Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Donec id elit non mi porta gravida at eget metus. Cras justo odio, dapibus ac facilisis in, egestas eget quam. Cras justo odio, dapibus ac facilisis in, egestas eget quam. Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla.

Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Cras justo odio, dapibus ac facilisis in, egestas eget quam. Donec sed odio dui. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros.

Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit.

Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec id elit non mi porta gravida at eget metus. Curabitur blandit tempus porttitor. Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum.

Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Nullam id dolor id nibh ultricies vehicula ut id elit. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum.

Sed posuere consectetur est at lobortis. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod. Donec sed odio dui.

Curabitur blandit tempus porttitor. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Maecenas sed diam eget risus varius blandit sit amet non magna. Aenean eu leo quam. Pellentesque ornare sem lacinia quam venenatis vestibulum. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Etiam porta sem malesuada magna mollis euismod. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Vivamus sagittis lacus vel augue laoreet rutrum faucibus dolor auctor. Cras mattis consectetur purus sit amet fermentum. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Aenean lacinia bibendum nulla sed consectetur.

Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros.

At last the two young wives asked to go home to visit their friends. Among the Japanese the sons and the sons’ wives must always obey the father, so the two wives said, “Father-in-law, it is a long, long time since we have seen our friends. May we go to our old home and visit them?” The father-in-law answered, “No.” After many months they asked again, and again he answered, “No.” Once more they asked. The father-in-law thought, “They care nothing for me, or they would not wish to leave me, but I have a plan, and I can soon know whether they love their father-in-law or not.” Then he said to the older of the two wives, “You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me fire wrapped in paper.” To the younger he said, “You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me wind wrapped in paper.” The father-in-law thought, “Now I shall find out. If they care for me, they will search the country through till they find paper that will hold fire and wind.”

You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me fire wrapped in paper.

The two young wives were so glad to visit their old friends that for almost a month they forgot all about the gifts that they were to carry to their father-in-law. At last, when it was time to go home, they were greatly troubled about what they must carry with them, and they asked a wise man where to find the strange things. “Paper that will hold fire and wind!” he cried. “There is no such paper in Japan.” The two women asked one wise man after another, and every one declared, “There is no such paper in Japan.” What should they do? They feared they would never see their home again. They were so sad that they left their friends and wandered a long distance into the forest. Great tears fell from their eyes.

In a Japanese village there once lived a man who had two sons. When the sons were grown up, each brought home a wife from another village a long distance away. The father was greatly pleased with his two daughters-in-law, and for many months they all lived very happily together.

At last the two young wives asked to go home to visit their friends. Among the Japanese the sons and the sons’ wives must always obey the father, so the two wives said, “Father-in-law, it is a long, long time since we have seen our friends. May we go to our old home and visit them?” The father-in-law answered, “No.” After many months they asked again, and again he answered, “No.” Once more they asked. The father-in-law thought, “They care nothing for me, or they would not wish to leave me, but I have a plan, and I can soon know whether they love their father-in-law or not.” Then he said to the older of the two wives, “You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me fire wrapped in paper.” To the younger he said, “You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me wind wrapped in paper.” The father-in-law thought, “Now I shall find out. If they care for me, they will search the country through till they find paper that will hold fire and wind.”

The two young wives were so glad to visit their old friends that for almost a month they forgot all about the gifts that they were to carry to their father-in-law. At last, when it was time to go home, they were greatly troubled about what they must carry with them, and they asked a wise man where to find the strange things. “Paper that will hold fire and wind!” he cried. “There is no such paper in Japan.” The two women asked one wise man after another, and every one declared, “There is no such paper in Japan.” What should they do? They feared they would never see their home again. They were so sad that they left their friends and wandered a long distance into the forest. Great tears fell from their eyes.

