her clan is brought home at her death and buried among her own
kith and kin. I confess to a strange sympathy with this feeling
myself. It seems to agree with the eternal fitness of things, that
where we first saw day we should rest after the race is run. Yes,
the old song is right:

"Wherever we wander in life's stormy ways
May our paths lead to home ere the close of our days,
And our evening of life in serenity close
In the Isle where the bones of our Fathers repose."

One of our company has kindly shown me "some things in waves"
which I have always passed over before. Hereafter they will have a
new interest and a new beauty for me. I now watch by the hour for
some rare effect and colors to which I was before stone-blind.
Some of the rarest jewels are rated by comparison with the emerald
and aqua-marine tints shown by the pure waves of the ocean.
Thanks, my fellow-traveller, for a new sense awakened.

The albatrosses, which follow us in large numbers, are a source of
pleasure. These are not the sacred birds of the Ancient Mariner,
but are of the same species. They excel all other birds, I think,
in power and gracefulness of flight. It is rather a glide than a
fly, as they appear scarcely ever to flap their wings, but sail on
as it were "by the sole act of their unlorded will." No wonder
such woe befell the Ancient Mariner through killing one. They are
too grand to destroy. Last evening I had a treat in seeing these
birds gathering for the night on the waters in the hollow of a
deep wave. A dozen were already in the nest as our ship swept
past, and others were coming every moment from all directions to