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 DESIGN
ELEMENTS

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 © 2014 by Rockport Publishers

All rights reserved. No part of this book may

be reproduced in any form without written
permission of the copyright owners. All images
in this book have been reproduced with the
knowledge and prior consent of the artists
concerned, and no responsibility is accepted
by producer, publisher, or printer for any infringe-
ment of copyright or otherwise, arising from
the contents of this publication. Every effort
has been made to ensure that credits accurately
comply with information supplied. We apologize
for any inaccuracies that may have occurred
and will resolve inaccurate or missing information
in a subsequent reprinting of the book.

First published in the United States of America by

Rockport Publishers, a member of
TI

D
Quayside Publishing Group
100 Cummings Center
Suite 406-L
Beverly, Massachusetts 01915-6101
Telephone: (978) 282-9590

E
Fax: (978) 283-2742
www.rockpub.com
Visit RockPaperInk.com to share your opinions,
creations, and passion for design.

Originally found under the following Cataloging

Samara, Timothy.
Design elements : a graphic style manual :
understanding the rules and knowing when to
break them / Timothy Samara.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59253-261-2 (flexibind)
ISBN-10: 1-59253-261-6 (flexibind)
1. Graphic design (Typography) 2. Layout
(Printing) I. Title.
Z246 .S225
686.2’2—dc22
2006019038
CIP

ISBN: 978-1-59253-927-7
Digital edition published in 2014
eISBN: 978-1-62788-057-2

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover and text design

Timothy Samara, New York U
Printed in China
r
t

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 TIMOTHY SAMARA

DESIGN
ELEMENTS

Understanding the
rules and knowing when
to break them
SECOND EDITION
UPDATED + EXPANDED

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 CONTE
EN
26 86 128 186

FORM COLOR CHOOSING T

AND FUNDAMEN- AND USING W
SPACE TALS TYPE IM
chapter 01 chapter 02 chapter 03 ch

SEEING FORM AND SPACE 28 THE IDENTITY OF COLOR 88 STRUCTURE AND OPTICS 130 THE

CATEGORIES OF FORM 38 CHROMATIC INTERACTION 98 ISSUES RELATED TO STYLE 138 MED

PUTTING STUFF INTO SPACE 58 COLOR SYSTEMS 112 MECHANICS OF TEXT 146 PRE

COMPOSITIONAL STRATEGIES 72 EMOTIONS AND MESSAGES 122 TEXTURE AND SPACE 162 CON

TYPE AS INFORMATION 170

HOW COLOR AFFECTS TYPE 182

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 WHAT IS GRAPHIC DESIGN? 06

TWENTY RULES FOR MAKING

GOOD DESIGN 10

CAUSIN’ SOME TROUBLE:

WHEN AND WHY TO BREAK
EVERY RULE IN THIS BOOK 296
INDEX BY SUBJECT 312

CONTRIBUTORS 318

E
ENTS 186 232

THE PUTTING
WORLD OF IT ALL
IMAGE TOGETHER
chapter 04 chapter 05

THE NATURE OF IMAGES 188 MERGING TYPE AND IMAGE 234

MEDIA AND METHODS 204 WORKING WITH GRIDS 246

PRESENTATION OPTIONS 216 INTUITIVE ARRANGEMENT 264

CONTENT AND CONCEPT 220 DESIGN AS A SYSTEM 272

THE WORKING PROCESS 288

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 A graphic designer is a
communicator: someone who
takes ideas and gives them
visual form so that others can
understand them.

WHAT IS
GRAPHIC
DESIGN?

Logo for a Logo for a

financial services food bank
company NAROSKA DESIGN
LSD SPAIN GERMANY

Branding and wayfinding for a wine merchant PARALLAX AUSTRALIA

06 07

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 Book cover with transparent jacket
LABORATÓRIO SECRETO BRAZIL

The designer uses imagery, symbols, type, In contrast to other disciplines in the visual
color, and materials—whether printed arts, graphic design’s purpose is typically
or on-screen—to represent the ideas that defined by a client—it’s a service paid for
must be conveyed; and to organize them by a company or other organization—rath-
into a unified experience that is intended er than generated from within the designer.
to evoke a particular response. Although artistic creation historically had
been commissioned by patrons, it wasn’t
While more or less confined to the creation until the 1830s that the mystique of the
of typefaces and books from the Middle bohemian painter as “expresser of self ”
Ages until the Industrial Revolution of the arose and, consequently, a marked distinc-
late 1700s and early 1800s, design expanded tion between fine and commercial art.
into advertising, periodicals, signage, Designers encouraged this distinction for
posters, and ephemera with the appearance philosophical, as well as strategic, reasons,
of a new, consumer marketplace. The term especially as they began to seek recognition
“graphic design” itself appeared more for design as a profession that could add
recently (attributed to W. A. Dwiggins, an tremendous value to corporate endeavors.
American illustrator and book designer, in
1922, to describe his particular activities). In the fifty-odd years since, the graphic
The formal study of design as an indepen- designer has been touted as everything
dent discipline didn’t come about until the from visual strategist to cultural arbiter—
1920s, and the term entered into wide usage and, since the mid 1970s, as an “author”
only after World War II. as well—shaping not only the corporate

Invitation to a marketing event

STUDIO NEWWORK UNITED STATES

07 design elements

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 To
is
an
de
a
To
Website for an architecture firm POULIN + MORRIS UNITED STATES
to
bottom line through clever visual manipu- Further, a designer must be more than
ed
lation of a brand-hungry public, but also
the larger visual language of the postmod-
casually familiar with psychology and
history, both with respect to cultural
to
ern environment. All these functions are
important to graphic design ... but, lest we
narratives, symbolism, and ritualized
experiences, as well as to more commercial,
m
forget the simplicity of the designer’s true
nature, let us return to what a graphic
consumer-based impulses and responses
(what is often referred to as marketing).
pe
designer does. A graphic designer assimi- Last, but certainly not least, a designer
lates verbal concepts and gives them form. must have great facility with—and more D
often, in-depth, specialized knowledge
This “giving form” is a discipline that inte- of—multiple technologies needed to imple- th
grates an enormous amount of knowledge ment the designed solution: printing
and skill with intuition, creatively applied media and techniques, film and video, pr
in different ways as the designer confronts digital programming, industrial processes,
the variables of each new project. architectural fabrication, and so on.
PAU
A designer must understand semiotics— Yal
the processes and relationships inherent in
perception and interpretation of meaning
through visual and verbal material. He
or she must have expertise in the flow of
information—instructional strategies,
data representation, legibility and usability,
cognitive ordering, and hierarchic problem
solving—extending into typography, the
mechanics of alphabet design, and reading.
To design requires analytical and technical
mastery of image making—how shapes,
colors, and textures work to depict ideas, Animated motion sequence ONLAB GERMANY
achieve aesthetic cohesion and dynamism
and signify higher-order concepts while
evoking a strong emotional response.

