Lighter verse:
Here I came to take my ease,
Agreeably disappointed to find no fl—
Mrs. Job, your bread and butter
Is quite too utterly, utterly utter!
J. Harper, June 3rd, 1883.
The contemplative man's ejaculation:
It is impossible, on viewing these Cyclopean cliffs,
to repress the thought, How great is Nature,
how little Man!
(A note: So it is, old chap! and a reproof
in another hand: Shut up! can't you see
he's suffering?)
The last entry was a brief one:
J. MacGuire, Liverpool. September 2nd, 1886.
Twilight forced me to close the book and put it back in its place. As I did so, I glanced up involuntarily towards the skylight, as if I half expected to find a pair of eyes staring down on me. Yet the book contained nothing but these mere trivialities. Whatever my apprehension, I was (as "J. Harper" would have said) "agreeably disappointed." I climbed on deck again, relocked the hatch, replaced the tarpaulins, jumped into the boat and rowed homewards. Though the tide favoured me, it was dark before I reached Mr. Dewy's quay-door. Having, with some difficulty, found the frape, I made the boat fast. I groped my way across his back premises and out into the gaslit street; and so to the Ship Inn, a fair dinner, and a sound night's sleep.
At ten o'clock next morning I called on Messrs. Dewy and Moss. Again Mr. Dewy received me, and again he apologised for the absence of his partner, who had caught an early train to attend a wrestling match at the far end of the county. Mr. Dewy showed me the sails, gear, cushions, etc., of the Siren—everything in surprising condition. I told him that I meant business, and added—
"I suppose you have all the yacht's papers?"