LETTER XLII.-Route to Avignon-Vale of the Rhone-Vienne-St. Vellier-Tain-Valence-Mont Ventoux-Orange-Avignon-Carnival- Tomb of Laura-Excursion to Vaucluse. LETTER XLIII.-Ride to Marseilles-Aix-First view of the Mediter- ranean-Sketch of Marseilles-Notre Dame de la Garde-Port-Quays- Commerce-Public Buildings-Garden of Plants-Historical Sketch-Cli- mate-Washington's birth-day-Amusements-Society and Manners. LETTER XLIV.-Excursion to Languedoc-Ride to Nismes-Amphi- theatre-Maison Carree-Fountain-Route to Montpellier-Sketch of the City-Concert-Porte Peyron-Aqueduct-Botanic Garden-Tomb of Nar- LETTERS FROM EUROPE. LETTER I. PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC. Packet Ship Corinthian, at sea, 25th June, 1825. "THUS far we sail before the wind," in a figurative, if not in a literal sense, our gallant ship having at length reached the fifty-second degree of north latitude, and the twenty-ninth of longitude, after a passage of seventeen days from New-York. She is now standing for the coast of Ireland, with a favourable breeze, bearing us at the rate of eight or nine knots the hour towards the port of destination; and as it is possible we may land at Cape Clear or Cork, if a fair opportunity shall present, with a view of visiting the principal places in that island, before going to England, I employ a leisure hour in retracing our path-way over the waste of waters to this point, reserving the remainder of the voyage to some future occasion. Although I have kept a full diary, in which a volume of minute incidents are recorded; yet on a review, the contents appear too trifling and too monotonous for publication. Circumstances which attracted attention, and served to amuse us, insulated and cut off as we were from the rest of the world, would appear trivial in detail, and could afford no gratification to my readers. A general outline of our voyage thus far is all I shall attempt. My letter will doubtless contain many things at which a sailor would laugh, as exhibiting the evidences of a complete landsman, or what the English denominate a Johnny Newcome, the extent of my navigation having hitherto been confined to Long-Island Sound. The whole scene has therefore been to me entirely novel. I hope the struggle of feeling, which a temporary separation from friends was calculated to excite, was sustained with a fortitude “that becomes a man ; who dares do more, is none." The heart experiences a new sensation, and throbs with new pulsations, as the eye surveys its native shores fast receding from view, with all the endearments of country and home. To a novice, the feeling is by no means allayed by the thought, that he is going he knows not whither, launching upon the wide ocean, and entering in fact upon an untried state of being. Light as these things may seem on shore, they will occasionally come over the heart at sea; and it is enough to say, that they were felt to their full extent, without however producing a moment's regret, at an undertaking involving like all others, some doubts and some risks as to the result. A fair but light breeze soon bore us away from the waters of NewYork. Object after object faded on the eye. Staten Island and the blue summits of the Neversink were soon lost in the horizon. Our course for some distance was nearly parallel with Long-Island; and the last land we saw was the hills of South-Hampton. Every American passenger kept the deck, with his face turned homeward, till between 4 and 5 o'clock in the afternoon, when the last glimpses of the shore vanished, and several of us for the first time realized the force of the poet's expression“ undique cœlum, undique pontus." The blue sky and the blue ocean were all of the world that remained to us; and we felt, if we did not exclaim-“my native land, good night!" The separation had not till this moment become perfect; for the mind clung to the objects it could yet discern, as old acquaintances, and the dim and distant view of the hills along the island formed the last tie to be severed. When this was dissolved, we began to regard the packet as our only home for the present, and to examine into the resources which it afforded, for comfort, instruction, and amusement. Fortunately we have thus far found it abundant in all these particulars. The Corinthian is one of the best built, and most gallant ships belonging to our port, with a skilful commander, and an active crew. When all her canvass is spread, and there is a stiff breeze, with the speed of the Corsair's bark, "She walks the water like a thing of life," dashing through the foam, and bounding over the billows with the utmost grandeur, leaving her competitors far behind. She has fallen in with perhaps a dozen vessels in the course of our passage, none of which could keep in sight of her, for more than two or three