permitted the two boys who met here for the first time, in order
that they might angrily impress their names on each other's memory,
to look into the future, what would they have seen in its mirror?

Two heroes opposed to each other in ardent love, and in wild enmity.
Both equally great, equally ambitious, and equally greedy of glory.
They would have seen blood flowing in streams for their sake. They
would have seen how Osman Bey, called by the name of Bardissi,
dashed onward, flourishing his cimeter at the head of thousands of
devoted followers. They would have seen Mohammed Ali in a glittering
uniform, mounted on his proud steed, at the head of thousands
charging with uplifted sword against Bardissi.

Here on a rock in the bay of San Marmora, the boys met for the first
time, and instinct permitted them to feel the enmity that existed
between them throughout their entire lives, and which caused
thousands to fall, and blood to flow in streams.

They know nothing of this now. Osman whistles a merry air and jumps
into the boat that bears him back to the ship. Mohammed Ali ascends
the rock to a quiet and solitary spot. There he will rest and
meditate on what he has seen and heard to-day.

The ship sails out to sea. Like a giant swan, proudly, majestically,
it glides over the blue waves, until at last it rises up in the
distance with its masts and spars against the horizon, faintly, like
a mere vision of the air.

Above, on the Ear of Bucephalus, stands Mohammed Ali, leaning on his
gun, his eyes fixed on the ship. He sighs profoundly as it now