I stood on a point several hundred feet above a beautiful bay. Three white side wheel steamers were circling round about a mile from shore. Presently one of them ran down another, which instantly sank. Then the offender headed for the remaining craft and struck her similarly. She went down stern foremost. Her bow remained a little above water and pointing straight up for some seconds. I reasoned that she probably had an airtight space forward. I was in Roxbury with my brother. He asked me where Mount Pleasant was, but I directed him to go to Grove Hall and keep on for a mile beyond. We separated. I walked a long way thru a thickly settled section and came to a vacant corner lot upon which six or eight men, all resembling Mr. H., were camping out or picnicking. Without previous thought, I found myself inquiring about J.B. They said she was out of town. With remarkable inconsistency, I told them I knew it, adding (a lie) that I did not want to see her, but her mother. The last impression I have is a strong one of being altogether out of sorts with myself and everybody else.