Broch

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 To understand the meaning of design
is...to understand the part form
and content play...and to realize that
design is also commentary, opinion,
a point of view, and social responsibility.
To design is much more than simply
to assemble, to order, or even to
edit; it is to add value and meaning, But graphic design is greater than just the
to illuminate, to simplify, to clarify, to various aspects that comprise it. Together,
they establish a totality of tangible, and
modify, to dignify, to dramatize, to often intangible, experiences. A designer
is responsible for the intellectual and
persuade, and perhaps even to amuse. emotional vitality of the experience he or
she visits upon the audience, and his or her
task is to elevate it above the banality of
Design is both a verb and a noun. It is literal transmission or the confusing self-
indulgent egoism of mere eye candy. And
the beginning as well as the end, the yet, beauty is a function, after all, of any
relevant visual message. Just as prose can
process and product of imagination. be dull or straightforward or well edited
and lyrical, so too can a utilitarian object be
designed to be more than just simply what
PAUL RAND/GRAPHIC DESIGNER/ From his book Design, Form, and Chaos. it is. “If function is important to the intel-
Yale University Press: New Haven, 1993 lect,” writes respected Swiss designer Willi
Kunz, in his book, Typography: Macro- and
Micro-Aesthetics, “then form is important
to the emotions ... Our day-to-day life is
enriched or degraded by our environment.”

The focus of this book is on these formal,

or visual, aspects of graphic design and,
implicitly, their relevance for the messages
to be created using them. It’s a kind of user
manual for creating what is understood to
be strong design, and empowering readers
to effectively—and skillfully—harness
their creativity to meet the challenges that
a designer must meet every day.

Brochure page spread for an energy company COBRA NORWAY

09 design elements

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 R
b
TWENTY RULES b
FOR MAKING ig
GOOD DESIGN
DAV
Fro
the
Lon

Event poster SANG ZHANG/PARSONS SCHOOL OF DESIGN UNITED STATES

10 11

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 Rules can
be broken—
”
but never When people talk about “good” or “bad”
design, they’re referring to notions of
quality that they’ve picked up from educa-
a revelation occurs that, oddly enough,
will establish yet another rule. This is how
human creativity works. The importance

ignored. tion and experience, and often from the

experience of thousands of designers and
critics before them. Sometimes, these no-
tions are aesthetic—“asymmetry is more
of knowing which rules are considered
important (at least historically), and why,
is understanding the possible consequences
of breaking them so that something unfor-
beautiful than symmetry,” for example, tunate doesn’t happen out of ignorance.
or “a neutral typeface is all you need”— In addition, rules act as guides in help-
and sometimes strictly functional—for ing to build a communal discussion about
DAVID JURY/ TYPOGRAPHER/ example, “don’t reverse a serif typeface interpreting and evaluating creative work.
From his book About Face: Reviving from a solid background if it’s less than If everything is “good,” then nothing really
the Rules of Typography RotoVision, 10 points in size, because it’ll fill in.” Both can be. Relativism is great, to a point,
London, 1996. kinds of observation are helpful in avoiding and then it just gets in the way of honest
pitfalls and striving to achieve design judgment; the result is a celebration of
solutions that aren’t hampered by irritating ubiquitous mediocrity. By no means should
difficulties—to make every design be all any rule, including those that follow, be
that it can be. Every time an attempt is taken as cosmic law. If you’re unconvinced,
made to cite rules governing what consti- simply turn to page 296, where breaking
tutes quality, however, people are bound every rule in this book is advocated whole-
to get their underwear in a knot: “That’s heartedly. But these rules are a starting
so limiting!” To those people, I’ll say this: point, an excellent list of issues to consider
get over it. Rules exist—especially the ones while you work. In the end, you will decide
set forth here—as guidelines, based on how and when to apply the rules, or not,
accumulated experience from many sources. as well as understand the results of either
As such, rules always come with exceptions course of action.
and can be broken at any time, but not
without a consequence. The consequence
of breaking one rule might mean reinforcing
another, and it might mean true innovation,
in the right context—a context in which

11 design elements

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 01 0
HAVE A CONCEPT.

If there’s no message, no story, no idea,

no narrative, or no useful experience to be
had, it’s not graphic design. It doesn’t
matter how amazing the thing is to look
at; without a clear message, it’s an empty,
although beautiful, shell. That’s about
as complicated as this rule can get. Let’s CO
move on. DO

Ooo
carr
abst
Zippered plastic bags with give
evidence stickers package the It’s
books in a series of detective effe
novels. The books themselves
become artifacts of the crime ute
novels. THOMAS CSANO CANADA eye
Kno
why

This website for a digital

illustration studio foregoes
conventional presentation
in favor of an appropriately
image-based environment
designed to evoke the work-
space of a medieval scribe—
tasked with illuminating
manuscripts. The studio’s
work is presented within the
0BE

pages of an open book, with

navigation appearing as a A ve
set of software-program tools are
at upper left. DISTURBANCE mea
SOUTH AFRICA
Sure
it, b
do s
upo
and
bou
idea
on t

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 02
COMMUNICATE—
DON’T DECORATE.

Oooh ... Neat! But what exactly is it? Form

carries meaning, no matter how simple or
abstract, and form that’s not right for a
given message junks it up and confuses.
he It’s great to experiment with images and
e effects, but anything that doesn’t contrib-
es
me ute to the composition or meaning is simply
ADA eye candy that no longer qualifies as design.
Know what each visual element does and
why, or choose another with purpose. The notion of “blooming” unfurling flower petals without
underpins a publication of being literal. TIMOTHY SAMARA
graduating students’ design UNITED STATES
work; unique abstract ink
washes create the sense of

03
One of the reasons you like this
poster so much is that it speaks
to our common knowledge
so clearly; it feels almost as
if it hasn’t been designed. A
hot-colored circle floating over
a cool blue horizon and punctu-
ated by a refreshing yellow field
y pretty much explains itself.
ADAMSMORIOKA UNITED STATES

—
BE UNIVERSAL.
he
h
A very large audience, not a few people who
ols are “in the know,” must interpet what you
mean with those shapes, colors, and images.
Sure, you get it, and other designers will get
it, but ultimately it’s the public who must
do so. Speak to the world at large; draw
upon humanity’s shared narratives of form
and metaphor and make connections, not
boundaries. If you’re unsure whether your
ideas make sense, show them to someone
on the street and find out.

