". . . But
           the Dwarf answered:
        No;
           something human
            is dearer to me
                   than the wealth of
                       all the world."

    GRIMM'S TALES.

    TO MY WIFE

    THIS could have occurred nowhere
         but in England,
           where men and sea interpenetrate,
         so to speak
          --the sea
              entering into the life of
                   most men,
           and the men
              knowing something
                  or everything about the sea,
         in the way of amusement,
           of travel,
         or of bread-winning.

    We were sitting
         round a mahogany table
           that reflected the bottle,
           the claret-glasses,
         and our faces as
             we leaned on our elbows.

    There was a director
           of companies,
         an accountant,
         a lawyer,
           Marlow,
         and myself.

    The director
        had been a CONWAY boy,
           the accountant
            had served four years
                   at sea,
         the lawyer
           --a fine crusted Tory,
               High Churchman,
             the best of old fellows,
               the soul of honor--
            had been chief officer
            in the P. &
               O. service
             in the good old days
             when mail-boats
                were square-rigged
                       at least
                     on two masts,
           and used
              to come
                   down the China Sea
             before a fair monsoon
                   with stun'-sails
                  set alow and aloft.

    We all
        began life
               in the merchant service.

    Between the five of us
        there was the strong bond
               of the sea,
           and also the fellowship
               of the craft,
         which no amount of enthusiasm
               for yachting,
           cruising,
         and so on can give,
           since one
            is only the amusement
                   of life
                 and the other
                is life itself.

    Marlow
         (at least
             I think
               that is
             how he spelt his name)
          told the story,
               or rather the chronicle,
             of a voyage:

    "Yes,
           I have
              seen a little
                   of the Eastern seas;
        but what
             I remember best
                is my first voyage there.

    You fellows know
        there are those voyages
         that seem
              ordered for the
                 illustration
                    of life,
           that might
              stand for
                   a symbol of existence.

    You fight,
           work,
         sweat,
           nearly kill yourself,
         sometimes do kill yourself,
           trying to accomplish something
          --and you can't.

    Not from
           any fault of yours.

    You simply can do nothing,
           neither great nor little
         -- not a thing
               in the world--
           not even
              marry an old maid,
           or get
               a wretched 600-ton cargo
             of coal
               to its port of destination.

    "It was altogether
           a memorable affair.

    It was my first voyage
           to the East,
         and my first voyage
               as second mate;
        it was
               also my skipper's first command.

    You'll admit it was time.

    He was sixty
         if a day;
        a little man,
           with a broad,
         not very straight back,
           with bowed shoulders
               and one leg more
              bandy than the other,
         he had
             that queer twisted-about appearance you
                  see so often in men
             who work in the fields.

    He had a nut-cracker face
         --chin and nose trying
              to come
                   together over a sunken mouth--
            and it
            was framed
                   in iron-gray fluffy hair,
           that looked
              like a chin strap
                   of cotton-wool
                  sprinkled with coal-dust.

    And he
        had blue eyes in
         that old face of his,
           which were amazingly
              like a boy's,
         with that candid expression some
              quite common men
            preserve to the end
                   of their days
                 by a rare internal gift
                       of simplicity of heart
                     and rectitude of soul.

    What induced him
          to accept me
        was a wonder.

    I had come
           out of
               a crack Australian clipper,
           where I
            had been third officer,
         and he seemed
              to have a prejudice
                   against crack clippers
                 as aristocratic and high-toned.