The Argosy — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Letters from Majorca. 47 So that day, too, passed away. The sunshine faded out of the hills, and, when we had recrossed the creek, we felt that we had not begun the return journey too soon. Night was falling when we entered Arta and said good-bye to our pleasant and hardworking guide. What makes me regret these constant partings with people of whom I know so little, if there has been that in their faces and expression which has interested me? Is it a virtue or a weakness to long to know more of them, their histories, their past lives, even their future, if it could be told? Almost wish to find out that they have a burden to bear, a sorrow or a care, for the pleasure of re- lieving it? It is a pain to feel that they have gone their ways for ever, and come weal or woe, no sympathy of mine, tangible or mental, can ever touch them again. Others are not thus affected by chance acquaintances, and why should one be pained and concerned about people and circumstances beyond one’s province or control ? But there are those whom, often at the first glance, we feel as if we had known for a hundred years or in some other state of existence : whilst for others, the width between the heavens and the earth would seem too little space for separation. Soon after leaving Arta, night fell, and our drive grew monotonous. The uneasy vehicle forbade repose ; we were too tired and too full of thought for conversation. We rattled into Manacor towards mid- night, but had one consolation ; the mosquitoes would have so much the less of human enjoyment. The cook was at his post, the landlady and her maidens were brisk and lively as if it had been midday. We got up steam and made ourselves tea, and they gave us milk. But even here milk is as scarce as gold. We passed a third sleepless night, and H. C.’s state went from bad to worse. A fourth night would have been the death of one of us, if not of both. We had, therefore, some consolation in leaving. But the good people of the inn seemed inconsolable, and a procession, headed by the hostess and concluded by the portly cook, escorted us to the omnibus. There was wringing of hands and pallid sorrowful faces, all harrowing to one’s feelings but gratifying to one’s vanity. Of this vice or virtue, I possess very little—I suppose the man does not exist in whom it is absolutely and utterly wanting —and so it is fortunate that H. C. has his own share and mine too : a good supply for both to draw upon. Palma once more. Palma de Mallorca. Dear to our hearts as a haven of refuge, a return to civilisation. This little familiar room —how often I shall see it, when, for us both, Palma will have passed away. comichooks.com —