“Long, long ago there was a goddess of the sea who loved the people of Japan. She often came out of the water at sunset, and while all the bright colors were in the sky, she would sit on a high rock that overlooked the water and tell stories to the children. Such wonderful stories as they were! She used to tell them all about the strange fishes that swim in and out among the rocks and the mosses, and about the fair maidens that live deep down in the sea far under the waves. The children would ask, ‘Are there no children in the sea? Why do they never come out to play with us?’ The goddess would answer, ‘Some time they will come, if you only keep on wishing for them. What children really wish for they will surely have some day.’

She used to tell them all about the strange fishes that swim in and out among the rocks and the mosses, and about the fair maidens that live deep down in the sea far under the waves.

“Then the goddess would sing to the children, and her voice was so sweet that the evening star would stand still in the sky to listen to her song. ‘Please show us how the water rises and falls,’ the children would beg, and she would hold up a magic stone that she had and say, ‘Water, rise!’ Then the waves would come in faster and faster all about the rock. When she laid down the stone and said, ‘Water, fall!’ the waves would be still, and the water would roll back quickly to the deep sea. She was goddess of the storm as well as of the sea, and sometimes the children would say, ‘Dear goddess, please make us a storm.’ She never said no to what they asked, and so the rain would fall, the lightning flare, and the thunder roll. The rain would fall all about them, but the goddess did not let it come near them. They were never afraid of the lightning, for it was far above their heads, and they knew that the goddess would not let it come down.

“Those were happy times, but there is something more to tell that is not pleasant. One of the goddess’s sea-animals was a dragon, that often used to play in the water near the shore. The children never thought of being afraid of any of the sea-animals, but one day the cruel dragon seized a little child in his mouth, and in a moment he had eaten it. There was sadness over the land of Japan. There were tears and sorrowful wailing. ‘O goddess,’ the people cried, ‘come to us! Punish the wicked dragon!’

“The goddess was angry that one of her creatures should have dared to harm the little child, and she called aloud, ‘Dragon, come to me.’ The dragon came in a moment, for he did not dare to stay away. Then said the goddess, ‘You shall never again play merrily in the water with the happy sea-animals. You shall be a rocky island. There shall be trees and plants on you, and before many years have gone, people will no longer remember that you were once an animal.’

“The dragon found that he could no longer move about as he had done, for he was changing into rock. Trees and plants grew on his back. He was an island, and when people looked at it, they said, ‘That island was once a wicked dragon.’ The children of the sea and the children of the land often went to the island, and there they had very happy times together.”

You shall never again play merrily in the water with the happy sea-animals. You shall be a rocky island.

This is the story that the mothers tell to their children when they look at the vases and see the picture of the goddess changing a dragon into an island. But when the children say, “Mother, where is the island? Cannot we go to it and play with the sea-children?” the mother answers, “Oh, this was all a long, long time ago, and no one can tell now where the island was.” He was an island, and when people looked at it, they said, ‘That island was once a wicked dragon.’ The children of the sea and the children of the land often went to the island, and there they had very happy times together.” Then said the goddess, ‘You shall never again play merrily in the water with the happy sea-animals. You shall be a rocky island. There shall be trees and plants on you, and before many years have gone, people will no longer remember that you were once an animal.’

“Long, long ago there was a goddess of the sea who loved the people of Japan. She often came out of the water at sunset, and while all the bright colors were in the sky, she would sit on a high rock that overlooked the water and tell stories to the children. Such wonderful stories as they were! She used to tell them all about the strange fishes that swim in and out among the rocks and the mosses, and about the fair maidens that live deep down in the sea far under the waves. The children would ask, ‘Are there no children in the sea? Why do they never come out to play with us?’ The goddess would answer, ‘Some time they will come, if you only keep on wishing for them. What children really wish for they will surely have some day.’

“Those were happy times, but there is something more to tell that is not pleasant. One of the goddess’s sea-animals was a dragon, that often used to play in the water near the shore. The children never thought of being afraid of any of the sea-animals, but one day the cruel dragon seized a little child in his mouth, and in a moment he had eaten it. There was sadness over the land of Japan. There were tears and sorrowful wailing. ‘O goddess,’ the people cried, ‘come to us! Punish the wicked dragon!’

