Quem res plus nimio delectavere secundae,

mutatae quatient.

One whom Fortune's smiles have delighted

overmuch, will reel under the shock of change.

Horace, Epistles I, x, 30-31

"Vir bonus," omne forum quem spectat et omne tribunal… "Iane, pater!" clare, clare cum dixit "Apollo"; labra movet metuens audiri: "Pulchra Laverna, da mihi fallere, da iusto sanctoque videri! Noctem peccatis et fraudibus obice nubem!"

This "good man," for forum and tribunal, the cynosure of every eye…cries with loud voice, "Father Janus!," with loud voice, "Apollo!," then moves his lips, fearing to be heard; "Fair Laverna, grant me to escape detection, grant me to pass as just and upright, shroud my sins in night, my lies in clouds!"

Horace, Epistles I, xvi, 57-62

"Laverna, the ancient goddess of thieves

Bleakness… bleakness on every hand. The North Atlantic was as vast, and grey, and desolate as it was the morning before the Lord said, "Let there be land." A slow, chill rain sullenly fell, pattering as light as cat-feet on the fresh-scrubbed decks, a rain so light that it could be mistaken for heavy dew shaken off the masts and sails, and the miles of rope rigging by a listless West-Sou'west wind, a wind that had a definite late autumn nip to it.

The seas had moderated from a half-gale past midnight, and were now only slowly heaving, the wave-sets between crests now nearly twice the overall length of the frigate that lay fetched-to into that wind, her bows aimed at Halifax, from which she had departed three weeks before.

The sun was up there in the overcast… somewhere, smothered by a drab pall that hung like an oxided pewter bowl above the frigate, stretching from one horizon to the other, with darker banks of clouds to the East, where last night's gale had gone.