our scandalized friend could never be reconciled to the captain
who had presumed to have a holy Sabbath of his "ain making."

* * * * *

THURSDAY, November 7.

These nights were not made for sleep, nor these days either, for
that matter; but of all the nights I have ever seen I think this
one excels. The moon is overhead and at the full, casting her
mellow light around, suffusing with a soft glory the heavens
above, and lending to the dancing, foaming waves a silvery
shimmer. Jupiter is on the western horizon, fading out of sight,
but how lustrous! Lyra, Arcturus, Aldebaran, seem of gigantic
size. All sails are set, and a fair, balmy wind from the sweet
south makes the Belgic glide through the rushing waters. We are
only twenty miles from the Morrell Islands. How I long for a
deckful of my friends to exult with me in this delight! Nothing
but Byron's lines will do it justice. They are too long to quote
here, but here are a few lines, which I must repeat:

.... "for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learned the language of another world."

One does feel in such moments, when beauty and sublimity are so
overpoweringly displayed, that there are worlds and life beyond
our ken, or should be such, for this short day on earth surely