hours. The accommodations of the Corinthian are not inferior to her external appearance and her reputation for fleetness. Our table has been spread four times a day, laden with all the variety of meats, fruits, and delicacies, which the greatest epicure could desire, and crowned with several kinds of wine, not excepting champaign once or twice a week, for the purpose of drinking "sweet-hearts and wives,”—a custom rigidly observed by us on every Saturday evening. Our ship is a sort of farm and store-house, from which the most abundant supplies of fresh provisions are drawn at pleasure. Its deck has quite a rural appearance, where one hears the crowing of the cock, the cackling of hens, geese, and ducks, the lowing of the cow, and the bleating of sheep. There is an honest Irishman on board, named Jemmy, who is working his passage home, and whose special duty it is, to superintend the farm-yard and feed the stock. His assiduity, and the tenderness he manifests towards his little flock, particularly towards the cow Sukey, have acquired for him the good wishes of all the pas sengers. We have fourteen passengers, a majority of whom are Americans, and the remainder English and Scotch. They are all well educated, intelligent, and gentlemanly men, who have seen much of the world, and are intimately acquainted with the respective countries to which they belong. Although we have no ladies on board to exercise their restraining influence, the utmost decorum in dress and demeanour is observed; and as much etiquette prevails daily at our table, as is witnessed at a genteel dinner party. This circumstance has added greatly to the pleasures of our passage. There is a good library on board the Corinthian, which with the books belonging to the passengers and thrown into common stock, furnishes an ample supply of literary amusement. I have not found an hour hang heavy on my hands since my departure, except in cases of indisposition, which have been less frequent and less severe than I had anticipated. The day passes in reading, writing, and conversation, interspersed occasionally with a game at chess, or back-gammon for recreation. These occupations, at once instructive and amusing, together with the various operations in directing and managing the ship, presenting a new sphere of life and a language peculiar to itself, with which I was in a great measure unacquainted, have left no room for ennui. But there is a pleasure beyond what this little world, enclosed in wooden walls, can afford-the pleasure of looking abroad upon the boundless ocean, of watching its changing aspects, its restless agitation, its eternal heavings. There is a grandeur in such an expanse of water, stretching beyond the limits of vision, and on all sides mingling with the skies, even when its surface is calm and placid. But how is its magnificence heightened, when it is lashed into tumult, and the billows are crested with foam! I have stood for hours, to see the waves rolling and tumbling in the verge of the horizon, with which they appear to be blended. It is at such a moment, that man feels his weakness and insignificance, while the elements are in commotion, the sea dashing around him, in all its terror and sublimity, and a fathomless abyss yawning beneath, insulated as he is from the rest of the world, and devoid of human assistance. His confidence is limited to a plank, and that apparently too fragile to withstand for a moment the violence and concussion of the waves. In spite of all the convictions of safety and of all resolutions to meet whatever may come, with firmness and fortitude, the imaginanation, startled by the creaking of masts, the piping of winds, and the dashing of the surge, will sometimes descend to the bottom of the ocean, and survey such horrors, as are depicted in the dream of Clarence: "What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by." When the imagination has once reached the bottom of the ocean, it is very easy for it to extend its rambles through coral groves and those green recesses, which poets, and naturalists scarcely less fanciful, have supposed to exist. Buffon thinks that the depths of the sea exhibit all the varieties of hill and dale, earth and rock, that we observe on dry land; and that its plants and shrubs have a similar regular distribution. According to others, these vegetables and sub-marine productions are of the most gorgeous and splendid colours, vying in richness and beauty with the most picturesque scenery of the earth above. Fancy may go a step farther, and people these bright abodes with the inhabitants of the deep, or those fabled divinities, whom the poets of antiquity called into existence. But let us once more ascend to the surface, if my bathos has not carried me beyond a retreat. I have never before so fully realized the |