Omnebene
　　Sinepoena
　　Tempusestludendi。
　　Venithora
　　Absquemora
　　Librosdeponendi。
　　OLDHOLIDAYSCHOOLSONG。
　　INTHEprecedingpaperIhavemadesomegeneralobservationson
　　theChristmasfestivitiesofEngland，andamtemptedtoillustrate
　　thembysomeanecdotesofaChristmaspassedinthecountry；in
　　perusingwhichIwouldmostcourteouslyinvitemyreadertolay
　　asidetheausterityofwisdom，andtoputonthatgenuineholiday
　　spiritwhichistolerantoffolly，andanxiousonlyforamusement。
　　InthecourseofaDecembertourinYorkshire，Irodeforalong
　　distanceinoneofthepubliccoaches，onthedayprecedingChristmas。
　　Thecoachwascrowded，bothinsideandout，withpassengers，who，by
　　theirtalk，seemedprincipallyboundtothemansionsofrelationsor
　　friends，toeattheChristmasdinner。Itwasloadedalsowith
　　hampersofgame，andbasketsandboxesofdelicacies；andhareshung
　　danglingtheirlongearsaboutthecoachman’sbox，presentsfrom
　　distantfriendsfortheimpendingfeast。Ihadthreefinerosy—cheeked
　　boysformyfellow—passengersinside，fullofthebuxomhealthand
　　manlyspiritwhichIhaveobservedinthechildrenofthiscountry。
　　Theywerereturninghomefortheholidaysinhighglee，and
　　promisingthemselvesaworldofenjoyment。Itwasdelightfultohear
　　thegiganticplansofthelittlerogues，andtheimpracticablefeats
　　theyweretoperformduringtheirsixweeks’emancipationfromthe
　　abhorredthraldomofbook，birch，andpedagogue。Theywerefullof
　　anticipationsofthemeetingwiththefamilyandhousehold，downto
　　theverycatanddog；andofthejoytheyweretogivetheirlittle
　　sistersbythepresentswithwhichtheirpocketswerecrammed；butthe
　　meetingtowhichtheyseemedtolookforwardwiththegreatest
　　impatiencewaswithBantam，whichIfoundtobeapony，and，according
　　totheirtalk，possessedofmorevirtuesthananysteedsincethedays
　　ofBucephalus。Howhecouldtrot！howhecouldrun！andthensuch
　　leapsashewouldtake—therewasnotahedgeinthewholecountry
　　thathecouldnotclear。
　　Theywereundertheparticularguardianshipofthecoachman，to
　　whom，wheneveranopportunitypresented，theyaddressedahostof
　　questions，andpronouncedhimoneofthebestfellowsintheworld。
　　Indeed，Icouldnotbutnoticethemorethanordinaryairofbustle
　　andimportanceofthecoachman，whoworehishatalittleononeside，
　　andhadalargebunchofChristmasgreensstuckinthebuttonholeof
　　hiscoat。Heisalwaysapersonagefullofmightycareandbusiness，
　　butheisparticularlysoduringthisseason，havingsomany
　　commissionstoexecuteinconsequenceofthegreatinterchangeof
　　presents。Andhere，perhaps，itmaynotbeunacceptabletomy
　　untravelledreaders，tohaveasketchthatmayserveasageneral
　　representationofthisverynumerousandimportantclassof
　　functionaries，whohaveadress，amanner，alanguage，anair，
　　peculiartothemselves，andprevalentthroughoutthefraternity；so
　　that，whereveranEnglishstagecoachmanmaybeseen，hecannotbe
　　mistakenforoneofanyothercraftormystery。
　　Hehascommonlyabroad，fullface，curiouslymottledwithred，as
　　ifthebloodhadbeenforcedbyhardfeedingintoeveryvesselof
　　theskin；heisswelledintojollydimensionsbyfrequentpotationsof
　　maltliquors，andhisbulkisstillfurtherincreasedbya
