nionship of skimming vessels,
the place struck me with a sense of solitude. There came in my head
what I had been told the day before at dinner, of a cavern above in the
bowels of the volcano, a place only to be visited with the light of
torches, a treasure-house of the bones of priests and warriors, and
clamorous with the voice of an unseen river pouring seaward through the
crannies of the mountain. At the thought, it was revealed to me suddenly
how the bungalows, and the Fowlers, and the bright, busy town and
crowding ships, were all children of yesterday; and for centuries
before, the obscure life of the natives, with its glories and ambitions,
its joys and crimes and agonies, had rolled unseen, like the mountain
river, in that sea-girt place. Not Chaldea appeared more ancient, nor
the Pyramids of Egypt more abstruse; and I heard time measured by "the
drums and tramplings" of immemorial conquests, and saw myself the
creature of an hour. Over the bankruptcy of Pinkerton and Dodd, of
Montana Block, S.F., and the conscientious troubles of the junior
partner, the spirit of eternity was seen to smile.

To this mood of philosophic sadness my excesses of the night before no
doubt contributed, for more things than virtue are at times their own
reward, but I was greatly healed at least of my distresses. And while I
was yet enjoying my abstracted humour, a turn of the beach brought me in
view of the signal-station, with its watch-house and flag-staff, perched
on the immediate margin of a cliff. The house was new and clean and
bald, and stood naked to the Trades. The wind beat about it in loud
squalls; the seaward windows rattled without mercy; the breach of the
surf below contributed its increment of noise; and the fall of my foot
in the narrow verandah passed unheard by those within.

There were two on whom I thus entered unexpectedly: the look-out man,
with grizzled beard, keen seaman's eyes, and that brand on his
countenance that comes of solitary living; and a visitor, an oldish,
oratorical fellow, in the smart tropical array of the British
man-o'-war's man, perched on a table, and smoking a cigar. I was made
pleasantly welcome, and was soon listening with amusement to the
sea-lawyer.

"No, if I hadn't have been born an Englishman," was one of his
sentiments, "damn me! I'd rather 'a' been born a Frenchy! I'd like to
see another nation fit to black their boots." Presently after, he
developed his views on home politics wi