He

the mere characteristics of country and rank:-a sort of fantastic pensiveness, a real or affected abstraction, a something imaginative and ideal, in his manière d'être, that indicated great eccentricity, if not eminent peculiarity of mind. seemed a compound of fancy and fashion; a medium between the consciousness of rank, and the assumption and possession of genius, which placed him out of the common muster-roll of society; something escaped from it by chance, and vain of standing aloof, untractable to its laws, and therefore believing himself beyond them. In his conversations with the Commodore he spoke in paradox, had systems out of the common scale, and theories of alembicated refinement. An ideologist, in the fullest sense of the word, in his philosophy he talked as one who believed that "nothing is, but thinking makes it so:" and occupied by an ideal by an ideal presence, he

affected to live distinct and independent

of all human interests.-The structure of his fine head was such as physiognomists assign to superior intellect; and the precise arrangement of its glossy auburn curls left it difficult to decide whether its fanciful and fashionable possessor was more fop or philosopher, dandy or poet. His valet de chambre, a Frenchman, presided with invariable punctuality at his toilette twice a-day, when the uncivil elements did not interfere with such arrangements; and the rest of his time was spent in musing, reading Spencer's "Fairy Queen," and "State of Ireland," and occasionally conversing with the commander of the vessel, who seemed to inspire him with sentiments of curiosity and admiration, not usual to his ordinary habits of feeling. As he now stood beside him at the helm, or rather leaned in a recumbent attitude, with an half-closed book in his hand, his attention seemed not to be given to the beautiful coast scenery, which, en

dowed with at least the charm of novelty, was now breaking on his view; for his up-turned glance, giving him the inspired air of one "communing with the skies," seemed to pursue the gradual disappearance of the morning star, as an object superiorly attractive in proportion as it was remote and fleeting.After a long silence, mutually preserved, he withdrew his dazzled eyes from the reddening effulgence of the heavens, and addressed his companion, by observing:

"There is to me a singular attraction in the aspect of an unknown firmament, for it tells of distance from scenes, and objects long marked by sameness, and distinguished only by satiety."

"It tells too," replied the Commodore, "of remoteness from objects, precious by interest or habit. The cross of the south, first seen in tropical climates, draws tears to the eyes of the Spanish seaman, its image recalling remembrances of his distant country."

"Remembrances of country, however, are usually the finger-posts to ennui.-One wears out every thing in one's own country before one leaves it; and, therefore, it is left.- Country! all countries are alike: little masses of earth and water; where some swarms of human ants are destined to creep through their span of ephemeral existence; coming, they know not whence;-going, they know not where."

"These little masses of earth and water," said the Commodore, "are therefore precious and important to the ants that creep on them; and each little hill is dear to the swarm that inhabits it, as much from that very ignorance as from interest."

After a short pause, Mr. De Vere resumed:

"Can you not credit then the existence of a creature placed by nature or circumstances beyond the ordinary pale of humanity, shaking off his poor

estate of man,' scarcely looking upon that spot, called earth, with human eyes, nor herding with his species in human sympathy-one so organized, so worked on by events, and thwarted in feelings, so blasted in his bud of life, as to stand alone in creation, matchless, or at least unmatched, whose joys, whose woes, whose sentiments and passions, are not those of other men, but all his own, beyond the reach of affection, or the delusions of hope?"

"A being, thus constituted," rejoined the Commodore, "could not be man. He, who wants the appetites and passions common to all men, with the sympathies and affections that spring from them, is something better or worse, angel or dæmon, but he is not man."

"You deny then the possibility of such an existence?"

"Nay-madmen may fancy such a combination, poets feign it, or vain men