instead of a few feet square dashed into foam. One says
instinctively,

"What care these roarers for the name of king?"

I have noticed that even in the smallest waves cast aside by the
ship formations are different from those of other seas. It is
midnight, and we are only 125 miles from Japan. Not a passenger
except myself on deck, but I cannot sleep. Vandy would be with me,
I know, poor fellow, were he able to crawl, but the storm has
settled him for the present. How strange that none feel sufficient
interest to stay awake and watch with me! They would be amply
repaid. The phosphorescent sea shows forth its wonders now--not
alone in the myriads of small stars of light, which please you in
the Atlantic, but at every turn of the foam dashed from the bow
and sides of the ship masses of glittering phosphorescence as
large as my travelling cap. What creatures these must be which can
emit light in such clusters! I leave the deck with the cheery
"All's well!" ringing in my ears as the ship dances before the
wind which brings to a close our long flight across the Pacific.
How we have longed for this last night, and yet how often in after
life are we to sigh for a return to the glorious nights we have
lived at sea! Where we have

"Mingled with the universe to feel
What we can ne'er express,
Nor cannot all conceal."

Good-night, my band of dear, dear friends, now in the midst of
your daily toil--for it is yet day with you--racking your brains