The king of the gods knew what she had done, and he laughed to himself and said, “I will play a trick on Juno, and I will have the white cow.” He sent for Mercury and whispered in his ear, “Mercury, go to the green field where Argus watches the cream-white cow and get her for me.”

“I will play a trick on Juno, and I will have the white cow.”

Mercury was always happy when he could play a trick on any one, and he set out gladly for the field where Argus watched the cream-white cow with every one of his hundred eyes.

Now Mercury could tell merry stories of all that was done in the world. He could sing, too, and the music of his voice had lulled many a god to sleep. Argus knew that, but he had been alone a long time, and he thought, “What harm is there in listening to his merry chatter? I have a hundred eyes, and even if half of them were asleep, the others could easily keep watch of one cow.” So he gladly hailed Mercury and said, “I have been alone in this field a long, long time, but you have roamed about as you would. Will you not sing to me, and tell me what has happened in the world? You would be glad to hear stories and music if you had nothing to do but watch a cow, even if it was the cow of a queen.”

So Mercury sang and told stories. Some of the songs were merry, and some were sad. The watchman closed one eye, then another and another, but there were two eyes that would not close for all the sad songs and all the merry ones. Then Mercury drew forth a hollow reed that he had brought from the river and began to play on it. It was a magic reed, and as he played, one could hear the water rippling gently on the shore and the breath of the wind in the pine-trees; one could see the lilies bending their heads as the dusk came on, and the stars twinkling softly in the summer sky.

It is no wonder that Argus closed one eye and then the other. Every one of his hundred eyes was fast asleep, and Mercury went away to the king of the gods with the cream-white cow.

Juno had so often played tricks on the king that he was happy because he had played this one on her, but Juno was angry, and she said to Argus, “You are a strange watchman. You have a hundred eyes, and you could not keep even one of them from falling asleep. My peacock is wiser than you, for he knows when any one is looking at him. I will put every one of your eyes in the tail of the peacock.” And to-day, whoever looks at the peacock can count in his tail the hundred eyes that once belonged to Argus.

The Story Of The Bees And The Flies

There were once two tribes of little people who lived near together. They were not at all alike, for one of the tribes looked for food and carried it away to put it up safely for winter, while the other played and sang and danced all day long.

“Come and play with us,” said the lazy people, but the busy workers answered, “No, come and work with us. Winter will soon be here. Snow and ice will be everywhere, and if we do not put up food now we shall have none for the cold, stormy days.”

So the busy people brought honey from the flowers, but the lazy people kept on playing. They laughed together and whispered to one another, “See those busy workers! They will have food for two tribes, and they will give us some. Let us go and dance.”

While the summer lasted, one tribe worked and the other played. When winter came, the busy workers were sorry for their friends and said, “Let us give them some of our honey.” So the people who played had as much food as if they, too, had brought honey from the flowers.

Another summer was coming, and the workers said, “If we should make our home near the lilies that give us honey, it would be easier to get our food.” So the workers flew away, but the lazy people played and danced as they had done before while their friends were near, for they thought, “Oh, they will come back and bring us some honey.”

By and by the cold came, but the lazy people had nothing to eat, and the workers did not come with food. The manito had said to them, “Dear little workers, you shall no longer walk from flower to flower. I will give you wings, and you shall be bees.”

As the Great Spirit had thought, so he did. He gave the earth a soft cloak of green. He made the prairies beautiful with flowers. The forests were bright with birds of many colors, and the sea was the home of wonderful sea-creatures. “My children will love the prairies, the forests, and the seas,” he thought, “but the mountains look dark and cold. They are very dear to me, but how shall I make my children go to them and so learn to love them?”

Long the Great Spirit thought about the mountains. At last, he made many little shining stones. Some were red, some blue, some green, some yellow, and some were[Pg 11] shining with all the lovely colors of the beautiful rainbow. “All my children will love what is beautiful,” he thought, “and if I hide the bright stones in the seams of the rocks of the mountains, men will come to find them, and they will learn to love my mountains.”

