Evening star., 1901-09-21

old, and always In vain. for never once In
all my Journeys was there welcoming
face upon the wharf for me: till suddenly
remembered, just In time to avoid feelinS
the well-remembered pang, that I now
needed not that any there should greet me,
I was but the incidental visitor, curfously
noting the workings Of other mems minds
under the same circumstances as long ago
used to labor. But / must for little
while return to the cuddy. There was an
air of comfort IL the little six-foot square
nook abaft the saloon CD only impartaole
by a woman. There were books and now
ers and pictures. And there, too. was pres
ent deep sense Of that aloofness from the
busy world that dwelt in the captains eyes
that had stamped it's impress upon Mrs.
Kings pale face. Eager to dispel it-tor IL
haunted mel plunged into conversation.
slipping in a question here and there, II
haply I might raise smile. With the
mighty captain l was successful he snook
with laughter as I spoke of scenes familiar
to him from a humorous point of view,
mentioned with nonchalance that he had
billed over 5000 barls," but had shipped
he been on the "off-shore" groundsf NO
not he There was no need for him now to
leave the Atlantic north and south, but
mostly the md-sea.'
as ever they'd been, but when you did
find EN- they was plentiful enough you
cd kill all you mind to- His wife listened
listlessly, only manifesting the depth OF
jecting occasionally, "Oh, it is lonely
life" 1 asked how long they had been on
that passage home, and the captain as
sured me with some pride that they were
only fifty-eight days from ST. Helena!
Think of it, We travellers on modern ocean
liners, who grumble II from London TO
Cape Town the passage is more than six
teen days. This vessel, making all speed
homeward after such a stay in the waste
places of the deep, has rushed havenward
at the rate of less than seventy miles
day, and glad indeed are her crew that
it has been no less. A very good average
as things go. All, this is stepping back
into the old patient days when as we are
reminded by the tolling of the O'Clock,
people set little store by clocks and were
content to know accurately thrice day
how the hours were speeding.
Impressions Asked For.
So much for the invisible things of the
Morning Stars homecoming. Outwardly
she was a grimy, clumsy looking old
barque, neat enough aloft, t is true, with
certain gracefulness meyer absent from
American sailing craft. noticeable in her
top-hamper On deck she looks to the
du1led eye Of the unintiated much Uttered
up and dirty, vessel to turn impatiently
away from, saying, Il wonder what they
keep such old clumbungles doddering
about the sea for? Why don't they break
'em up and get steamers. They're neither
use nor ornament" Also the smallness
of the crowd awaiting her, almost all for
eign relatives of the swarthy, deep
browed men about her decks, showed how
she, this forlorn homecoming whaler, lin
gered belated on the scene. How few the
years ago when she would have been
greeted triumphantly by half the city,
when her arrival would have been in every
mouth! And now she seemed to me
pathetic as Belisarius, the once mighty
general, creeping about the streets with
outstretched palm begging an obolus in
his old age. Not that she was in need
of sufferance by any means, for she had
amply justified her existence in this her
last voyage-but because she seemed a
survival of a bygone leisurely day, as re-
mote from the forceful life of now as the
pyramids. Because she was one century
rubbing shoulders with another, which
looked coldly upon her, or, still worse,
regarded her with curiosity a fit SUBJ
ject for a magazine article which busy
folks should read and cry, all unknowing
how truly they spoke How romantic"
She rubs sides with the wharf, the mot
ley crowd ashore leap aboard and greet
their returning friends clamorously, while
with energy wholly startling an an
cient man of between eighty and ninety
years brisks about, scolding, superintend-
ing hauling. A study in himself of the
by-gone days! How many-'Would you
mind giving me a few of your impressions
of the homecoming of a South sea whaer?"
says a voice-the voice of a reporter at my
elbow-and my reverie is over.