that vast elemental powers are near at hand, and that the blood
is already aware of their approach.

All day the pure sky, the deepening of sea-color, the lukewarm
wind. Then comes a superb sunset! There is a painting in the
west wrought of cloud-colors,--a dream of high carmine cliffs and
rocks outlying in a green sea, which lashes their bases with a
foam of gold....

Even after dark the touch of the wind has the warmth of flesh.
There is no moon; the sea-circle is black as Acheron; and our
phosphor wake reappears quivering across it,--seeming to reach
back to the very horizon. It is brighter to-night,--looks like
another _Via Lactea_,--with points breaking through it like stars
in a nebula. From our prow ripples rimmed with fire keep fleeing
away to right and left into the night,--brightening as they run,
then vanishing suddenly as if they had passed over a precipice.
Crests of swells seem to burst into showers of sparks, and great
patches of spume catch flame, smoulder through, and disappear....
The Southern Cross is visible,--sloping backward and sidewise, as
if propped against the vault of the sky: it is not readily
discovered by the unfamiliarized eye; it is only after it has
been well pointed out to you that you discern its position. Then
you find it is only the _suggestion_ of a cross--four stars set
almost quadrangularly, some brighter than others.

For two days there has been little conversation on board. It
may be due in part to the somnolent influence of the warm wind,--
in part to the ceaseless booming of waters and roar of rigging,
which drown men's voices; but I fancy it is much more due to the