way of a Pisgah look, he drew gay pictures
of that town, omitting however its architectural glories. Like critics
of nature poetry, he saw the world in terms of men and women: and Hamburg
as the location of dancing saloons and a singular exhibition of waxworks.

The evening had at first looked stormy, and sharp fits of lightning lit
the low clouds, but all passed by. The clear and cool heaven was left,
diamonded with steady constellations, and crowned with the round moon
"and a star or two beside"; below like a field of silver lay the sea,
and the quiet ship flung by veils of lily foam, and the shadows stealthily
counter-changed the glistening decks. In these calm airs and waters, she
made such good speed that the next afternoon we came in view of Monte
Video. The pilot took over the bridge, and we were soon at anchor in
the harbour, which seemed thronged with ships. Our business here was
to load bunker coal, and as our coal was at the moment aboard a collier
which was to be seen some distance out of the breakwaters, nothing was
done this first evening. The news that his coal was yet to arrive at
Monte Video was cheerfully imparted to Phillips with the comment, "Well,
anyway, chief, you'll get your coal nice and fresh"; but he seemed by no
means consoled. Nor did the assurance of the shipping clerk--a somewhat
lilified young man in immaculate blue serge--that "Our Cardiff house have
let us down badly," act as a charm upon his depression. He told me to
stand by for the office of tallying at seven the next morning, and I
thanked him. The request implied, perhaps, the paternal anxiety for my
avoiding mischievous indolence which he had shown before.

But meanwhile what was there to do? We lay at a distance from the
shore, and had therefore no distraction. I watched the lighthouse on
the hill, the buoys, the ship's signals, the trams on the quay, the other
illuminant causes all round us; I listened to a brass band which, for
whatever reason, was playing close to the harbour until late in the
evening; and then, driven to extremes, I sat down to write a "novel"
which became my refuge from ennui during what remained of my holiday,
but which I fear will never be finished. I spoke to Mead about it. He
thought little of my hero. I agreed to have the hero killed in a bayonet
fight near Alberta pill-box, but he thought I might go still nearer to
propriety and have the hero kill his man, and go through his pockets.
There did seem som