13 design elements

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 04 0
In this set of exhibition collat-
eral, a specific visual language
of silhouetted images—all
similarly geometric in their
shapes, monochromatically
colored, and transparent—
responds to the type’s sym-
metrical axis with a rhythmic
left-to-right positioning. Stroke
contrast and graphic details
in the serif type unify with
SPEAK WITH ONE the imagery’s ornate internal
details, while contrasting
VISUAL VOICE. with its planar quality.
GOLDEN COSMOS GERMANY

Make sure all the elements “talk” to each

other. Good design assumes the visual
language of a piece—its internal logic—
is resolved so that its parts all reinforce
each other, not only in shape or weight or
placement, but conceptually as well. When
one element seems out of place or unre-
lated, it disconnects from the totality and
the message is weakened.

05
Exquisite, decisive control of
the minimal elements, align-
ments, and the spaces around
and between them creates a
dynamic, almost architectural
space that is active and three-
dimensional ... which is all you
really need for a brochure for
a contemporary architecture
firm. LSD SPAIN

IF YOU CAN DO IT WITH

LESS, THEN DO IT.

This is a riff on the “less is more” theory,

not so much an aesthetic dogma now as
it is a bit of common sense: the more stuff
jammed into a given space, the harder
it is to see what needs to be seen. There’s
a big difference between “complicated”
and “complex.” True power lies in creativity
applied to very little—without sacrificing
a rich experience. Adding more than needed
is just “gilding the lily.”

14 twenty rules for making good design 15

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 06
at- CREATE SPACE —
age DON’T FILL IT.
r
y Negative (or white) space is critical to good
design. It calls attention to content and
mic gives the eyes a resting place. Negative
roke space is just as much a shape in a layout as
s any other thing. Carve it out and relate it
to other elements. A lack of negative space
al overwhelms an audience, and the result is
an oppressive presentation that no one will
want to deal with.

From within a confined space

enclosed by the visual angles
creatd by headline and body
text, hands stretch outward to
release a symbolic butterfly;
the image’s message is restated
subtly by the compositional
space with which it interacts.
LOEWY UNITED KINGDOM

of
n-
nd

ural
ee-
you
or
re

15 design elements

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 07 0
Viewers are likely to see this
theater poster’s title treatment
from thirty strides away,
followed by the theater’s name
and, in a sequence of decreasing
contrast, weight, and size, the
rest of the information. These
type treatments, along with the
movement creatd by the title
and the supporting shapes, help
move the viewer’s eyes from
GIVE ’EM THE most important item to least
important. DESIGN RUDI MEYER
ONE-TWO PUNCH. FRANCE

Focus viewers’ attention on one important

thing first—a big shape, a startling image
or type treatment, or a daring color—
and then lead them to the less important
items in a logical way. This is establishing
a “hierarchy”—the order in which you
want them to look at the material—and it
is essential for access and understanding.
Without it, you’ve already lost the battle.

08
BEWARE OF
SYMMETRY.

As in nature, symmetry can be quite effec-

tive, but approach it with extreme caution.
Symmetrical layouts easily become static
and flat, and they severely limit flexibility in
arranging content that doesn’t quite fit the
symmetrical mold. Symmetry also is often
perceived as traditional (not always rele-
vant) and may suggest the designer is lazy A str
and uninventive—as though the format has divis
directed how the material will be arranged. (from
While the designers of this axes of the pages, retained the through the use of extreme scale with
book, which organizes text and appropriate gravitas needed contrast, transparency, and nal r
headings relative to both the for its academic subject, they rotation of text elements. and c
vertical and horizontal center nonetheless also counteracted STUDIO BLUE UNITED STATES sizes
its potentially static quality the e

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 09
s FIGHT THE FLATNESS.
ent

ame
sing People make a weird assumption about and transparency. Create differences in
the
two-dimensional visual stuff, and that density and openness by clustering some
se
h the is: it’s flat! Go figure. Layouts that fail to elements and pushing others apart. Apply
le impart a sense of depth or movement— color to forms such that some appear to
help those in which everything is the same size, advance and others recede. Convince the
m weight, color, and perceived distance from viewer that the surface is a window into a
st everything else—are dull and lifeless. bigger, engaging world.
YER
“Without contrast,” Paul Rand once said,
“you’re dead.” Fool the viewer into seeing
deep space by exploiting changes in size

A strong progression of spatial optical movement and con-

divisions across this page spread tributes to the perception of
(from wide to narrow), together varied spatial depths.
with carefully arranged diago- STAYNICE NETHERLANDS
nal relationships among forms
and continual contrast in the
sizes, values, and proximities of
the elements achieves dramatic

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 10 1
PICK COLORS ON
PURPOSE.

Don’t just grab some colors from out of the disparate items—sometimes called “color
air. Know what the colors will do when you coding”—so choose wisely. Never assume
combine them and, more important, what that a certain color, or a combination of
they might mean to the audience. Color colors, is right for a particular job because
carries an abundance of psychological and of convention, either. Blue for financial
emotional meaning, and this meaning can services, for example, is the standout color
vary tremendously between cultural groups cliché of the past fifty years. Choose the LE
and even individuals. Color affects visual right colors, not those that are expected.
hierarchy, the legibility of type, and how
people make connections between
Colo
man
valu
The muted rose tones in this gett
fragrance packaging are femi- sim
nine without being girlish; a
A lo
slight shift toward brown in the
typography creates a subtle, yet for i
rich, interaction. The comple- colo
mentary green-gold—almost a mak
direct complement, but again,
slightly off—presents rich con-
trast and hints at complexity
and allure. A10 DESIGN BRAZIL

1MA
AN

Ton
sure
Furt
rang
firec
area
exp
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or
me

se

lor

.
11
LESS COLOR IS MORE.

