The Black Swans 



During these dog days I cannot have 

 my fire. The sea — thanks to the shame- 

 less effort to enforce the Hohenzollern 

 brand of civilization upon an unwilling 

 world — is for the present the last place 

 towards which one would turn for 

 relaxation undisturbed, but I still look 

 back with memories filled with pure 

 delight to restful hours aboard the old 

 Majestic of the White Star fleet on my 

 maiden voyage oversea. And other 

 near approaches to Nirvana were en- 

 joyed again when, on another holiday, 

 the Azores hove in sight as the fast 

 but ill-fated Columbia glided on her 

 peaceful way to sunny Italy. She is 

 now, I believe, somewhere on the ocean 

 floor in Oriental waters. Yes, and the 

 Lusitania too, now rolling in her deep- 

 sea grave, once on a time raced east- 

 ward by "the Banks" through shifting 

 fog-drifts, alternating with glorious 

 sun-bursts, in a series of matchless 

 moving "marines" that shall hang in 

 the galleries of recollection until the 



[58] 



