quences of our mistakes cannot be
averted from ourselves or others. A band was playing wild strains of
welcome as we approached. Come and sail with us, it said--it is summer,
and the days are long. Care is of the land--here the waves flow, and the
winds blow, and captain smiles, and stewardess beguiles, and all is
music, music, music. How the wild, exultant strains rose and fell--but
everything rose and fell on that boat, as we found out afterward. Just
here a spirit of justice falls on me, like the gentle dew from heaven,
and forces me to admit that it rained like a young deluge; that it had
been raining for two days, and the bosom of the deep was heaving with
responsive sympathy; as what bosom would not on which so many tears had
been shed? Perhaps responsive sympathy was the secret of the Jane
Moseley's behavior; but I would her heart had been less tender. Then,
too, the passengers were few; and of course as we had to divide the roll
and tumble between us, there was a great deal for each one.

There was a Pretty Girl, and she had a sister who was not pretty. It
seemed to me that even the sad sea waves were kinder to the Pretty Girl,
such is the influence of youth and beauty. There were various men--heavy
swells I should call some of them, only that that would be slang; but
heavy swells were the order of the day. Then there was a benevolent old
lady who believed in everything--in the music, and the Jane Moseley, and
the long days, and the summer. There was another old lady of restless
mind, who evidently believed in nothing, hoped for nothing, expected
nothing. She tried all the lounges and all the corners, and found each
one a separate disappointment. There was a fat, fair one, of friendly
face, and beside her her grim guardian, a man so thin that you at once
cast him for the part of Starveling in this Midsummer Day's Dream of
Delusion.

We put out from shore--quite out of sight of shore, in short--and then
the perfidious music ceased. To the people on land it had sung, "Come
and make merry with us," but from us, trying in vain to make merry, it
withheld its deceitful inspiration. For the exceeding weight of sorrow
that presently settled down upon us it had no balm. When you are on a
pleasure trip it is unpleasant to be miserable; so I tried hard to shake
off the mild melancholy that began to steal over me. I said to myself, I
will not affront the great deep with my personal woes. I am but a woman,
yet perhaps on th