When the stones were made and the Great Spirit looked upon their beauty, he said, “I will not hide you all away in the seams of the rocks. Some of you shall be out in the sunshine, so that the little children who cannot go to the mountains shall see your colors.” Then the southwind came by, and as he went, he sang softly of forests flecked with light and shadow, of birds and their nests in the leafy trees. He sang of long summer days and the music of waters beating upon the shore. He sang of the moonlight and the starlight. All the wonders of the night, all the beauty of the morning, were in his song.

“Dear southwind,” said the Great Spirit “here are some beautiful things for you to[Pg 12] bear away with, you to your summer home. You will love them, and all the little children will love them.” At these words of the Great Spirit, all the stones before him stirred with life and lifted themselves on many-colored wings. They fluttered away in the sunshine, and the southwind sang to them as they went. So it was that the first butterflies came from a beautiful thought of the Great Spirit, and in their wings were all the colors of the shining stones that he did not wish to hide away. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. Nulla vitae elit libero, a pharetra augue. Fusce dapibus, tellus ac cursus commodo, tortor mauris condimentum nibh, ut fermentum massa justo sit amet risus. Cras justo odio, dapibus ac facilisis in, egestas eget quam.

Being a soldier and a hero, Edward Waverley was naturally tall and handsome, but, owing to the manner of his education, his uncle, an high Jaco bite of the old school, held that he was “somewhat too bookish” for a proper man. He must therefore see a little of the world, asserted old Sir Everard.

His Aunt Rachel had another reason for wishing him to leave Waverley-Honour. She had actually observed her Edward look too often across at the Squire’s pew in church! Now Aunt Rachel held it no wrong to look at Squire Stubbs’s pew if only that pew had been empty. But it was (oh, wickedness!) just when it contained the dear old-fashioned sprigged gown and the fresh pretty face of Miss Cecilia Stubbs, that Aunt Rachel’s nephew looked most often in that direction. In addition to which the old lady was sure she had observed “that little Celie Stubbs” glance over at her handsome Edward in a way that—well, when she was young! And here the old lady bridled and tossed her head, and the words which her lips formed themselves to utter (though she was too ladylike to speak them) were obviously “The Minx!” Hence it was clear to the most simple and unprejudiced that a greater distance had better be put between the Waverley loft and the Squire’s pew—and that as soon as possible.

Edward’s uncle, Sir Everard, had wished him to travel abroad in company with his tutor, a staunch Jacobite clergyman by the name of Mr. Pembroke. But to this Edward’s father, who was a member of the government, unexpectedly refused his sanction. Now Sir Everard despised his younger brother as a turncoat (and indeed something little better than a spy), but he could not gainsay a father’s authority, even though he himself had brought the boy up to be his heir.

“I am willing that you should be a soldier,” he said to Edward; “your ancestors have always been of that profession. Be brave like them, but not rash. Remember you are the last of the Waverleys and the hope of the house. Keep no company with gamblers, with rakes, or with Whigs. Do your duty to God, to the Church of England, and—” He was going to say “to the King,” when he remembered that by his father’s wish Edward was going to fight the battles of King George. So the old Jacobite finished off rather lamely by repeating, “to the Church of England and all constituted authorities!”

Being a soldier and a hero, Edward Waverley was naturally tall and handsome, but, owing to the manner of his education, his uncle, an high Jaco bite of the old school, held that he was “somewhat too bookish” for a proper man. He must therefore see a little of the world, asserted old Sir Everard. Edward’s uncle, Sir Everard, had wished him to travel abroad in company with his tutor, a staunch Jacobite clergyman by the name of Mr. Pembroke. But to this Edward’s father, who was a member of the government, unexpectedly refused his sanction. Now Sir Everard despised his younger brother as a turncoat (and indeed something little better than a spy), but he could not gainsay a father’s authority, even though he himself had brought the boy up to be his heir. “I am willing that you should be a soldier,” he said to Edward; “your ancestors have always been of that profession. Be brave like them, but not rash. Remember you are the last of the Waverleys and the hope of the house. Keep no company with gamblers, with rakes, or with Whigs.

