“There are many charms in life that are almost without alloy:  the perfume of flowers—­music—­the singing of birds—­the riches of art—­the intercourse of society—­the delights of the family circle—­the treasures of imagination and memory.  Some of the most beneficent gifts of Nature we only know the existence of when we are deprived of them; occasional darkness alone enables us to appreciate the unspeakable blessing of light.  Man has a multitude of enjoyments at his command; but so many sweets would be utterly insipid without a few bitters.”

“The rheumatism, for example,” said Willis, rubbing his shoulders.

“Many enjoyments,” continued Fritz, “spring from the heart alone; the affections, benevolence, love of order, a sense of the beautiful, of truth, of honesty, and of justice.”

“On the other hand,” said Willis, “there are dishonesty, injustice, disappointment, and blighted hopes; but you are too young to know much about these.  When you have seen as much of the world on sea and on land as I have, perhaps you will be disposed to look at life from another point of view.  In old stagers like myself, the tender emotions are all used up; it is only when we are amongst you youngsters that we forget the present in the past; when we see you struggling with difficulties, it recalls our own trials to our mind, rouses in us sentiments of commiseration, and softens the asperities of our years.”

“According to you, then,” said Fritz, levelling his rifle at a petrel, “the misfortunes of the one constitute the happiness of the other?”

“Unquestionably,” said Jack; “for instance, if you miss that bird, so much the worse for you, and so much the better for the petrel.”

“It is very rarely, brother, that you do not interrupt a serious conversation with some nonsense.”

“Keep your temper, Fritz; I am about to propose a serious question myself.  How is it that the petrel you are aiming at does not come and perch itself quietly on the barrel of your rifle?”

“Jack, Jack, you are incorrigible.”

“Did you ever see a hare or a pheasant come and stare you in the face when you were going to shoot it?”

“Stunsails and tops!” cried Willis, “if I do not see something stranger than that staring us in the face.”

“The sea-serpent, perhaps,” said Jack.

“I thought it was a sea-bird at first,” said Willis, “but they do not increase in size the longer you look at them.”

“They naturally appear to increase as they approach,” observed Fritz.

“Yes, but the increase must have a limit, and I never saw a bird with such singular upper-works before.  Just take a cast of the glass yourself, Master Fritz.”

“Halls of AEolus!” cried Fritz, “these wings are sails.”

“So I thought!” exclaimed Willis, throwing his sou’-wester into the air, and uttering a loud hurrah.

“If it is the Nelson” said Jack, “it would be a singular encounter.”