be punctually at your door, Lisbeth went up the second flight to to speak to you once more before I her own room. Wilhelmina was fast start for Berlin. When I come back, asleep. She did not light up. She took I will go directly to Dr. Ross to de- off her clothes, slipped into bed and mand you from him and we will cele- lay there and folded her hands under brate our marriage.”-He took her in the cover over her heart, trying to keep his arms: "My Lisbeth, what can they it from beating so loud that it might do to you, my heart, that you tremble waken others. so! How? Would you rather stay Hubert indeed wished to marry her. with me, now, in the night and indeed She had no such doubts as the lady not go back to your servitude?" and he had as to that. All that he had said kissed her on the eyes and held her to her of their wedding and travels fast.

and of their future now passed through But in the next second-he must have her mind again. And his mother in her felt the painful sighs, with which she black satin dress, Grethe with the tremblingly clung to him—then he plate of cakes, the elegant Mrs. Lydia pushed her from him:

in the brilliantly lighted restaurant, “No, no! That I will not yet!

who looked at her so strangely. And He had released her from his arms. her mother there at home in the vilAs if hunted she fled from him, through lage, who had so often struck her and the little front garden and knocked on would strike her again, if she ever the cellar window. The cook Wea was vexed her. And Lina, who was alstill awake. She came in her shuffling ways growing out of her own things, slippers and unlocked the door for her: and who from the big sister Lisbeth ex.

"What is the matter with you? pected shoes, dresses, aprons, a good Everybody has been asking for you." service and advice and money. If she

Lisbeth slipped as silently as possible were a rich woman, Frau Doctor through the house, silent for the night. Ehren, or soon, as he had said, Frau And yet in the first story the door Professor, then she would never need to go back to the village again, she into the kitchen, took from the shelf would receive no more blows, she the little bottle of ink, placed upon the would have dresses enough and for wooden table a sheet of paper and Lina also. And from his beard and wrote. clothes she again breathed the delicate When the cook and the maids came perfume which charmed her. And he into the kitchen, she was already at again drew her toward him and looked work. at her with his shining eyes: “To see In the afternoon she asked the old the lines of your neck, the way the coachman to do something for her. She hair grows on your temples, that is brought him a packet and a letter, and happiness for me.”

charged him that he sbould deliver it And she heard his mother saying: “A and not wait and not make a mistake. feast for your eyes!”

"Oh, yes, oh, yes, certainly,” said She turned in her bed. Wilhelmina Henry Meyer, “I will surely take it, snored. Noiselessly she stretched out you can be certain; I know the hotel one bare foot, then the other from un- and I can easily find it. I know how to der the covers, slipped over the creak- take love letters for the girls. That is ing boards, opened her drawer, and a letter." drew from between the clothes the "Hei!" said Wilhelmina, “you look as white frame-she knew where to find it if you were miserable, Lisbeth, what in the dark-took it back into bed with is the matter with you? Such a fine her and lighted her little light. She man, I saw him go by. And yet you looked at all the fine lines which gave are not satisfied!" the shadows such value, and at the “Let her alone!" said the old Wea, lines of the hair. She again examined and caressed the girl, "she is still the face, which she had never rightly young. Not so, Lisbeth ?” understood. Her own hair was loos- When the table was set, the Frau ened, the sleeping jacket bad drawn it Doctor came through the room. "How down upon her neck, she propped her- you are looking, Lisbeth! You must self up in bed and held the drawing in know that I wish you well. But if it the frame and stared at it fixedly. happens often that you come home so How like she was to the picture in this late-And then with such an anxious position, in this light, she had no countenance-with such unhappy eyes, idea.

so—No, that will not do." Wilhelmina turned around in bed, as "Frau Doctor, it will never happen if she were going to wake up. Lisbeth again.” hurriedly put out the light, and con- “You say so now. But when you are cealed the picture under the cover. She with Dr. Ehren,-if this lasts much listened, almost breathless. But the longer," other was already asleep again. Then "No, Frau Doctor, it will not last she let her head sink back on her pil. longer. It is ended. I have written lows and lay with great, wide open him a letter.” eyes the entire night.

“Written?" The lady looked at her With the dawn of day she got up. unbelievingly,"written, what?" Wilhelmina turned herself yawning, "That I cannot marry him. I am not stretched herself and asked why she suited to him. He will not see it. But was getting up so early. Lisbeth gave I know it well, since yesterday-and her no answer, she was already half after, after he would know it and then out of the room, as if she had not it would be too late." heard the question. She went down “And he, what does he say?"

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