nature of things, for moral and intellectual are fundamentally one and the same) to pronounce an opinion, that it is great among the very greatest. As the first gift of all, may be discerned here, utmost clearness, all piercing faculty of vision; whereto, as we ever find it, all other gifts are superadded; nay, properly they are but other forms of the same gift. A nobler power of insight than this of Goethe you in vain look for since Shakspeare passed away." So says Carlyle of the man whom, from one aspect, we have been endeavouring to see and to recall. No poetic story can, as it seems o me, be more graceful and charming than the narrative of Goethe's loves; but while all can see the beauty, few can see the sadness of his many and vain tentatives after a love worthy of his nature. He had to learn to live alone, but it cost him much sorrow to learn so much. In his sovereign clearness and victory, he is yet moulded out of faults; he has cured error by erring, he has turned weakness into strength, and has made stepping-stones of his dead self to higher things. Of him we may say with him, and specially as regards his loves—

"Hätte mich Gott anders gewollt,

So hätte er mich anders gemacht."

A ROMANCE OF THE THAMES.

YES

"Et Thamesis meus ante omnes."

-MILTON.

'ES-I'm ready, Joe. Bring her round to the steps; and just grease the rowlocks, will you? and don't forget the boat hook, as you did the other day. A nice job I had in Bolter's lock without it."

While Joe, standing up in her, paddled a crack, pair-oared, outrigged gig round from the boat-house to the steps, the speaker divested himself, in a leisurely manner, of his short boating-coat, and tucked up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He then appeared in white rowing flannels and canvas shoes. He wore a straw hat, garnished with a rather broad black ribbon ; and light-blue wreaths, which he emitted from a short meerschaum-pipe, curled round his head, and floated sluggishly in the still and windless air.

"Rudder off, o' course," soliloquised Joe White, who, after laying the sculls in their places, knelt down, in order to anoint the rowlocks with a short piece of candle-end. "Fine day, Mr Arthur, sir; but it'll be a hot 'un in another hour or two, I'm thinking. This yere boat do pull sweetly, surely. She's better nor the one you had last year, sir."

"Yes, Joe; she pulls well, oars or sculls. I've told Salter that I'm quite satisfied with her; she wants a little sitting, but she's very steady for such a light

one. She's longer than the last boat-rather narrower, but not so crank, and she pulls faster. In a day or two I expect my friend down, and then we shall pull a pair of oars again."

Ah, you do pull her sweetly, Mr Arthur, surely; you can make her walk—you can, sir!" observed Joe, looking up with admiration to the tall figure beside him. He glanced at a man of about three-and-thirty, just short of six feet high, and very strongly and symmetrically built; broad and deep of chest, and thin in the flanks. His curly hair, of a light goldenbrown, was cut rather close, and he wore a full beard and moustache. His features were regular, well-cut, and handsome; but he was so sunburnt, that his face, by contrast with the beard and hair, looked very dark. His neck, which showed above the open shirt, and his arms, which were bare to above the elbow, were of a tawny-brown hue-the result of long exposure to sun and wind and air; but the clear blood in his face showed ruddy through the bronze of branding suns. The eyes were grey, open, honest, and kindly, with occasional gleams of tenderness or humour. The physiognomy of the whole figure expressed repose, reticence, and gravity. He had a chivalrous air of stately manhood and worth.

Arthur Braybrooke was the eldest son of a country gentleman of old family, and of moderate fortune. He was the only child of his father's first marriage, and his mother died when he was very young. While he was at Eton his father married again, and had several children. With his stepmother and her children Arthur did not get on very well, even during his boyhood. His father, an easy-going man, who hated all trouble or dissension in his family, was sub

jugated by the stronger will of his second wife, and was glad enough to allow Arthur to spend most of his holidays and spare time in the family of his uncle, the brother of the first Mrs Braybrooke. As time wore on, there was even less sympathy between Arthur and the "second family" than there had been during his boyhood; and from the period at which he went to Cambridge, he had only paid rare and occasional visits to his "home." His father had a latent liking for his son, but was too lazy and weak to show it in defiance of domestic opposition. The son felt-half sadly, half bitterly-his father's apparent indifference, and estrangement widened as years rolled on. After Arthur left Cambridge, where he took a moderate degree, he studied law, and became a nominal barrister, but not getting much business, and having a modest fortune, which sufficed for his simple wants in chamber and club life, his chief occupation was litera

He wrote a good deal for the reviews, and did journalistic work. Just after leaving Cambridge he fell in love with a pretty young girl, who was married by her family to a man of wealth and position. Of a constant nature, not easily stirred to love, but loving deeply and passionately, the loss of the one woman who had touched his heart left behind it a certain lasting melancholy, which seemed to render it unlikely that he would ever marry. He remained a "man's man." He went very little into female society, and lived in his chambers and at his club amongst men. He was a hard reader and worker, and an enthusiastic athlete. He was a great boxer, fencer, rower. chief physical delights were Swiss climbing and Thames rowing. To the former he devoted the greater part of his vacations; to the latter all his

His

spare time throughout the year, until winter froze him from off his darling river, and drove him to constant use of the foils and gloves with which his chambers were embellished. He had magnificent health, and strength developed by hard and continuous muscular exercise. He was a silent, reserved man; though his silence concealed eloquence, and his reserve enthusiasm. He had few friends, but they were very dear to him. He lived a pure life, even in London; and had acquired the habit of taking a little cottage at Maidsnest, on the Thames, to which he resorted during the summer months, accompanied by one of his intimate friends, and a crack pair-oar gig. Arthur had something stately, chivalrous, lofty in his unconscious air of distinction. He was a man of few words, except in his rare moods of enthusiasm, when stirred to glowing speech in the society of his cherished intimates. He moved through life with a certain loneliness and loftiness round him. No one ever ventured to address a familiarity to him; his manner repelled all light, loose, commonplace intercourse. Though by no means stiff, he was always reserved with strangers. He was a man for friends rather than acquaintances. Much loneliness and lonely thought always lend an impress of melancholy to a man's eyes and features; and Arthur's naturally tender eyes had, at times, a peculiar pathos. He rarely laughed much or loudly, though he had occasional gleams of dry humour and of grave irony. His well and clear cut features were calmly grave and solidset; but his mouth, though half hidden by the large light moustache, seemed mobile even through the habitual compression of the lips. His eyes smiled before his mouth. His hair would have been curly,