y, when princes oft do miss."

Homer, who knew what amused men, constantly lays stress on this business
of fitting out:--

"Then at length she (Athene) let drag the swift ship to the sea, and
stored within it all such tackling as decked ships carry. And she
moored it at the far end of the harbour. . . . So they raised the
mast of pine tree, and set it in the hole of the cross plank, and
made it fast with forestays, and hauled up the white sails with
twisted ropes of oxhide."

And again:

"First of all they drew the ship down to the deep water, and fixed the
oars in leathern loops all orderly, and spread forth the white sails.
And squires, haughty of heart, bare for them their arms,"--but you'll
observe that it was the masters who did the launching, etc., like
wise men who knew exactly wherein the fun of the business consisted.
"And they moored her high out in the shore water, and themselves
disembarked. There they supped and waited for evening to come on."

You suggest, perhaps, that our seafaring is but play: and you are right.
But in our play we catch a cupful of the romance of the real thing.
Also we have the real thing at our doors to keep us humble. Day by day
beneath this window the statelier shipping goes by; and our twopenny
adventurings and discoveries do truly (I believe) keep the greater wonder
and interest awake in us from day to day--the wonder and interest so
memorably expressed in Mr. Bridges's poem, _A Passer By_:--

"Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,
Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
Ah! soon when Winter has all our vales opprest,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest
In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling?

"I there before thee, in the country so well thou knowest,
Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air:
I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,
And anchor queen of the strange shipping there,
Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare.". . . .

"And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless,
I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine
That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,
Thy port assured in a hap