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The fashionable places of resort thronged by a motley crowd of fools, fiddlers, and faro-bankers, present no such probabilities of restoration for those named, and for the summer invalid, as a sea voyage. True, the occasional sameness of sea life may hang heavily on those who have difficulty in disposing of time; but not so with others who have minds to shape their own joys, and souls to respond to their blessed inspirations; and it may be that even the listless may find a refuge from ennui in the personal peculiarities of fellow-passengers and incidents growing out of them. The “ Francisco " was not without examples of such, yet however varied the entertainment they afforded to some, others preferred the companionship of nature, and at all times its eloquent instruction.

Our course from the Islands to the North American continent was the usual one northward, to get the westerly wind and bear away before it for our port of destination. “ The trades," which had borne us steadily on, gradually fell off for three days, and finally died away altogether in latitude 38° 21', thirty-three miles beyond the parallel of San Francisco, a calm following, in which the sea was spread out smooth, glassy, and motionless, save in inherent sympathies, which in scarcely perceptible undulations responded to the pulsations of its mighty heart afar off. A mirror, too, it seemed, of the overhanging canopy, set in a rim of clouds that bordered the horizon, still as the heaven against which they leaned, pure as the snow, unlike in form, and yet akin in faultless beauty. There lay the sea, in truth

“A glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime,
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime
The image of Eternity-"

reflecting from its blue, unfathomable depths, besides the radiant sky and clouds, a semblance of the patient vessel that sat upon its polished bosom, gazing within upon the likeness of its tapering spars, its drooping sails, and slackened cordage; a listless revelation, mocking the helplessness above that passively awaited



favoring gales. The birds which had borne us company, skimming unweariedly the crested wave, deserted us, drifting to other latitudes where they could spread their unmoving pinions to the gale that bears them up in circling flight. The sense of want of nature's accustomed proofs of presence became painful. Naught but ocean's own remained, and those of frailest organization, as if too delicate to go where wind and wave might visit them too roughly, or so low in the scale of creation as to be akin to surrounding lifelessness. The ocean water-spider, unseen at other times, ran unharmed on the smooth sea, or, contracting its little body, sunk below the transparent surface, fleeing as fleetly and as visibly as before. That harmless little sea-craft, inappropriately called the “Portuguese man-o'-war," in safety spread its semilunar sail of gossamer so skilfully athwart its tiny oval blue hull, that gentlest zephyrs could not breathe without aiding the capillary propellers that moved their minute screws beneath. Myriads of barely perceptible monads, invisible when the ocean is disturbed, revealed to the microscope through their transparent gelatinous bodies, a rudimentary vascularity and a motion, showing that the apparently dead wave teemed with elementary life; and tangled skeins of fibrous-looking mucilage floated abroad to feed the unseen creatures of the great deep; while lower still, touched by varying shades of light, and gleaming at times as if a sunbeam gilded them, lay motionless but to the mind not voiceless, other and startling mysteries

The semblances of forms familiar,
That, loosened from their ocean tombs, arose
To tell how perish victor and vanquish’d,
Feeble and strong, timid and brave, alike.

And although they did not reveal the secrets of that eternity of which their sepulchre is the symbol, though of these immortal mysteries they were silent, as is the sun in its daily errand of goodness; and the moon, sailing through the upper deep, which tells no tidings of the ethereal waste; and the stars on their nightly rounds, uttering no syllable of the limitless world of which they are the unwearied sentinels; yet these floating fragments of mortality did speak to the soul of the river between

this life and the eternal, which no boat but Death's shall cleave, and of the immortal spirits ——

“That none return from those quiet shores

Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;
We hear the dip of the g Iden oars,

And catch a gleam of he snowy sail-
And lo! they have passe 1 from the yearning heart;

They cross the stream and are gone for aye;
We may not sunder the eil apart

That hides from our view the gates of day.
We only know that their barks no more

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea,
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,

They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

“And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold

Is flushing river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by that water cold,

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar:
I shall watch for a gleam of the silvery sail ;

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale

To the better shore of the spirit land :
I shall know the loved gone hence forever,

And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,

The Angel of Death shall carry me.”

The contemplation of the great deep, when not wrapped in the lethargy which sometimes drops its leaden pall on parts of the wondrous whole, leads the mind from the fleeting interests of time to sublimer conceptions, although the veil that hides the realities of eternity may not be penetrated. For, as in the beginning “the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters," so now even finite apprehension recognizes there His presence, teaching man humility and wisdom. We behold in the sea, thus consecrated everywhere by the Spirit of its Creator, and in Galilee by the footsteps of the Saviour, the boundless bosom into which the countless rivers of earth pour their waters unheeded, to be mingled with the floods that have gone before, and shall follow after through all time. How like to eternity



in which ages shall end from everlasting to everlasting, and yet whose vastness heeds not their number or the measure of their years! And the waves rolling on their unending legions, coming and going in ceaseless agitation, or lifting their crests of foam to be a moment seen, then passing away forever-are not these like the generations of men ? A span of feverish restlessness and death make up their brief record. Wave and life are merged in ocean and eternity, which remain the same unchanged similitudes. In the presence of such a symbol of life and death, of the perishing present and everlasting future, that soul must indeed be dead while it liveth, that fails to take in the solemn responsibilities of the hour and determine wisely the future foretold by the “longing after immortality” within us ; and as we listen to the symphonies of the melodious billows, and the ceaseless cadence of the surge that welcomed creation's dawn, the transported spirit seems to drink in the celestial strain that greets the coming of the just, and swells the anthem of eternity; and thus it, too, would win the gift that lifts “the crystal bar of Eden.”

For two days our vessel sat silent, unmoving, powerless, on the wide waste; and when the favoring west wind came at last to awaken the sleeping ocean, and with gentle breathings dimpled its fair face as with a smile, ere stirring the depths of its strange strength, it seemed a reflection of hearts rejoicing in the goodness of Him whose “way is in the sea, whose path in the great waters."

Though sailing as close to the wind as possible we were driven westward to the 159° of longitude, 3° 21' beyond the meridian of Hilo, while our destination was far away to the east. Our captain was not long, therefore, in changing our course as soon as favoring gales allowed, and clothing our craft in her fullest rig of canvas. Bright skies and propitious winds make happy voyagers, whose hearts beat responsive to the joyous serenade of sea and seamen.

On the nineteenth day of our passage we ran near the Reed Rocks, in latitude 37° 21', and longitude 137° 22' against which, in navigating this part of the Pacific, a ship is apt to stump her “forefoot” unless a sharp lookout is kept from the forecastle.

The Farralones Islands, twenty-seven miles off the coast of California, were made after midnight of the twenty-fifth day of the voyage, the revolving light on South Farralon having been seen but a few minutes when a dense fog, common on this coast, came up, shutting it from view, and compelling us to stand off for safety until daylight and less haze showed us again our whereabouts. The seven or eight guano covered rocks called the Northwest Farralones were on our port side and South Far

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ralon on the starboard as we steered northeast by north alongside of the Middle Rock, nearly midway the channel of eight miles between the extremes of the group. South Farralon is about a mile long, and looks in the distance like a lofty edifice with low wings. A lighthouse stands on its summit; the guiding star during the dark hours, of the busy commerce covering this part of the greatest ocean, as the islands themselves are the conspicuous landmarks by day. A few hours after passing the

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