　　multiplicityofcoats，inwhichheisburiedlikeacauliflower，the
　　upperonereachingtohisheels。Hewearsabroad—brimmed，low—crowned
　　hat；ahugerollofcoloredhandkerchiefabouthisneck，knowingly
　　knottedandtuckedinatthebosom；andhasinsummertimealarge
　　bouquetofflowersinhisbutton—hole；thepresent，mostprobably，
　　ofsomeenamoredcountrylass。Hiswaistcoatiscommonlyofsome
　　brightcolor，striped，andhissmallclothesextendfarbelowthe
　　knees，tomeetapairofjockeybootswhichreachabouthalfwayup
　　hislegs。
　　Allthiscostumeismaintainedwithmuchprecision；hehasapride
　　inhavinghisclothesofexcellentmaterials；and，notwithstandingthe
　　seeminggrossnessofhisappearance，thereisstilldiscerniblethat
　　neatnessandproprietyofperson，whichisalmostinherentinan
　　Englishman。Heenjoysgreatconsequenceandconsiderationalongthe
　　road；hasfrequentconferenceswiththevillagehousewives，wholook
　　uponhimasamanofgreattrustanddependence；andheseemsto
　　haveagoodunderstandingwitheverybright—eyedcountrylass。The
　　momenthearriveswherethehorsesaretobechanged，hethrowsdown
　　thereinswithsomethingofanair，andabandonsthecattletothe
　　careofthehostler；hisdutybeingmerelytodrivefromonestage
　　toanother。Whenoffthebox，hishandsarethrustintothepocketsof
　　hisgreatcoat，andherollsabouttheinnyardwithanairofthe
　　mostabsolutelordliness。Hereheisgenerallysurroundedbyan
　　admiringthrongofhostlers，stable—boys，shoeblacks，andthose
　　namelesshangers—on，thatinfestinnsandtaverns，andrunerrands，
　　anddoallkindofoddjobs，fortheprivilegeofbatteningonthe
　　drippingsofthekitchenandtheleakageofthetap—room。Theseall
　　lookuptohimastoanoracle；treasureuphiscantphrases；echohis
　　opinionsabouthorsesandothertopicsofjockeylore；and，aboveall，
　　endeavortoimitatehisairandcarriage。Everyragamuffinthathas
　　acoattohisback，thrustshishandsinthepockets，rollsinhis
　　gait，talksslang，andisanembryoCoachey。
　　Perhapsitmightbeowingtothepleasingserenitythatreignedin
　　myownmind，thatIfanciedIsawcheerfulnessineverycountenance
　　throughoutthejourney。Astagecoach，however，carriesanimation
　　alwayswithit，andputstheworldinmotionasitwhirlsalong。The
　　horn，soundedattheentranceofavillage，producesageneralbustle。
　　Somehastenforthtomeetfriends；somewithbundlesandband—boxesto
　　secureplaces，andinthehurryofthemomentcanhardlytakeleaveof
　　thegroupthataccompaniesthem。Inthemeantime，thecoachmanhasa
　　worldofsmallcommissionstoexecute。Sometimeshedeliversahareor
　　pheasant；sometimesjerksasmallparcelornewspapertothedoorofa
　　publichouse；andsometimes，withknowingleerandwordsofsly
　　import，handstosomehalf—blushing，half—laughinghousemaidan
　　odd—shapedbillet—douxfromsomerusticadmirer。Asthecoach
　　rattlesthroughthevillage，everyonerunstothewindow，andyou
　　haveglancesoneverysideoffreshcountryfacesandblooming
　　gigglinggirls。Atthecornersareassembledjuntosofvillage
　　idlersandwisemen，whotaketheirstationstherefortheimportant
　　purposeofseeingcompanypass；butthesagestknotisgenerallyat
　　theblacksmith’s，towhomthepassingofthecoachisanevent
　　fruitfulofmuchspeculation。Thesmith，withthehorse’sheelin
