MARK TWAIN
had cause to feel uncomfortable. Most Americans who
have lived any considerable time there all seem to have
lost   whatever   of   impulsiveness,   frank   openness   and
warmth of feeling they may have possessed before, and
become calculating,  suspicious,  reserved,  cold  and  dis-
tant. They have cased themselves in a shell—don't be-
lieve they would welcome  anybody  and  if by  chance
they are betrayed into coming out of it and displaying
their old-time vivacity and naturalness for an hour they
will draw into it again as soon as they cool down. There
is little sociability and genuine friendship existing among
the families of foreigners living in the Islands, though
there is some show of it by way of keeping up appear-
ances. One would expect the opposite from a class shut
out as they are from the rest of the world. They live within
themselves—within their shell and are not, if I may be
allowed to suggest it—not happy. I thought differently,
at first. I thought they were the happiest people 1 had
ever seen. They do look serene and contented, but they
are not. Their hearts are not dead, but far away—at
home.  They   think   often   of   home,   and   this   absence
of man's life—essence—his feelings, 1m affections, his in-
terests has much to do with their seeming so indifferent
and reserved, no doubt.
A man never reaches that dizzy height of wisdom when
he can no longer be led by the nose.
Hornet's Sailors
These boys have been mourned as dead for nearly 4
months. Think of the thrill of the first telegram to that
home circle—"Crew and passengers of Hornet arrived
safe."
Capt. knew for days that murderous discontent was
brewing, by the distraught air of some of the men, and
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