As he looks out into the distance, he sees a little dark spot rise on the horizon. His eagle-eye perceives that it is a ship. As it comes nearer, it dances on the waves, and its white sails expand like the wings of a giant swan. It is a beautiful, majestic object. The young Mohammed rejoices at the spectacle, and says, in low tones, to himself; "Some day I shall possess ships, too. Some day I shall tread the deck of the great admiral's ship." The ship glides over the glittering mirror of the deep, and comes nearer and nearer, and the curious are now assembled on the shore to gaze at it; for rarely do vessels seek the rocky promontory of Bucephalus to land in the bay of Contessa. The peninsula is desolate and barren, and there is nothing here for merchant-ships but the tobacco for which this region is celebrated. A Turkish galleon comes semi-annually for the taxes which the governor has levied, to bring them to Stamboul to the coffers of the grand-sultan. But the vessel now approaching is no Turkish galleon, but a magnificent ship; and one can see on the deck, under the gold- embroidered tent, a Turk reclining on cushions. Slaves in rich attire are on their knees before him, others are behind him fanning the flies away with fans made of peacock-feathers. "Who can this great man, this stranger be?" ask the curious, who are standing on the beach, gazing fixedly at the ship that has now entered the little bay, and is steering toward the landing. Mohammed has also hurried down to the beach. To-day, while his heart and mind are filled with the narrative of the scha-er, to-day every thing seems to him so strange, so wonderful; it seems to him that he is about to receive intelligence from the world his whole being longs for so intensely, the world that is one day to lie at his feet. The ship has entered the bay, and a boat containing three Turkish gentlemen is coming from it to the shore: They haughtily step ashore, and pass by, without saluting the crowd, to the pathway that leads up to Cavalla. But the grand-looking Turk is still on deck, reclining on his cushions; the slaves are still about, filling and refilling his long chibouque, on whose golden mouth-piece brilliants are seen glittering. Mohammed's keen eyes observe all this, and he follows each movement of the aristocratic Turk with breathless attention. Thus, he thinks, will he also do some day; thus will he, too, recline on his silken cushions, surrounded by his slaves he; the prince!