Color is exciting but, much like a circus, too

many things happening at once with hue,
value, and intensity prevents viewers from
s getting a memorable color idea. Stick to a
mi- simple palette and create rich relationships.
a
A lot can be accomplished with black alone,
n the
e, yet for instance; and using a single dramatic
le- color, rather than black, is a sure way of
The designer of this brochure greens, blues, and violets,
st a making a big impact. spread, despite incorporating with warm tones used only
in, full-color photographic images, for supporting elements.
con- constrained the color palette to TIEN-MIN LIAO UNITED STATES
ty a set of closely related, cool
IL

12
Soft, rippling transitions
from deep black to luminous
blue provide a sensuous back-
drop for the bright, sparkling
typography in this poster.
By changing the sizes of
type clusters, as well as the
spaces between them, the
designer also is able to intro-
duce transitions in value
that correspond to similar
MASTER THE DARK transitions in the image.
AND THE LIGHT.
PAONE DESIGN ASSOCIATES
UNITED STATES

Tonal value is a powerful design tool. Make

sure you’re using a range of dark and light.
Furthermore, don’t spread out the tonal
range all over the place. Use tone like
firecrackers and the rising Sun: Concentrate
areas of extreme dark and light; create
explosions of luminosity and undercurrents
of darkness. Counter these with subtler
transitions between related values. Make
distinctions in value noticeable and clear.

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 13
TYPE IS ONLY TYPE
WHEN IT’S FRIENDLY.
1TR
WO

It should go without saying that type that A gr

can’t be read has no purpose, but, unfortu- this
nately, it bears repeating. Yes, typography from
should be expressive, visually inventive, them
and conceptually resonant. It must still will
transmit information. Choose typefaces visu
that aid legibility, watch out for weird color Well-drawn, neutral typefaces and
contrasts, set text in a size that your that distinguish navigational com
grandmother can read, and you should levels from content through in th
be good to go. clear size, weight, and organi- seem
zational relationships guaran-
tee ease of use for visitors to this
website. MANUEL ESTRADA SPAIN

14
USE TWO TYPEFACE
FAMILIES, MAXIMUM.
1AV
RE

OK, maybe three. Choose typefaces for Be c

specific purposes; you’ll often find there are conv
only two or three kinds of text in a project. intr
Because a change in typeface usually signals sam
a change in function—restrain yourself! A the
single type family with a variety of weights that
and italics can be enough; a second is nice the
for contrast, but don’t overdo it. Too many wor
typefaces are distracting and self-conscious plet
and might confuse or tire the viewer. dee
Even the use of a single typeface the sizes of text elements and and
family—here, a sans serif with the combination of weights to mor
a variety of weights—is enough maximize contrasts of dark and
to create dynamic textural light, while ensuring overall
vitality. The strategy boils stylistic unity. CONOR & DAVID
down to decisive choices for IRELAND

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 15
Both the style—bold, all upper-
case sans serif—and placement
of the type help complete the
composition of this poster. The
title does double duty as land-
ing strip and identifier; the logo
itself appears as an airplane
(with the bowl of the numeral
5 creating its propeller); the
angular quality of the numerals
is placed in direct contrast with
TREAT TYPE AS YOU the curves of the cloud forms;
and the small text at the top
WOULD IMAGE. draws the diagonal motion of
the other elements upward and
activates the space at the top
A great deal of typography often fails in of the poster. C+G PARTNERS
this regard: it’s either blandly separated UNITED STATES

from images or insensitively slapped across

them, under the assumption that this alone
will integrate it as part of a layout. Type is
visual material—made up of lines and dots
aces and shapes and textures—that must relate
nal compositionally to everything else included
h in the design, no matter how different they
ni- seem to be.
an-
this
PAIN

16
Rather than represent the sub-
ject of this exhibition poster—
photography of birds—by
showing the exhibition’s work
or by depicting the subject liter-
ally, the designer instead chose
a more conceptual approach.
Given that the subject was
explicit in both the exhibition’s
title and subtitle, the designer
was free to develop a visual idea
AVOID REDUNDANT that leapt beyond the expected
and introduced a deeper, more
REDUNDANCIES. conceptual message. The type
forms, cut from paper and
scanned, create not only a pho-
Be conscious of how much information is tographic dimensionality, but
conveyed by a project’s text. When you a visual association with legs,
introduce imagery, you need not show the wings, feathers, tree branches,
and wires—the environment
same information. Instead, consider what
that birds and people share.
the text isn’t telling the viewer and show LESLEY MOORE NETHERLANDS
that (and, conversely, text should tell what
the images don’t show). The image and text,
working in concert, should not only com-
plete each other but contribute to a new,
deeper understanding. In closing the gaps
and making such leaps, the viewer becomes
more intensely engaged.

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 17 1
CREATE IMAGES —
DON’T SCAVENGE.

Make what you need, and make it the what already exists, even though it might
best you can—or pay someone to do it for be cheaper or easier. Inventing images from
you and art-direct them. And remember: scratch—in whatever medium—will help
Not every idea benefits from a full-color better differentiate your client’s message
photographic depiction. Very often, a more and connect powerfully with the audience.
original, and meaningful solution is no fur- Plus, you can say, quite proudly, that you
ther away than a couple of dots and lines, did it all yourself. LO
a simple, funky icon, or (gasp!) an abstract BU
pattern or a scribble. Your options are limit-
less; consider them all. Try not to rely on
It’s
and
own
No photography or illustration real
available? Can’t draw? No sim
sweat. A designer with a strong
be i
understanding of how abstract
form communicates—and part
what simple means (here, hov
drawing software and a blur not
filter)—can transform uncom- but
plicated visual elements into
strikingly original and concep-
tually appropriate images.
CLEMENS THÉOBERT SCHEDLER
AUSTRIA

All it takes to make an image

new and original—even a bad
one provided by a client—is a
little manipulation. Whatever
the source of this portrait, it’s
been given a new, specific life
1IG
SE

with a color change and a little

Peo
texture. MUTABOR GERMANY
look
sign
that
curr
will
and
at th
yea
so fi
Found photographic images are
reinvented in this collage, cut
and pasted together and then
drawn into with colored pencil.
MANUEL ESTRADA SPAIN

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 18
This cover for a reissued version
of a significant art-movement
text represents the energy and
irreverence of the period and
t its style without mimicking it;
instead of repetition and over-
rom
lap, hallmarks of the source
p style, this type is distorted and
e deformed. MAREK OKON CANADA
e.
u
LOOK TO HISTORY,
BUT DON’T REPEAT IT.

