And the meek boatswain obeyed.
"My man, take this to the inspector," said Mr. Sapp to one of the crew, after he had indorsed it,—"Respectfully referred to the Inspector-General."
The sailor was a Portuguese,—understood no English; bobbed his head, and waited for light.
Mr. Sapp led him to the door, and pointed to a bearded walrus,—who sat on a rock above the landing,—bidding him take the invoice to him, and land nothing more without his orders.
Poor man!—or happy man shall I call him? He had what he sought for. He had a place with nothing to do, and faithfully he had done it,—so faithfully that, in that sad loyalty, the little fragment of his untrained wits gave way.
NICOLETTE AND AUCASSIN.
A TROUBADOUR'S TALE.
[I have introduced the beginning of this romance in my little story called "In His Name." In the form in which the reader sees it, it belongs to the twelfth century, in which the action of that story is laid. The French critics think they have found traces of the narrative at a time even earlier. Some of the English critics have spoken of the story with more harshness than I think it deserves. Aucassin's bitter contrast of the hell and heaven of which he has been taught is certainly in character; and the reader must give no more weight to it than it deserves.]