Australian gold-fields, he is rewarded with
the hand of some fair Fan See of the central
kingdom.

POETRY AND PHILOSOPHY.

"II faut choisir,- il faut être ou poète ou philosophe!"

CONSUELO.

I love them both! And must I make my choice?
Can I not follow fair Philosophy,
Yet sometimes listen to the Muse's voice,
When the heart longs to speak, and thou art nigh?

O never bid me stifle the loved tone
That whispers to our nature, sadly sweet!
With power to touch the heart with plaintive moan,
Or thrill with tales where love and battle meet,
Or purer impulse of the soul to greet.

And never ask me to renounce the lore
Unfolding to my gaze fair Nature's page.
Still be my guides unto the distant shore,
The poet's heart, the wisdom of the sage!

Wisdom that scorns the poet's tenderness,
That cannot love the beautiful and bright,
And is not moved by sorrow and distress,
Hath never read the page of Nature right.

And genius that would scorn the lowly way
Which leads to truth, although by millions trod,
Might humble violets twine with haughty bay,
And learn from children how to soar to God.

There's worldly wisdom, and there's poesy's art,—
Both of this earth; but in their nobler sphere
The sisters twain may teach an erring heart,
Reclaim from sin, and guide in love and fear.

TWO VERY SMALL CLUBS.

I am partial to associations of my fellow
men. I would much rather be a conspirator
—stopping very considerably short, however,
upon the safe side of hand-grenades—than
not belong to a club; but living upon the seaside,
as I do, my choice is necessarily limited.
I am Vice Commodore of the Harmouth,
Brinscombe, and South Coast Yacht Club,
it is true, and Deputy Grand of the Harmouth
and Brinscombe, Brinscombe and
Harmouth, Bricklayers' Lodge. Or to express
them more briefly (which is, however,
far from being the object of these distinguished
societies), I am V.C.H.B., S.C.YC.
and D.G.H.B.B.H. Bricklayers' Lodge—
where abbreviation is out of the question—
at your service; and I only wish there was
more of it.

To begin with the Yacht Club. Of course
I know a great deal better than to venture
on the sea. My annual income of three
hundred and fifty pounds, though sufficient
to contract a frugal marriage upon, would
not allow of my keeping a vessel of any
tonnage, even if my stomach permitted of
my going on board of one—which it does
not. But I am nautical in a very high
degree, for all that. Nobody who ever
saw me on our little jetty with my telescope
under my arm, my trousers tight at
the knee, my tarpaulin hat stuck (by a contrivance
only known to members of yacht
clubs), on the extreme back of my head, and
my checked shirt, would attempt, I flatter
myself, to dispute my title to be called a son
of the ocean wave. Strangers have been
known, before this, to ask the waiter of our
marine hotel whether or no that distinguished
looking person (meaning me), was the late
Lord Yarborough. I am of course speaking
of a period antecedent to the decease of that
nobleman, with whom, by the bye, I had a
sort of bowing acquaintance; the same gust
of wind upon the Chain Pier at Brighton in
the July of eighteen hundred and forty, having
taken off his lordship's hat and my own
humble covering into the water simultaneously.
Upon land, although I say it, who
should not perhaps say it, there is not a more
active vice-commodore than myself in all
Great Britain. No man is more intimately
acquainted with the order of seniority of
British yacht clubs. No man is better up in
bunting. No man can give you more reliable
information about the performances of any
clipper you may mention, schooner, or cutter,
within the last ten years—what she did,
where she did it, who were her competitors,
and how much she won. Do you ask me
why Humberina did not win the Nor' Eastern
silver cup off Scarborough, in the autumn of
'fifty-two, for instance? Because, sir, I reply
(or should reply), her rudder was not attended
to at the critical moment, and losing her
peak halliards, she was disabled from fetching
up again in the teeth of the wind; nay,
in such a condition was she at the West Buoy
that she was unable to speak to Slogdollager
(the winning vessel), who there passed her,
having lost the jaws of her gaff! I start
with a free sheet upon any topic of this kind,
believe me. Ask Hitchins of the East Cowes,
whether I am familiar with these matters or
whether I am not! Ask Jib Boom, Esquire,
of the London! Damme, sir—excuse me, but
any little talk about the salt water, somehow
always sets me swearing—cross examine
me yourself if you doubt my word, and if I
don't get into port without tacking, why,
shiver my timbers! I wish you (I address
the reader), I wish you had been at the
H.B.S.C.Y.C. the other night at our annual
dinner. I am a plain, blunt yacht's-man,
and it is not my way to boast, but I was
vice-president on that occasion: I was the de
facto chairman of the entertainment, indeed,
for the commodore was ailing; there
were men there, strangers, who had been
in the four seas, and knew something of these
things.

"Mainsale," said they (that's me), "Mainsale,"
said they, when the cloth was off, and
the decks cleared for action, and no heel-taps
(and I remember, particularly, that more than
one of them in the course of the evening said