It’s important to explore past approaches

and aesthetics and to understand one’s
own work in context. More useful is the
tion realization that another designer faced a
similar problem—and solved it. Go ahead,
rong
be inspired! But, to slavishly reproduce a
ract
particular period style because it’s cool
hovers between plagiarism and laziness—
ur not cool. Learn from the work of others,
om- but do your own work.
to
cep-

ER

19
In the covers of these literary
classics—part of a series—
carefully crafted illustrative
icons are arranged in symmetri-
cal, wallpaperlike patterns
and adorned with simple,
small-scale serif type—graphic
gestures that aren’t in vogue
(at the time of this edition).
And yet, this visual language
ge
seems somehow modern while
bad
sa IGNORE FASHION. being appropriate to the subject
matters and contexts of the
ver SERIOUSLY. books. By focusing on authentic
t’s
messages and delivering them
fe
with sound, well-formed type
ttle
People in the present respond to what style and images, the designer
looks cool and “now.” Many designers get ensures an exquisitely timeless
significant attention for trendy work. Forget quality that transcends the
fads of the moment.
that. If you design around meaning, not
CORALIE BICKFORD-SMITH
current stylistic conceits, your projects UNITED KINGDOM
will resonate more deeply, not get dated,
and have impact far longer. Nobody looks
at the Pantheon, designed almost 2,000
years ago, and says, “Ewww, that’s like,
so first century.”

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Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The
Retrospect
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Retrospect

Author: Ada Cambridge

Release date: March 6, 2013 [eBook #42270]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Laura & Joyce McDonald and Clare Graham and Marc
D'Hooghe

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE

RETROSPECT ***
THE RETROSPECT
BY
 ADA CAMBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF

"THIRTY YEARS IN AUSTRALIA," "PATH AND GOAL," ETC.

LONDON

STANLEY PAUL & CO.

31 ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.

COLONIAL EDITION.

1912

TO

MY FRIENDS, KNOWN AND UNKNOWN

WHO WERE YOUNG AND HAVE GROWN OLD WITH ME

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK

 CONTENTS

I. Coming Home
II. About Town
III. In Beautiful England
IV. The Home of Childhood
V. Halcyon Days
VI. Earliest Recollections
VII. Old Times and New
VIII. Some Early Sundays
IX. My Grandfather's Days
X. Outdoor Life
XI. At the Seaside
XII. Excursions to Sandringham
XIII. A Trip South
XIV. "Devon, Glorious Devon!"
XV. In the Garden of England