　　hislap，pausesasthevehiclewhirlsby；thecyclopsroundthe
　　anvilsuspendtheirringinghammers，andsuffertheirontogrowcool；
　　andthesootyspectre，inbrownpapercap，laboringatthebellows，
　　leansonthehandleforamoment，andpermitstheasthmaticengine
　　toheavealong—drawnsigh，whileheglaresthroughthemurkysmoke
　　andsulphureousgleamsofthesmithy。
　　Perhapstheimpendingholidaymighthavegivenamorethanusual
　　animationtothecountry，foritseemedtomeasifeverybodywasin
　　goodlooksandgoodspirits。Game，poultry，andotherluxuriesof
　　thetable，wereinbriskcirculationinthevillages；thegrocers’，
　　butchers’andfruiterers’shopswerethrongedwithcustomers。The
　　housewiveswerestirringbrisklyabout，puttingtheirdwellingsin
　　order；andtheglossybranchesofholly，withtheirbright—red
　　berries，begantoappearatthewindows。Thescenebroughttomind
　　anoldwriter’saccountofChristmaspreparations：—"Nowcaponsand
　　hens，besideturkeys，geese，andducks，withbeefandmutton—mustall
　　die—forintwelvedaysamultitudeofpeoplewillnotbefedwitha
　　little。Nowplumsandspice，sugarandhoney，squareitamongpiesand
　　broth。Nowornevermustmusicbeintune，fortheyouthmustdance
　　andsingtogetthemaheat，whiletheagedsitbythefire。The
　　countrymaidleaveshalfhermarket，andmustbesentagain，ifshe
　　forgetsapackofcardsonChristmaseve。Greatisthecontentionof
　　hollyandivy，whethermasterordamewearsthebreeches。Diceand
　　cardsbenefitthebutler；andifthecookdonotlackwit，hewill
　　sweetlylickhisfingers。"
　　Iwasrousedfromthisfitofluxuriousmeditation，byashout
　　frommylittletravellingcompanions。Theyhadbeenlookingoutofthe
　　coachwindowsforthelastfewmiles，recognizingeverytreeand
　　cottageastheyapproachedhome，andnowtherewasageneralburst
　　ofjoy—"There’sJohn！andthere’soldCarlo！andthere’sBantam！"
　　criedthehappylittlerogues，clappingtheirhands。
　　Attheendofalanetherewasanoldsober—lookingservantin
　　livery，waitingforthem；hewasaccompaniedbyasuperannuated
　　pointer，andbytheredoubtableBantam，alittleoldratofapony，
　　withashaggymaneandlongrustytail，whostooddozingquietlyby
　　theroad—side，littledreamingofthebustlingtimesthatawaitedhim。
　　Iwaspleasedtoseethefondnesswithwhichthelittlefellows
　　leapedaboutthesteadyoldfootman，andhuggedthepointer；who
　　wriggledhiswholebodyforjoy。ButBantamwasthegreatobjectof
　　interest；allwantedtomountatonce，anditwaswithsomedifficulty
　　thatJohnarrangedthattheyshouldridebyturns，andtheeldest
　　shouldridefirst。
　　Offtheysetatlast；oneonthepony，withthedogboundingand
　　barkingbeforehim，andtheothersholdingJohn’shands；both
　　talkingatonce，andoverpoweringhimwithquestionsabouthome，and
　　withschoolanecdotes。IlookedafterthemwithafeelinginwhichI
　　donotknowwhetherpleasureormelancholypredominated；forIwas
　　remindedofthosedayswhen，likethem，Ihadneitherknowncarenor
　　sorrow，andaholidaywasthesummitofearthlyfelicity。Westoppeda
　　fewmomentsafterwardstowaterthehorses，andonresumingourroute，
　　aturnoftheroadbroughtusinsightofaneatcountryseat。Icould
　　justdistinguishtheformsofaladyandtwoyounggirlsinthe
