ve allowed himself to feel a little
softened at the thought; and the remembrance of all the attachment this
scoundrel had shown for him aroused something that almost resembled
emotion.

"It is no use, my friend," he replied; "what is done can't be undone.
But I'll give you this evening, at all events. You'll find me waiting
for you in the Aurora."

As usual at this season of the year, there were a great many vessels in
the harbour, and the Aurora tavern was full that evening of seafaring
folk laughing and talking and singing, and renewing, or laying the
foundations of, acquaintanceships over brandy or gin; while in the
little room over the bar, dance music was going on uninterruptedly, and
the boards were creaking under alternate Dutch schottische and English
hornpipe.

To properly appreciate a genuine sailors' reel or hornpipe, one should
see it danced by men who for a whole year at a time have been battling
with the waves and storms in every corner of the world, and who during
all that time have hardly set eyes upon a female form. They come on
shore bursting with a full masculine longing for the society of the
other sex, with a year's stored-up feeling to let out; and there is a
positive intoxication to them in the mere dance--in the mere holding at
Nieuwediep Anniken or Bibecke, or at Portsmouth Mary Ann, by the waist;
and Mary Ann and Bibecke perfectly understand this, and for the moment
feel themselves persons of no small importance. There is no element of
coarseness in the feeling. The sailor is more given to sentiment proper
than perhaps any other class of men, and generally speaking a more
romantic feeling for woman is cherished on board ship than anywhere else
in the world. If we wish to find in these times quietly romantic
enthusiasm, we must be the companion of the sailor on his lonely watch,
or listen to him as he lies on the forecastle and talks with _naive_
simplicity about his wife or his sweetheart--how their attachment came
about, and what he means to buy for her when he gets into port. Love on
board ship is a more naturally rich and varying theme than it is in the
peasant's monotonous life; and being in love, by reason of separation
from the object of his love, is a different thing to the sailor, a
something more entirely of the heart and the imagination, which does not
lose its ideal hue in the wear and tear of everyday use. A married
sailor is always an object of quiet respect to his comrades who