CHAPTER I

COMING HOME
There was a gap of thirty-eight years, almost to a day, between my
departure from England (1870), a five-weeks-old young bride, and
my return thither (1908), an old woman. And for about seven-
eighths of that long time in Australia, while succeeding very well in
making the best of things, I was never without a subconscious sense
of exile, a chronic nostalgia, that could hardly bear the sight of a
homeward-bound ship. This often-tantalised but ever-unappeased
desire to be back in my native land wore the air of a secret sorrow
gently shadowing an otherwise happy life, while in point of fact it
was a considerable source of happiness in itself, as I now perceive.
For where would be the interest and inspiration of life without
something to want that you cannot get, but that it is open to you to
try for? I tried hard to bridge the distance to my goal for over thirty
years, working, planning, failing, starting again, building a thousand
air-castles, more or less, and seeing them burst like soap-bubbles as
soon as they began to materialise; then I gave up. The children had
grown too old to be taken; moreover, they had attained to wills of
their own and did not wish to go. One had fallen to the scythe of the
indiscriminate Reaper, and that immense loss dwindled all other
losses to nothing at all. I cared no more where I lived, so long as the
rest were with me. In England my father and mother, who had so
longed for me, as I for them, were in their graves; no old home was
left to go back to. I was myself a grandmother, in spite of kindly and
even vehement assurances that I did not look it; more than that, I
could have been a great-grandmother without violating the laws of
nature. At any rate, I felt that I was past the age for enterprises. It
was too late now, I concluded, and so what was the use of fussing
any more? In short, I sat down to content myself with the inevitable.
I was doing it. I had been doing it for several years. The time had
come when I could look out of window any Tuesday morning, watch
a homeward-bound mail-boat put her nose to sea, and turn from the
spectacle without a pang. The business of building air-castles
flourished, as of yore, but their bases now rested on Australian soil.
What was left of the future was all planned out, satisfactorily, even
delightfully, and England was not in it.
Then was the time for the unexpected to happen, and it did. A
totally undreamed-of family legacy, with legal business attached to
it, called my husband home. Even then it did not strike me that I
was called too; for quite a considerable time it did not strike him
either. But there befell a period of burning summer heat, the
intensity and duration of which broke all past records of our State
and established it as a historic event for future Government
meteorologists; the weaklings of the community succumbed to it
outright or emerged from it physically prostrate, and I, who had
encountered it in a "run-down" condition, was of the latter company.
The question: "Was I fit to be left?" obtruded itself into the settled
policy: it logically resolved itself into the further question: "Was I fit
to go?" There was nothing whatever to prevent my going if I could
"stand" it, and a long sea-voyage had been doctors' prescription for
me for years. Mysteriously and, as it were, automatically, I brisked
up from the moment the second question was propounded, and
before I knew it found myself enrolled as a member of the
expedition. The two-berth cabin was engaged; travelling trunks, and
clothes to put in them, bestrewed my bedroom floor. I was going
home—at last!
And was it too late? Had I outlived my long, long hope? Not a bit of
it. I had outlived nothing, and it was exactly and ideally the right
time. "You will be disappointed," said more than one of my travelled
old friends, who had known the extravagance of my anticipations. "It
will be sad for you, finding all so strange and changed." "You will
feel dreadfully out of it, after so many years." "You will be very
lonely"—thus was I compassionately warned not to let a too
sanguine spirit run away with me. They were all wrong. I never had
a disappointment: nothing was sad for me, of all the change; no one
could have been less out of it, or less lonely. Every English day of
the whole six months was full of pleasure; I was not even bored for
an hour. At no time of my life could I have made the trip with a
lighter heart (being assured weekly that all was well behind me).
Children would have meant a burden, however precious a burden,
and had I gone in my parents' lifetime it would have been with them
and me as our ship's captain said it was with his wife during his brief
sojourns with her; for half the time she was overwrought with the
joy of his return, and for the other half miserable in anticipation of
his departure, so that he never knew her in her normal state. That
my father and mother had long been dead, and that the tragedies of
home love and loss, with which I was so familiar, were not pressing
close about me, probably accounted more than anything else for my
being so well and happy. Also, it is not until a woman is sixty, or
thereabouts, that she is really free to enjoy herself.
Well! I never was so well since I was born. The long sea-voyage did
all that was asked of it, and incidentally brought home to me the
truth of the old adage that silver lines all clouds. "If only we were
not so far away!" had been my inward wail for eight and thirty years.
"If only we had emigrated to Canada, or South Africa, or almost any
part of the British Empire but this! Then we might have flown home
every few years as easily as we now go from Melbourne to Sydney,
and at no more expense." I have the same regret, intensified, now
that I am back in Australia again. But there is no gain without its
corresponding loss. Not only might the joys of England after exile
have become staled by this time, but a voyage of a week or two
would not have prepared me to make the most of them. I am
convinced that years of health and life are given to those who, at the
right juncture, can afford six weeks of sea-travel at a stretch, and
they may have been given to me and my companion; I quite believe
so. Each of us was a stone heavier at the end of our holiday than at
the beginning, and in the interval we forgot that we were a day over
twenty-five.
Consider for a moment the perfect adjustment of the conditions to
the needs of the invalid with no disease but exhaustion. I pass over
the special favours vouchsafed to me, in idyllic weather and tranquil
seas, and the mothering of a devoted stewardess who is my friend
for life; also in finding quiet and pleasant company in a saloon party
of but eighteen. That sort of luck cannot be purchased even with a
first-class steamer ticket, nor is it necessary to the efficacy of the
treatment. Take only the itinerary—that of the Suez route at a
suitable season—as it may be observed by anybody.
First, the run across the Indian Ocean—in the case of the mail-
steamers from Adelaide to Colombo, in our case from Adelaide to
Aden. Three whole weeks, without a break, without an incident, if all
goes well. I had never imagined the sea could be so blank as it
presented itself to us on this first section of our voyage. Ships may
have passed in the night, but I saw none by day; no land, no birds,
no whales, no phosphorescent wakes, no anything, except sea and
sky and lovely sunsets. It may have been monotonous, but it was
monotony in the right place. It brought to me, at the outset, that
complete rest from all effort and excitement which was the
necessary preliminary to recovery and repair. I reposed on my
comfortable lounge from morn till eve, playing with a trifle of
needlework (too stupid with blissful torpor to read, while the
strangeness of quite idle hands would have induced the fidgets, sea-
drugged as I was). I ate, and slept, and basked, like a soulless
animal; forgot there were such things as posts and newspapers, as
dinner-planning and stocking-mending, as calls and committee-
meetings; forgot that I was the mother of a family, and had
abandoned it for the first time in history; forgot whether I was ill or
well, or had nerves or not; and thus soaked and steeped and
soddened in peace, insensibly renewed and established my strength,
not patching it anyhow just to carry on with, as one does on land,
with a casual week at a watering-place or in the mountains, but
unhurriedly, uninterruptedly, solidly, rebuilding it from the bottom up.
Then, when strength becomes aware that it is ready for use—at the
moment when one begins to feel that the monotony has lasted long
enough—then back comes the delightful world, with a new face of
beauty to match the new ardour of love for it that has been silently
generating within us. All the light of enterprising and romantic youth
was in the gaze I levelled through my binoculars (given to me for my
voyage in 1870) at the first substantial token that I was in the
gorgeous East, one of the fairylands of imagination (comprising,
roughly, all the unknown earth) from the days of infancy when I
learned to read. It was an Arab dhow. I knew that pointed wing as
well as I knew the shape of chimney-pots, but the wonder that I was