　　portico，andIsawmylittlecomrades，withBantam，Carlo，andold
　　John，troopingalongthecarriageroad。Ileanedoutofthecoach
　　window，inhopesofwitnessingthehappymeeting，butagroveoftrees
　　shutitfrommysight。
　　IntheeveningwereachedavillagewhereIhaddeterminedtopass
　　thenight。Aswedroveintothegreatgatewayoftheinn，Isawonone
　　sidethelightofarousingkitchenfirebeamingthroughawindow。I
　　entered，andadmired，forthehundredthtime，thatpictureof
　　convenience，neatness，andbroadhonestenjoyment，thekitchenofan
　　Englishinn。Itwasofspaciousdimensions，hungroundwithcopperand
　　tinvesselshighlypolished，anddecoratedhereandtherewitha
　　Christmasgreen。Hams，tongues，andflitchesofbacon，were
　　suspendedfromtheceiling；asmoke—jackmadeitsceaselessclanking
　　besidethefireplace，andaclocktickedinonecorner。Awell—scoured
　　dealtableextendedalongonesideofthekitchen，withacoldround
　　ofbeef，andotherheartyviandsuponit，overwhichtwofoaming
　　tankardsofaleseemedmountingguard。Travellersofinferiororder
　　werepreparingtoattackthisstoutrepast，whileotherssatsmoking
　　andgossipingovertheiraleontwohigh—backedoakensettlesbeside
　　thefire。Trimhousemaidswerehurryingbackwardsandforwardsunder
　　thedirectionsofafresh，bustlinglandlady；butstillseizingan
　　occasionalmomenttoexchangeaflippantword，andhavearallying
　　laugh，withthegrouproundthefire。Thescenecompletelyrealized
　　PoorRobin’shumbleideaofthecomfortsofmid—winter：
　　Nowtreestheirleafyhatsdobare
　　ToreverenceWinter’ssilverhair；
　　Ahandsomehostesss，merryhost，
　　Apotofalenowandatoast，
　　Tobaccoandagoodcoalfire，
　　Arethingsthisseasondothrequire。**PoorRobin’sAlmanac，1684。
　　Ihadnotbeenlongattheinnwhenapost—chaisedroveuptothe
　　door。Ayounggentlemansteptout，andbythelightofthelampsI
　　caughtaglimpseofacountenancewhichIthoughtIknew。Imoved
　　forwardtogetanearerview，whenhiseyecaughtmine。Iwasnot
　　mistaken；itwasFrankBracebridge，asprightlygood—humoredyoung
　　fellow，withwhomIhadoncetravelledonthecontinent。Ourmeeting
　　wasextremelycordial，forthecountenanceofanold
　　fellow—travelleralwaysbringsuptherecollectionofathousand
　　pleasantscenes，oddadventures，andexcellentjokes。Todiscussall
　　theseinatransientinterviewataninnwasimpossible；andfinding
　　thatIwasnotpressedfortime，andwasmerelymakingatourof
　　observation，heinsistedthatIshouldgivehimadayortwoathis
　　father’scountryseat，towhichhewasgoingtopasstheholidays，and
　　whichlayatafewmilesdistance。"Itisbetterthaneatinga
　　solitaryChristmasdinnerataninn，"saidhe，"andIcanassureyou
　　ofaheartywelcomeinsomethingoftheold—fashionedstyle。"His
　　reasoningwascogent，andImustconfessthepreparationIhadseen
　　foruniversalfestivityandsocialenjoymenthadmademefeelalittle
　　impatientofmyloneliness。Iclosed，therefore，atonce，withhis
　　invitation；thechaisedroveuptothedoor，andinafewmomentsI
　　wasonmywaytothefamilymansionoftheBracebridges。
　　THEEND。
　　1819—20
　　THESKETCHBOOK
　　THEVOYAGE
　　byWashingtonIrving
　　Ships，ships，Iwilldescrieyou
　　Amidstthemain，
　　Iwillcomeandtryyou，
　　Whatyouareprotecting，
　　Andprojecting，
　　What’syourendandaim。
