d and the morning sun and the
bread and butter were more than a match for it. No incantation of verse
could make me believe that Joy's hand was for ever at his lips bidding
adieu. Joy seemed to be sitting contentedly beside me sharing my bread
and butter; and when I drove away towards Thiessow he got into the
carriage with me, and whispered that I was going to be very happy there.

Outside the wood the sandy road lay between cornfields gay with
corncockles, bright reminders that the coming harvest will be poor. From
here to Thiessow there are no trees except round the cottages of
Philippshagen, a pretty village with a hoary church, beyond which the
road became pure sand, dribbling off into mere uncertain tracks over the
flat pasture land that stretches all the way to Thiessow.

The guide-book warmly recommends the seashore when the wind is in the
east (which it was) as the quickest and firmest route from Goehren to
Thiessow; but I chose rather to take the road over the plain because
there was a poem in the guide-book about the way along the shore, and
the guide-book said it described it extremely well, and I was sure that
if that were so I would do better to go the other way. This is the
poem--the translation is exact, the original being unrhymed, and the
punctuation is the poet's--

Splashing waves
Rocking boat
Dipping gulls--
Dunes.

Raging winds
Floating froth.
Flashing lightning
Moon!

Fearful hearts
Morning grey--
Stormy nights
Faith!

I read it, marvelled, and went the other way.

Thiessow is a place that has to be gone to for its sake alone, as a
glance at the map will show. If you make up your mind to journey the
entire length of the plain that separates it from everywhere else you
must also make up your mind to journey the entire length back again, to
see Goehren once more, to pass through Baabe, and to make a closer
acquaintance with Sellin which is on the way to the yet unvisited
villages going north. It is a singular drive down to Thiessow, singular
because it seems as though it would never leave off. You see the place
far away in the distance the whole time, and you jolt on and on at a
walking pace towards it, in and out of ruts, over grass-mounds, the sun
beating on your head, sea on your left rolling up the beach in long
waves, more sea on your right across the undulating greenness, a distant
hill with a village by the water to the