e is heavy with
delightful ease. There is no sound that troubles; the world goes by and
no one heeds; for it is all beyond this musky twilight and this pleasant
hour. In this palace on the sea Mirth trails in and out with airy and
harmonious footsteps. Even the clang-clang of eight bells has music--not
boisterous nor disturbing, but muffled in the velvety air. Then, through
this hemisphere of jocund quiet, there sounds the "All's well" of the
watch.

But, look! Did you see a star fall just then, and the long avenue of
expiring flame behind it?--Do not shudder; it is nothing. No cry of pain
came through that brightness. There was only the "All's well" from the
watchers.

The thud of the engines falls on a padded atmosphere, and the lascars
move like ghosts along the decks. The long, smooth promenade is canopied
and curtained, and hung with banners, and gay devices of the gorgeous
East are contributing to the federation of pleasure.

And now, through a festooned doorway, there come the people of many
lands to inhabit the gay court. Music follows their footsteps: Hamlet
and Esther; Caractacus and Iphigenia; Napoleon and Hermione; The Man
in the Iron Mask and Sappho; Garibaldi and Boadicea; an Arab sheikh
and Joan of Arc; Mahomet and Casablanca; Cleopatra and Hannibal--a
resurrected world. But the illusion is short and slight. This world
is very sordid--of shreds and patches, after all. It is but a
pretty masquerade, in which feminine vanity beats hard against
strangely-clothed bosoms; and masculine conceit is shown in the work of
the barber's curling-irons and the ship-carpenter's wooden swords
and paper helmets. The pride of these folk is not diminished because
Hamlet's wig gets awry, or a Roman has trouble with his foolish garters.
Few men or women can resist mumming; they fancy themselves as somebody
else, dead or living. Yet these seem happy in this nonsense. The
indolent days appear to have deadened hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness. They shall strut and fret their hour upon this little
stage. Let that sprightly girl forget the sudden death which made her an
orphan; the nervous broker his faithless wife; the grey-haired soldier
his silly and haunting sins; the bankrupt his creditors.

"On with the dance, let joy be unconfined!" For the captain is on the
bridge, the engineer is beneath; we have stout walls, and a ceaseless
sentry-go. In the intervals of the dance wine passes, and idle things
are said beside