　　Onegoesabroadformerchandiseandtrading，
　　Anotherstaystokeephiscountryfrominvading，
　　Athirdiscominghomewithrichandwealthylading。
　　Halloo！myfancie，whitherwiltthougo？
　　OLDPOEM。
　　TOANAmericanvisitingEurope，thelongvoyagehehastomakeisan
　　excellentpreparative。Thetemporaryabsenceofworldlyscenesand
　　employmentsproducesastateofmindpeculiarlyfittedtoreceive
　　newandvividimpressions。Thevastspaceofwatersthatseparatesthe
　　hemispheresislikeablankpageinexistence。Thereisnogradual
　　transition，bywhich，asinEurope，thefeaturesandpopulationofone
　　countryblendalmostimperceptiblywiththoseofanother。Fromthe
　　momentyoulosesightofthelandyouhaveleftallisvacancyuntil
　　youstepontheoppositeshore，andarelaunchedatonceintothe
　　bustleandnoveltiesofanotherworld。
　　Intravellingbylandthereisacontinuityofsceneandaconnected
　　successionofpersonsandincidents，thatcarryonthestoryof
　　life，andlessentheeffectofabsenceandseparation。Wedrag，it
　　istrue，"alengtheningchain，"ateachremoveofourpilgrimage；
　　butthechainisunbroken：wecantraceitbacklinkbylink；andwe
　　feelthatthelaststillgrapplesustohome。Butawideseavoyage
　　seversusatonce。Itmakesusconsciousofbeingcastloosefrom
　　thesecureanchorageofsettledlife，andsentadriftupona
　　doubtfulworld。Itinterposesagulf，notmerelyimaginary，but
　　real，betweenusandourhomes—agulfsubjecttotempest，andfear，
　　anduncertainty，renderingdistancepalpable，andreturnprecarious。
　　Such，atleast，wasthecasewithmyself。AsIsawthelastblue
　　lineofmynativelandfadeawaylikeacloudinthehorizon，it
　　seemedasifIhadclosedonevolumeoftheworldanditsconcerns，
　　andhadtimeformeditation，beforeIopenedanother。Thatland，
　　too，nowvanishingfrommyview，whichcontainedallmostdeartome
　　inlife；whatvicissitudesmightoccurinit—whatchangesmight
　　takeplaceinme，beforeIshouldvisititagain！Whocantell，when
　　hesetsforthtowander，whitherhemaybedrivenbytheuncertain
　　currentsofexistence；orwhenhemayreturn；orwhetheritmayever
　　behislottorevisitthescenesofhischildhood？
　　Isaidthatatseaallisvacancy；Ishouldcorrectthe
　　expression。Toonegiventoday—dreaming，andfondoflosinghimself
　　inreveries，aseavoyageisfullofsubjectsformeditation；butthen
　　theyarethewondersofthedeep，andoftheair，andrathertendto
　　abstractthemindfromworldlythemes。Idelightedtololloverthe
　　quarter—railing，orclimbtothemain—top，ofacalmday，andmusefor
　　hourstogetheronthetranquilbosomofasummer’ssea；togazeupon
　　thepilesofgoldencloudsjustpeeringabovethehorizon，fancy
　　themsomefairyrealms，andpeoplethemwithacreationofmyown；—to
　　watchthegentleundulatingbillows，rollingtheirsilvervolumes，
　　asiftodieawayonthosehappyshores。
　　Therewasadelicioussensationofmingledsecurityandawewith
　　whichIlookeddownfrommygiddyheight，onthemonstersofthe
　　deepattheiruncouthgambols。Shoalsofporpoisestumblingabout
　　thebowoftheship；thegrampusslowlyheavinghishugeformabove
　　thesurface；ortheravenousshark，darting，likeaspectre，through
　　thebluewaters。MyimaginationwouldconjureupallthatIhad
　　heardorreadofthewateryworldbeneathme；ofthefinnyherds