When, in 1477, Caxton set up his printing press at Westminster, the Morte D’Arthur was one of the books which then saw the light of day.

The Mabinogion, which contains other tales about King Arthur, is a collection of old Welsh romances. Though our earliest collection of them is to be found in a manuscript written in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, some of them are probably as old as the time when Welshmen clothed themselves in the skins of the beaver and the bear, and used stone for their tools and weapons. It may be that, when you get older, you will go back to the two books I have mentioned, and you will find them so fascinating that you will be impatient of any other book which pretends to tell you the same tales. But until that time arrives, I hope you will find the stories as I have told them quite interesting and exciting.

King Arthur, with his bodyguard of four—Sir Kay, Sir Baudwin, Sir Ulfius, and Sir Bedevere—did feats of arms that it was marvel to see. Often the eleven kings did essay to give deadly strokes upon the king, but the press of fighting kept some of them from him, and others withdrew sore wounded from the attack upon him and his faithful four.

Once the five held strong medley against six of the rebel kings, and these were King Lot, King Nentres, King Brandegoris, King Idres, King Uriens, and King Agwisance; and so fiercely did they attack them that three drew off sore wounded, whilst King Lot, King Uriens and King Nentres were unhorsed, and all but slain by the men-at-arms. At length it appeared to Arthur that his host was yielding before the weight of numbers of the enemy, and then he bethought him of a strategy. He took counsel of his nobles, and they approved; he sent a trusty messenger to the Kings Ban and Bors, who still lay in ambush; and then, commanding his trumpets to sound, he ordered a retreat. As had been agreed on, the knights on Arthur’s side made their retreat in a confusion that seemed full of fear; and the enemy, joyfully shouting their cries of triumph, pursued them headlong.

King Lot’s host, led onward thus unthinking, were sure of victory. But their cries of triumph were short and quickly turned to woe; for when they had passed the place of ambush, they heard cries of terror in their rear, and turning, they found a great host pouring forth from the hollow combe, thick as angry bees from a hive.

The clumsy deep-sea galleons of the conquerors that, needing a brisk gale to move at all, would lie becalmed, where your modern ship built on clipper lines forges ahead by the mere flapping of her sails, had been barred out of Sulaco by the prevailing calms of its vast gulf. Some harbours of the earth are made difficult of access by the treachery of sunken rocks and the tempests of their shores. Sulaco had found an inviolable sanctuary from the temptations of a trading world in the solemn hush of the deep Golfo Placido as if within an enormous semi-circular and unroofed temple open to the ocean, with its walls of lofty mountains hung with the mourning draperies of cloud.

On one side of this broad curve in the straight seaboard of the Republic of Costaguana, the last spur of the coast range forms an insignificant cape whose name is Punta Mala. From the middle of the gulf the point of the land itself is not visible at all; but the shoulder of a steep hill at the back can be made out faintly like a shadow on the sky.

On the other side, what seems to be an isolated patch of blue mist floats lightly on the glare of the horizon. This is the peninsula of Azuera, a wild chaos of sharp rocks and stony levels cut about by vertical ravines. It lies far out to sea like a rough head of stone stretched from a green-clad coast at the end of a slender neck of sand covered with thickets of thorny scrub. Utterly waterless, for the rainfall runs off at once on all sides into the sea, it has not soil enough—it is said—to grow a single blade of grass, as if it were blighted by a curse. The poor, associating by an obscure instinct of consolation the ideas of evil and wealth, will tell you that it is deadly because of its forbidden treasures. The common folk of the neighbourhood, peons of the estancias, vaqueros of the seaboard plains, tame Indians coming miles to market with a bundle of sugar-cane or a basket of maize worth about threepence, are well aware that heaps of shining gold lie in the gloom of the deep precipices cleaving the stony levels of Azuera. Tradition has it that many adventurers of olden time had perished in the search. The story goes also that within men’s memory two wandering sailors—Americanos, perhaps, but gringos of some sort for certain—talked over a gambling, good-for-nothing mozo, and the three stole a donkey to carry for them a bundle of dry sticks, a water-skin, and provisions enough to last a few days. Thus accompanied, and with revolvers at their belts, they had started to chop their way with machetes through the thorny scrub on the neck of the peninsula.

