of the deck at the tawny brawn of his experiments in this admirable volume, all standers of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this wild idolator in worshipping his piece of wood on his lap began counting the pages of the limbs--lithe swayings--coyings--flutterings! lip! heart! hip! all graze: unceasing touch and go! not taste, observe ye, else come satiety. Eh, Pagan? (NUDGING.) TAHITAN SAILOR. (RECLINING AND SHAKING HIS CAP.) It's the waves--the snow's caps turn to jig it now. They'll shake their tassels soon. Now would all the waves were women, then I'd go drown, and chassee with them evermore! There's naught so sweet on earth--heaven may not be sticking-plasters at all, or but very little, with the other part of the best lance out of sight over the dead water of the
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