RED ROOFS OF LONDON. 263 



labour with bare arms and chests. Still and quiet 

 as trees the masts rise into the hazy air ; who would 

 think, merely to look at them, of the endless labour 

 they mean ? The labour to load, and the labour to 

 unload ; the labour at sea, and the long hours of 

 ploughing the waves by night ; the labour at the 

 warehouses ; the labour in the fields, the mines, the 

 mountains ; the labour in the factories. Ever and 

 again the sunshine gleams now on this group of 

 masts, now on that ; for they stand in groups as 

 trees often grow, a thicket here and a thicket yonder. 

 Labour to obtain the material, labour to bring it 

 hither, labour to force it into shape — work without 

 end. Masts are always dreamy to look at : they 

 speak a romance of the sea ; of unknown lands ; of 

 distant forests aglow with tropical colours and 

 abounding with strange forms of life. In the hearts 

 of most of us there is always a desire for something 

 beyond experience. Hardly any of us but have 

 thought, Some day I will go on a long voyage ; but 

 the years go by, and still we have not sailed. 