On the second evening an upright spiral of smoke (it could only have been from their camp-fire) was seen for the first time within memory of man standing up faintly upon the sky above a razor-backed ridge on the stony head. The crew of a coasting schooner, lying becalmed three miles off the shore, stared at it with amazement till dark. A negro fisherman, living in a lonely hut in a little bay near by, had seen the start and was on the lookout for some sign. He called to his wife just as the sun was about to set. They had watched the strange portent with envy, incredulity, and awe.

The impious adventurers gave no other sign. The sailors, the Indian, and the stolen burro were never seen again. As to the mozo, a Sulaco man—his wife paid for some masses, and the poor four-footed beast, being without sin, had been probably permitted to die; but the two gringos, spectral and alive, are believed to be dwelling to this day amongst the rocks, under the fatal spell of their success. Their souls cannot tear themselves away from their bodies mounting guard over the discovered treasure. They are now rich and hungry and thirsty—a strange theory of tenacious gringo ghosts suffering in their starved and parched flesh of defiant heretics, where a Christian would have renounced and been released.

These, then, are the legendary inhabitants of Azuera guarding its forbidden wealth; and the shadow on the sky on one side with the round patch of blue haze blurring the bright skirt of the horizon on the other, mark the two outermost points of the bend which bears the name of Golfo Placido, because never a strong wind had been known to blow upon its waters.

On crossing the imaginary line drawn from Punta Mala to Azuera the ships from Europe bound to Sulaco lose at once the strong breezes of the ocean. They become the prey of capricious airs that play with them for thirty hours at a stretch sometimes. Before them the head of the calm gulf is filled on most days of the year by a great body of motionless and opaque clouds. On the rare clear mornings another shadow is cast upon the sweep of the gulf. The dawn breaks high behind the towering and serrated wall of the Cordillera, a clear-cut vision of dark peaks rearing their steep slopes on a lofty pedestal of forest rising from the very edge of the shore. Amongst them the white head of Higuerota rises majestically upon the blue. Bare clusters of enormous rocks sprinkle with tiny black dots the smooth dome of snow.

Then, as the midday sun withdraws from the gulf the shadow of the mountains, the clouds begin to roll out of the lower valleys. They swathe in sombre tatters the naked crags of precipices above the wooded slopes, hide the peaks, smoke in stormy trails across the snows of Higuerota. The Cordillera is gone from you as if it had dissolved itself into great piles of grey and black vapours that travel out slowly to seaward and vanish into thin air all along the front before the blazing heat of the day. The wasting edge of the cloud-bank always strives for, but seldom wins, the middle of the gulf. The sun—as the sailors say—is eating it up. Unless perchance a sombre thunder-head breaks away from the main body to career all over the gulf till it escapes into the offing beyond Azuera, where it bursts suddenly into flame and crashes like a sinster pirate-ship of the air, hove-to above the horizon, engaging the sea.

At night the body of clouds advancing higher up the sky smothers the whole quiet gulf below with an impenetrable darkness, in which the sound of the falling showers can be heard beginning and ceasing abruptly—now here, now there. Indeed, these cloudy nights are proverbial with the seamen along the whole west coast of a great continent. Sky, land, and sea disappear together out of the world when the Placido—as the saying is—goes to sleep under its black poncho. The few stars left below the seaward frown of the vault shine feebly as into the mouth of a black cavern. In its vastness your ship floats unseen under your feet, her sails flutter invisible above your head. The eye of God Himself—they add with grim profanity—could not find out what work a man’s hand is doing in there; and you would be free to call the devil to your aid with impunity if even his malice were not defeated by such a blind darkness.