not know how a day could be more reposeful:  no motion; a level blue sea; nothing in sight from horizon to horizon; the speed of the ship furnishes a cooling breeze; there is no mail to read and answer; no newspapers to excite you; no telegrams to fret you or fright you—­the world is far, far away; it has ceased to exist for you—­seemed a fading dream, along in the first days; has dissolved to an unreality now; it is gone from your mind with all its businesses and ambitions, its prosperities and disasters, its exultations and despairs, its joys and griefs and cares and worries.  They are no concern of yours any more; they have gone out of your life; they are a storm which has passed and left a deep calm behind.  The people group themselves about the decks in their snowy white linen, and read, smoke, sew, play cards, talk, nap, and so on.  In other ships the passengers are always ciphering about when they are going to arrive; out in these seas it is rare, very rare, to hear that subject broached.  In other ships there is always an eager rush to the bulletin board at noon to find out what the “run” has been; in these seas the bulletin seems to attract no interest; I have seen no one visit it; in thirteen days I have visited it only once.  Then I happened to notice the figures of the day’s run.  On that day there happened to be talk, at dinner, about the speed of modern ships.  I was the only passenger present who knew this ship’s gait.  Necessarily, the Atlantic custom of betting on the ship’s run is not a custom here—­nobody ever mentions it.

I myself am wholly indifferent as to when we are going to “get in”; if any one else feels interested in the matter he has not indicated it in my hearing.  If I had my way we should never get in at all.  This sort of sea life is charged with an indestructible charm.  There is no weariness, no fatigue, no worry, no responsibility, no work, no depression of spirits.  There is nothing like this serenity, this comfort, this peace, this deep contentment, to be found anywhere on land.  If I had my way I would sail on for ever and never go to live on the solid ground again.

One of Kipling’s ballads has delivered the aspect and sentiment of this bewitching sea correctly: 

               “The Injian Ocean sets an’ smiles
               So sof’, so bright, so bloomin’ blue;
               There aren’t a wave for miles an’ miles
               Excep’ the jiggle from the screw.”

April 14.  It turns out that the astronomical apprentice worked off a section of the Milky Way on me for the Magellan Clouds.  A man of more experience in the business showed one of them to me last night.  It was small and faint and delicate, and looked like the ghost of a bunch of white smoke left floating in the sky by an exploded bombshell.

Wednesday, April 15.  Mauritius.  Arrived and anchored off Port Louis 2 A. M. Rugged clusters of crags and peaks, green to their summits; from their bases to the sea a green plain with just tilt enough to it to make the water drain off.  I believe it is in 56 E. and 22 S.—­a hot tropical country.  The green plain has an inviting look; has scattering dwellings nestling among the greenery.  Scene of the sentimental adventure of Paul and Virginia.