The world forgetting, 

 By the world forgot 



in a delectable region, in an indescribable realm of 

 sweet illusion. 



The mist begins to clear, and as it slowly dis- 

 solves, the skeletal outlines of the ancient hull 

 loom black and indistinct in the vastness of the 

 night. Still it is not the vision of the shadowy 

 timbers that arouses me from my fantasy, it is the 

 sight of the cloak of ambient fire that invests the 

 hull below the water-line. Doubtless this sub- 

 merged portion of the framework glows with a 

 phosphorescence of its own; but the light of this 

 luminescent host of little forms swarming in the 

 worm-infested labyrinths pales to nothingness be- 

 side the brilliance of the tide-born multitude of 

 larger light-producers impeded by the wreck. Like 

 a specter ship it gleams: every rib and bulkhead 

 is easily marked in the depths of the fiery flood. 

 Like live embers fanned by a fitful breeze, her 

 outlines glow intermittently — there are fleeting 

 flashes of mauve, and ambiencies of azure and of 

 deep indefinite green — and they grow tremulous 

 with a warm and friendly light, a light made up 

 from the flashes of a hundred thousand jellyfishes! 



[358] 



