At one station a hen had laid an egg and was telling the world about it.
The world answered with a breath of real spring--spring that flooded the
stuffy car and drove us out on the platform to snuff and sing and
rejoice and pluck squashy green marsh-flags and throw them at the
colts, and shout at the wild duck that rose from a jewel-green lakelet.
God be thanked that in travel one can follow the year! This, my spring,
I lost last November in New Zealand. Now I shall hold her fast through
Japan and the summer into New Zealand again.

Here are the waters of the Pacific, and Vancouver (completely destitute
of any decent defences) grown out of all knowledge in the last three
years. At the railway wharf, with never a gun to protect her, lies the
_Empress of India_--the Japan boat--and what more auspicious name could
you wish to find at the end of one of the strong chains of empire?




THE EDGE OF THE EAST


The mist was clearing off Yokohama harbour and a hundred junks had their
sails hoisted for the morning breeze, and the veiled horizon was
stippled with square blurs of silver. An English man-of-war showed
blue-white on then haze, so new was the daylight, and all the water lay
out as smooth as the inside of an oyster shell. Two children in blue and
white, their tanned limbs pink in the fresh air, sculled a marvellous
boat of lemon-hued wood, and that was our fairy craft to the shore
across the stillness and the mother o' pearl levels.