traffic. Here Mary spent some moments in melancholy visions of
my funeral at sea. She hoped these were wrong, and I, beginning to be
affected also, hoped so equally.

"Good-bye" to Mary! The curve of the track carried her out of sight,
and, imagining with resolution that the carriage was comfortably warm, I
resigned myself to the journey to Liverpool Street. By way of passing the
time, I fell back upon my habit of considering how the Latin poets might
render the words, upon which few Englishmen have not been reared:

"The use of this rack for heavy and bulky packages...."

But though the sentiment which they convey is salutary, and though
such metrical gifts as "graviora" and "viatores" instantly suggested
themselves, the task once again defeated me.

Some such deadening pastime (Tennyson advises it) was necessary. There
are many stations between Slowe and Liverpool Street, and the train, the
last of the day between those places, stopped at each one. Arrived in
London, and shivering with cold, I sought out my relations; reported with
a certain amount of pride, which evoked no corresponding admiration at
such a late hour, my impending voyage, and was rewarded with a bed.

II

My instructions were to present myself next morning, without fail, at
the shipping offices of Messrs. Wright, Style and Storey, in Cardiff.
Mary's double accordingly hurried me through my breakfast and led the
way to Paddington. I urged myself to realize that I was going upon
holiday; but, it cannot be withheld, the thought of this particular
pleasure had a serious tinge. Paddington itself, to such an islander as
I am, had some of the credit of this. To me, that large terminus is, as a
jumping-off position, less human than, for example, Victoria. From
Paddington, with its Western propaganda, it may well seem that humanity
is travelling out into the round world's imagined corners; but Victoria,
with its lesser range in sight, leaves a quieter speculation. From
Brighton there is no such press of mammoth liners? Even when the
destination was the B.E.F., it was comforting to me to set out from
Victoria, whence the way led through a compact, placid, formerly
uninternational, still un-Atlantic quarter. A Society for the Suppression
of Astronomers has been mooted by the lazy-minded. I am not sure that
geographers should not be included. Distances, no doubt, are as essential
to romance as to Copley Fielding's water-colours; but they can rou