　　thatroamitsfathomlessvalleys；oftheshapelessmonstersthat
　　lurkamongtheveryfoundationsoftheearth；andofthosewild
　　phantasmsthatswellthetalesoffishermenandsailors。
　　Sometimesadistantsail，glidingalongtheedgeoftheocean，would
　　beanotherthemeofidlespeculation。Howinterestingthisfragmentof
　　aworld，hasteningtorejointhegreatmassofexistence！Whata
　　gloriousmonumentofhumaninvention；whichhasinamanner
　　triumphedoverwindandwave；hasbroughttheendsoftheworldinto
　　communion；hasestablishedaninterchangeofblessings，pouringinto
　　thesterileregionsofthenorthalltheluxuriesofthesouth；has
　　diffusedthelightofknowledgeandthecharitiesofcultivated
　　life；andhasthusboundtogetherthosescatteredportionsofthe
　　humanrace，betweenwhichnatureseemedtohavethrownan
　　insurmountablebarrier。
　　Weonedaydescriedsomeshapelessobjectdriftingatadistance。At
　　sea，everythingthatbreaksthemonotonyofthesurroundingexpanse
　　attractsattention。Itprovedtobethemastofashipthatmust
　　havebeencompletelywrecked；forthereweretheremainsof
　　handkerchiefs，bywhichsomeofthecrewhadfastenedthemselvesto
　　thisspar，topreventtheirbeingwashedoffbythewaves。Therewas
　　notracebywhichthenameoftheshipcouldbeascertained。Thewreck
　　hadevidentlydriftedaboutformanymonths；clustersofshell—fish
　　hadfastenedaboutit，andlongsea—weedsflauntedatitssides。But
　　where，thoughtI，isthecrew？Theirstrugglehaslongbeenover—they
　　havegonedownamidsttheroarofthetempest—theirboneslie
　　whiteningamongthecavernsofthedeep。Silence，oblivion，likethe
　　waves，haveclosedoverthem，andnoonecantellthestoryoftheir
　　end。Whatsighshavebeenwaftedafterthatship！whatprayersoffered
　　upatthedesertedfiresideofhome！Howoftenhasthemistress，the
　　wife，themother，poredoverthedailynews，tocatchsomecasual
　　intelligenceofthisroverofthedeep！Howhasexpectationdarkened
　　intoanxiety—anxietyintodread—anddreadintodespair！Alas！not
　　onemementomayeverreturnforlovetocherish。Allthatmayever
　　beknown，is，thatshesailedfromherport，"andwasneverheardof
　　more！"
　　Thesightofthiswreck，asusual，gaverisetomanydismal
　　anecdotes。Thiswasparticularlythecaseintheevening，whenthe
　　weather，whichhadhithertobeenfair，begantolookwildand
　　threatening，andgaveindicationsofoneofthosesuddenstorms
　　whichwillsometimesbreakinupontheserenityofasummervoyage。As
　　wesatroundthedulllightofalampinthecabin，thatmadethe
　　gloommoreghastly，everyonehadhistaleofshipwreckand
　　disaster。Iwasparticularlystruckwithashortonerelatedbythe
　　captain。
　　"AsIwasoncesailing，"saidhe，"inafinestoutshipacrossthe
　　banksofNewfoundland，oneofthoseheavyfogswhichprevailin
　　thosepartsrendereditimpossibleforustoseefaraheadeveninthe
　　daytime；butatnighttheweatherwassothickthatwecouldnot
　　distinguishanyobjectattwicethelengthoftheship。Ikept
　　lightsatthemast—head，andaconstantwatchforwardtolookout
　　forfishingsmacks，whichareaccustomedtolieatanchoronthe
　　banks。Thewindwasblowingasmackingbreeze，andweweregoingat
　　agreatratethroughthewater。Suddenlythewatchgavethealarmof
　　’asailahead！’—itwasscarcelyutteredbeforewewereuponher。
