come "men,"
that is, to act as boatmen. No sooner said than done. We roused the
three sleepers, embarked the most important half of our luggage; left
the other half in charge of the native with the idiotic countenance,
with directions to take care of it and have it forwarded as soon as
possible, and, at a little after two in the morning, pulled vigorously
away from the inhospitable shores of Moldeoen.

We started on our sixty-miles' journey hopefully, and went on our way
for an hour or so with spirit. But when two hours had elapsed, my
companion and I began to feel the effects of rowing with unaccustomed
muscles rather severely, and gazed with envy at the three ladies who lay
coiled up in an indescribable heap of shawls and crinolines in the stern
of the boat, sound asleep. They needed sleep, poor things, not having
rested for two days and two nights.

But my poor friend was more to be pitied than they. Having scorned to
follow my example and take rest when he could get the chance, he now
found himself unexpectedly called on to do the work of a man when he
could not keep his eyes open. When our third hour began, I saw that he
was fast asleep at the oar--lifting it indeed and dipping it in proper
time, but without pulling the weight of an ounce upon it. I therefore
took it from him, and told him to take half an hour's nap, when I would
wake him up, and expect him to take the oars and give me a rest.

On being relieved he dropped his head on a sugar-cask, and was sound
asleep in two minutes!

I now felt drearily dismal. I began to realise the fact that we had
actually pledged ourselves to work without intermission for the next
eighteen or twenty hours, of which two only had run, and I felt
sensations akin to what must have been those of the galley-slaves of
old. In the midst of many deep thoughts and cogitations, during that
silent morning hour, when all were asleep around me save the three
mechanical-looking boatmen, and when the only sounds that met my ears
were the dip of the oars and the deep breathing, (to give it no other
name), of the slumberers--in the midst of many deep thoughts, I say, I
came to the conclusion that in my present circumstances the worst thing
I could do was to _think_! I remembered the fable of the pendulum that
became so horrified at the thought of the number of ticks it had to
perform in a lengthened period of time, that it stopped in despair; and
I determined to "shut down" my in