seeing it with my bodily eyes, even as a speck upon the horizon, was
overwhelming. I stared and stared, but could not speak.
The rest was pure enchantment. As we drew near to the magnificent
rock of Aden—hateful place, I know, to its white inhabitants, and an
old tale not worth mentioning to the average Australian tourist—I
said, in my ecstasy: "This pays for the voyage, if we see nothing
more." The first white-awninged launch that bustled up to us,
manned by two nondescripts, one huge Nubian negro and one
beautiful Somali boy, bore through the brilliant air and water an
official gentleman who probably would have sold his soul for a
London fog; it was not he, but another official gentleman who
swallowed nearly a bottle of ship's brandy while attending to ship's
business, and was presented with another bottle on his departure by
a sympathiser who understood his case. It was a hot morning in the
middle of May, and I had been accustomed from my youth to
atmospheric light and colour as glorious as the radiant setting of this
strange outpost of Empire in the East. Evidently it is in the eye
(backed by a strong imagination) of the gazer that poetic beauty
lies.
After this, the unspeakable experiences followed thick and fast.
Night in the Straits, with Venus so bright that she cast a reflection
like moonlight across the water; the Red Sea in the morning—
minarets on the horizon, and those rocks of desolation, with the
loneliest human dwelling conceivable (the arcaded lighthouse) on
the top of one of the most impressively desolate; that other
lighthouse at the gulf entrance, with its flashing rays of red and
white, its rock-base velvety purple against a solemn sunset sky;
Mount Sinai amongst the hills of Holy Land; the majestic desert of so
many dreams. Time was when I sniffed at the colour of Holman
Hunt's "Scapegoat" landscape, but here it was, translated into living
light, but no fainter in tint than the dead paint had made it.
Sapphires were not in it with that blue-green sea at Suez, in which
the jostling bumboats floated as in clearest glass. The rocky shores
to left were mauve, the right-hand desert and Holman-Hunty
hummocks salmon-pink, and no mortal painter was ever born, or
ever will be, to "get" the bloomy glow and fairy delicacy of Nature's
textures and technique. The Eastern sun blazed broadly over the
scene, the temperature at noon was ninety-nine degrees in the
shade; the composition was perfect.
Between tea-time and dinner we passed out of the city and close to
its domestic doorsteps—the closest I had yet come to Eastern life;
and long after we were in the canal it was a picture to look back
upon from which I could not tear my eyes. Low on the gleaming
water—the two towns linked by the dark thread of the railway
embankment, brooded over by that majestic mauve and violet hill—it
was a vision of beauty indeed as the light effects changed from
moment to moment with the sinking of the gorgeous sun. I could
afford no time to dress that night. In my hat, as I was, I snatched a
mouthful of dinner, and was up again on deck, to make the most of
the short twilight; and so I saw the shadowy last of Suez and more
than I expected to see of the canal.
"Just a little ditch in the sand," somebody had told me, as one might
say, a primrose by the river's brim was nothing more. Apart from its
otherwise tremendous significance, that narrow watercourse was a
highway of romance to me. Egypt—Arabia—the very names set one's
heart thumping. It would be thrilling to be there even if one were
blind. The silence of the desert is more eloquent than any sound.
But from the most unsentimental point of view it was a ditch of
varied aspects, that only the dullest traveller could call uninteresting.
The Canal Company, it appeared, was widening it to double its
original measure across, top and bottom—something like a ten
years' job, with millions of money and priceless brain-matter in it—
and we saw the engineers at work. That is to say, they were not at
work at the moment, because the day's task was done; but there
were their excavations and machinery, fine and effective, and I can
never look at such, apprehending their meaning, without a lifting of
the heart, a sense of the beauty that is in the world unrecognised by
that name. What, I wondered, did my schoolgirl idol and apostle of
beauty, Ruskin, think of this ditch when it was a-making? Did he
say? If, to my knowledge, he had called it a desecration of Nature, I
should instantly have agreed with him. Now, to my life-educated
eyes and soul, the very Holy Land was sanctified by the faithful
endeavour and achievement evidenced in haulage-trucks and pipe-
lines and those twin steel rails that he hated so much, telling all their
serious story to whoever could understand it.
It was indeed a beautiful as well as an instructive picture, that left
bank, as we moved beside it. The native labourers, after their work,
squatted in their little camps and dug-outs, and in the sand, or stood
statue-like to watch our passing, sharply silhouetted figures and
groups against the translucent sky, each a "study" that, if in a
gallery, one would go miles to see. Strings of camels were being led
to water or were wending homeward with their loads. Little
encampments straight out of the Bible, desert palm-trees, desert
distances, all in the golden afterglow, the clear-shining twilight, the
evening peace that was too peaceful for words, were gems for the
collector of poetic impressions, to be for ever cherished and
preserved. And then how striking was the rare glimpse of a Saxon
face, the glance at us of grave eyes that one knew had the all-
governing brain behind them. The British Occupation in Egypt—there
it was, in the person of that lonely man in tent or boat-house,
advance agent of the Civilisation that spells Prosperity in whatever
part of the world it goes. One of these, out riding with a lady, rode
down to the water's edge to watch us pass. In their white garb they
were perfectly groomed, like their beautiful Arab horses, which they
sat in a style that was good to see; but they were pathetic figures,
with that lonely waste around them. I divined a deadly
homesickness in the eyes that followed our progress as long as we
could be seen, the same ache of the heart that afflicted me, for so
many years, whenever I saw a ship going to England without me.
Yet one could be quite sure that they never dreamed of slipping
cables on their own account as long as duty to the Empire held them
where they were. Not the man, at any rate.
And so it grew too dark to see anything beyond the edge of our
searchlight, which showed only post-heads in the water, and I went
to bed.
I was asleep when we passed Ismailia, contrary to my intentions,
but I got up at four o'clock, to lose no more. Still unbroken desert to
the right; to the left a well-made embankment with a roadway atop,
and behind that a belt of bamboos and greenery, telegraph lines and
a railway, broken at intervals by the oases of the gares. An American
navy-boat made way for us at one of these, a pair of submarines
conspicuous on her deck. At a little before five the sun of a lovely
morning rose on our starboard side, and one saw the desert wet and
dark, yielding its immemorial savagery to the civilising hand and
brain. One of the fine up-to-date dredges, amongst the many
dredges, was pumping the mud up on the land as it sucked it from
the canal bottom. In the shining sun-flushed pools of its creation
black forms of storks moved statelily, apparently finding nourishment
already where there had been none before. On the left bank there
was the embodied spirit of progress again, doubtless looking at his
work and on the way to expedite it; white-clothed, white-helmeted,
enthroned on a railway trolly, which a bare-legged native ran along
the line as it were a perambulator on ball bearings, two more natives
sitting upon it, ready to take turns with him at the job. Lifting the
eye slightly, one saw open water along the sky behind them, a
flashing, glittering strip, studded with forty-two lateen sails that
might have been carved of mother o' pearl; and almost immediately,
straight ahead, a low mass of something as yet misty and formless
in the dazzling rose and gold of the morning, reminiscent of Suez in
its sunset transfiguration—Port Said, less than an hour from us.
It was Sunday, and divine service in the reading-room had been
arranged. Soon after six, at about the time of passing the Gare de
Naz-el-ech, passengers began to come up, a few with prayer-book in
hand. But divine service was "off," by order of the captain—a
religious man, very regular in his attendance at public worship. He
knew how it would be at seven-thirty, when we were going to drop
anchor in the port at seven, and that was exactly how it was—every
inch of ship overrun with ardent pedlars, while coaling from the
great lighters, three or four lashed abreast, was in full swing. I may
as well say at once that for me, as for nearly all the passengers (my
own companion, who declared himself quite happy in his choice,
being the only member of the saloon party to stay at home), that
Sunday, as a Sunday, has to be wiped off the slate entirely, posted
as missing amongst the Sabbath days of life. I must confess further
