ere was in Dempsey's inscrutable,
darkling mien a cold, simmering anger, as of a man unfairly hounded,
he hardly knew why. And probably, we think, unjustly. You will say
that we import a symbolism into a field where it scarcely thrives.
But Carpentier's engaging merriment in the eye of oncoming downfall
seemed to us almost a parable of those who have smiled too
confidingly upon the dark faces of the gods.

[Illustration]

A LETTER TO A SEA CAPTAIN
(To D.W.B.)

DEAR CAPTAIN:

You are the most modest of men, but even at the risk of arousing
your displeasure we have it on our mind to say something about you.
We shall try not to be offensively personal, for indeed we are
thinking not merely of yourself but also of the many others of your
seafaring art who have always been such steadfast servants of the
public, the greatness of whose service has not always been well
enough understood. But perhaps it is only fair that the sea captain,
so unquestionable an autocrat in his own world, should be called
upon to submit to that purging and erratic discipline which is so
notable a feature of our American life--publicity!

It is not enough understood, we repeat, how valuable and charming
the sea captain is as an agent and private ambassador of
international friendship. Perhaps we do not know you until we have
seen you at sea (may the opportunity serve anon!). We have only
known you with your majesty laid aside, your severity relaxed. But
who else so completely and humorously understands both sides of the
water, and in his regular movements from side to side acts so shrewd
a commentator on Anglo-American affairs? Who takes more keen delight
in our American ways, in the beauty of this New York of which we are
so proud, who has done so much to endear each nation to the other?
Yours, true to your blood (for you are _Scot Scotorum_), is the
humorist's way: how many passengers you have warmed and tickled with
your genial chaff, hiding constant kindness under a jocose word,
perhaps teasing us Americans on our curious conduct of knives and
forks, or (for a change) taking the cisatlantic side of the jape,
esteeming no less highly a sound poke at British foibles.

All this is your personal gift: it is no necessary part of the
master's equipment to be so gracefully conversable. Of the graver
side of the sea captain's life, though you say little, we see it
unconsciously written in your bearing. Some of us, who know just a