Man only has no certain destiny.
—H. C. H.
EXTRACTS FROM THE LOG OF THE “RITA”
BEING A DISCONNECTED ACCOUNT OF THE DOINGS OF SOME ARTISTS ON A SUMMER CRUISE....
“First day out. We can scarcely realize we have left behind the heat, the noise, and the dust of the city for three weeks. Far to the north, overhung by clouds of noisome smoke, our late prison is gradually sinking from sight. Only the tallest spires and houses can be seen. As the distance grows greater our hearts grow lighter, and dance in unison with the leaping waves. The day is a miracle of light and color,—
and