that it was the most delightful (so called) Sunday I ever spent. At
last I did more than see the Gorgeous East of lifelong dreams; I felt
it, I had speech with it. In a select party, headed by the dear woman
who, apart from her solid social position, was the chief pillar of the
church on board, I was permitted to go ashore. I had the free use of
six hours to do what I liked in.
In the half-hour before breakfast I did exciting business with the
bumboatmen. I bought a piece of tapestry, representing camels,
palm-trees, mosques and the like, which the native vendor assured
me was handmade in Egyptian prisons, though in my heart of hearts
I knew better; also brooches and bracelets which seemed dirt cheap
at two and three shillings apiece, the exact counterparts of which I
afterwards bought at William Whiteley's for sixpence ha'penny. As
soon after breakfast as we could get our letters ready, I was rowed
through the jewel-bright water into the world of fairy tales. Oh, I
know what Port Said is to those familiar with it, and I could have
seen for myself, had I wished to see, that the Gorgeous East could
be flimsy and tawdry, even ugly, here and there; but it was the East,
and that was enough; the glamour of the rosy spectacles beautified
all. Nothing was easier than to forget and ignore what would
doubtless be impossible to overlook on a second visit, and
impossible to put up with on a third or fourth.
Having arrived at the centre of things, we appointed an hour for
luncheon at the Hotel Continental, and split our party into twos and
threes. An unattached man took charge of me and another
unattached lady, and escorted us about the town and to the shops
which alone attracted her (for she knew Port Said already).
Wonderful shops, too, some of them were, and it was no wasted
time I spent roaming about them, while she gave her attention to
spangled scarves and lace; but the lattice-veiled windows of the
mysterious dwelling-rooms above them, and the flowing and glowing
life of the narrow streets, were what I had come to see. It was
delightful to return to the pavement under the Continental, and
there sit, with a cold and bubbling lemon drink, in one of the low
chairs which so hospitably invite the wayfarer, to watch the stream
of mingling East and West go by, and its eddies around one—the
veiled native lady touching skirts with the breezy English girl; the
turbaned sherbet seller, his remarkable brazen ewer under his arm,
dodging the swift bicycle; the oily-eyed and sodden rapscallion of
the Levant, or the bejewelled and bepowdered person no better
than she should be, elbowing the spare young cleric slipping through
these dangerous places on his way to the Pan-Anglican Congress.
And the stranger contrasts on the wide, tiled side-walk, a continuous
outdoor café rather than a promenade—Frenchmen playing
dominoes, swarthy traders doing secret business over their drinks;
passengers from the various ships in port, mothers and aunts with
children by the hand; here and there the habitual tourist, easily
identified; here and there the impeccably clothed, clean-limbed
white figure, whose high bearing and bluff dignity proclaimed the
important person—soldier of distinction, big-game-hunting lord of
leisure, powerful Government official, as the case might be. All up
and down, around the low tables, faces of all nations, speech of all
languages, and, as an undercurrent, the incessantly made gentle
appeal for notice from the dark-skinned pedlars sinuously navigating
the narrow channels between the chairs, with their cheap jewellery
and picture post-cards and puzzle walking-sticks, trying how far they
could go under the eye of the Egyptian policeman, standing ready to
order them over the curb at the first sign of unwelcome pertinacity.
For a good half-hour we sat at ease, in the middle of this picture,
and I enjoyed myself surpassingly. Then a little more shopping on
behalf of my still unsatisfied lady companion, and then the gathering
of the whole seven of our landing party at the appointed rendezvous
for luncheon. We were ready for the meal, and it was not the least
memorable of the æsthetic pleasures of that "Sunday out." I am told
it was simply as a meal ashore, after many meals at sea, that I
found it so delectable, but in justice to the courteous French
proprietor, as he seemed to be, who himself took charge of our
table, and for my own credit as a connoisseur, I deny that assertion,
made only by those who were not there. I declare, on my honour,
that, apart from the good cookery, the bread, butter and beer of the
Hotel Continental at Port Said—such a seemingly unlikely place in
which to find them so—were the best I ever tasted. Particularly the
bread. One of the remaining ambitions of my life is to find out
whether that bread was French, or Egyptian, or Turkish, or what (the
reader bears in mind that this is the story of an innocent abroad),
and to get some more of it, if possible.
We sat outside the house again, to repose after our repast, and I
should think there was no more contented person in the world than
I was then. I bought a little more Brummagem rubbish that palmed
itself off as of Oriental manufacture, of the softly persistent pedlars
circulating about my chair; and our escort settled the hotel bill,
which worked out at four-and-sixpence for each of us. Never did I
grudge hard-earned money for sensual indulgence less. I would not
now take pounds for my recollections of that meal, because the day
could not have been perfect without it.
So it drew on for four o'clock, when leave expired. Tired, hot and
happy, we wandered back to the quay, dropped our threepenny
pieces into official hands before the tantalised boatmen, stepped into
our cushioned barge and were rowed to the ship. There we found
coaling done, afternoon tea prepared for us, everything ready for
the start. And, again in the decline of the brilliant day, we saw the
whole place bathed in celestially rosy light, a last impression of the
gorgeous East as one loves to imagine it, to be hung on the line of
the picture gallery of memory alongside Aden and Suez. Because
decks were being washed down, the captain allowed a few of us to
survey the scene from his bridge, and while we rested weary bones
we gazed from that commanding altitude upon the unforgettable
panorama—the houses of the sea-front, the casino, the famous
lighthouse, the bathing-beach with its white surf and its machines,
the long breakwater walling the exit from the canal, and—farewelling
us, as it seemed—the impressive statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps,
pointing back to his great work. At sunset we fetched up the coats
so long unworn, and in the fresh air of the Mediterranean watched
the flushing and fading of the distant city, low on the water like
another Venice, until the evening bugle called us down. Too tired to
dress, we ate our dinner perfunctorily, took a last look at the
spacious, cool-breathing night, saw the Damietta light twinkling, and
went to bed early. No one so much as mentioned church.
Then came three quiet days, sunny and cool, in which the right thing
to do was to lie on one's long chair and recover from excitements.
Meditation was so sweet, and I was so grateful to Port Said, that I
could not grumble at losing Malta, where the ship had no
engagements. A far-off, faint reflection of what was supposed to be
a flashlight in Valetta harbour consoled me on my way to bed one
night with its suggestion that Templars really lived, and that the old
cathedral and the old steep streets were still there, awaiting the
future pilgrim. No more did I set foot in "foreign parts," but what I
further saw of them sufficed to make each remaining day of the
voyage memorable. "The Bay of Tunis," says the captain, and: "Old
Carthage lies behind that hill."
We were so close to the African shore that we could see the
occasional town, the lonely farm, the lonelier fort or monastery, very
distinctly; and the little unfenced, unshaped patches of tillage
scratched out of the wilderness, and the little roadways meandering
through the gaps of the crowding rock-ranges, otherwise so savagely
desolate; and the evening lights sparsely scattered along the shore,
and the early morning camp-fires on the seaward declivities, so high
up and isolated as to suggest the fastnesses of the pirates of bygone
days. A horn of the Bay of Algiers stole out of twilight mist, and lit
up its clustering lamps as we looked at it; and the following day
revealed the face of Spain, frowning at her vis-à-vis, but splendid in
a stormy sunset, a velvety violet mass against a flaming sky.
At four o'clock again on Sunday morning I was up and dressed,
summoned by the captain stamping overhead. And out of the dawn
came majestic Gibraltar—the sun was up before five—and Algeciras
of recent fame, ships and warships, hills, houses, hamlets, windmills,
roads and Tarifa Point transfixing a wrecked steamer, sad detail of a
picture full of life and charm. Another red-letter Sunday, but not
quite so red as the last. Divine service was duly celebrated in the
saloon after dinner—our last on board.
The captain stamped again at five A.M. on Monday, and I saw the
Castle of Cintra on its rocky headland, and more of the interesting
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