　　Shewasasmallschooner，atanchor，withherbroadsidetowardsus。
　　Thecrewwereallasleep，andhadneglectedtohoistalight。We
　　struckherjustamid—ships。Theforce，thesize，andweightofour
　　vesselboreherdownbelowthewaves；wepassedoverherandwere
　　hurriedonourcourse。Asthecrashingwreckwassinkingbeneathus，I
　　hadaglimpseoftwoorthreehalf—nakedwretchesrushingfromher
　　cabin；theyjuststartedfromtheirbedstobeswallowedshrieking
　　bythewaves。Iheardtheirdrowningcryminglingwiththewind。The
　　blastthatboreittoourearssweptusoutofallfartherhearing。
　　Ishallneverforgetthatcry！Itwassometimebeforewecouldput
　　theshipabout，shewasundersuchheadway。Wereturned，asnearly
　　aswecouldguess，totheplacewherethesmackhadanchored。We
　　cruisedaboutforseveralhoursinthedensefog。Wefiredsignal
　　guns，andlistenedifwemighthearthehallooofanysurvivors：but
　　allwassilent—weneversaworheardanythingofthemmore。"
　　Iconfessthesestories，foratime，putanendtoallmyfine
　　fancies。Thestormincreasedwiththenight。Theseawaslashedinto
　　tremendousconfusion。Therewasafearful，sullensoundofrushing
　　waves，andbrokensurges。Deepcalleduntodeep。Attimestheblack
　　volumeofcloudsoverheadseemedrentasunderbyflashesoflightning
　　whichquiveredalongthefoamingbillows，andmadethesucceeding
　　darknessdoublyterrible。Thethundersbellowedoverthewildwasteof
　　waters，andwereechoedandprolongedbythemountainwaves。AsI
　　sawtheshipstaggeringandplungingamongtheseroaringcaverns，it
　　seemedmiraculousthatsheregainedherbalance，orpreservedher
　　buoyancy。Heryardswoulddipintothewater：herbowwasalmost
　　buriedbeneaththewaves。Sometimesanimpendingsurgeappeared
　　readytooverwhelmher，andnothingbutadexterousmovementofthe
　　helmpreservedherfromtheshock。
　　WhenIretiredtomycabin，theawfulscenestillfollowedme。The
　　whistlingofthewindthroughtheriggingsoundedlikefunereal
　　wailings。Thecreakingofthemasts，thestrainingandgroaningof
　　bulk—heads，astheshiplaboredinthewelteringsea，were
　　frightful。AsIheardthewavesrushingalongthesidesoftheship，
　　androaringinmyveryearitseemedasifDeathwereraginground
　　thisfloatingprison，seekingforhisprey：themerestartingofa
　　nail，theyawningofaseam，mightgivehimentrance。
　　Afineday，however，withatranquilseaandfavoringbreeze，soon
　　putallthesedismalreflectionstoflight。Itisimpossibletoresist
　　thegladdeninginfluenceoffineweatherandfairwindatsea。When
　　theshipisdeckedoutinallhercanvas，everysailswelled，and
　　careeringgaylyoverthecurlingwaves，howlofty，howgallantshe
　　appears—howsheseemstolorditoverthedeep！
　　Imightfillavolumewiththereveriesofaseavoyage，forwithme
　　itisalmostacontinualreverie—butitistimetogettoshore。
　　Itwasafinesunnymorningwhenthethrillingcryof"land！"was
　　givenfromthemast—head。Nonebutthosewhohaveexperienceditcan
　　formanideaofthedeliciousthrongofsensationswhichrushinto
　　anAmerican’sbosom，whenhefirstcomesinsightofEurope。There
　　isavolumeofassociationswiththeveryname。Itisthelandof
　　promise，teemingwitheverythingofwhichhischildhoodhasheard，or
　　onwhichhisstudiousyearshavepondered。