h her yawning hatchways a mountainous piling up of barrels is visible below;-there is much rumbling and rattling of steam-winches, cre

ere and there,-each with an occupant, smoking in silence, or dozing with head drooping to one side. A young man, awakin

uddenly shakes the heavy air: it is our farewell to the American shore;-we move. Back floats the wharf, and becomes vapory with a bluish tinge. Diaphanous mists seem to have caught the sky color

ur passing,-seeming first to turn towards us, then to turn away from us, the solemn beauty of her pas

It has begun to sound, Little waves lift up their heads as though to loo

ored sky,-flossy, long-drawn-out, white things. The horizon has lost its greenish glow: it is a spectral blue. Masts, spars, rigging,-the white boats and the orange chimney,-the bright deck-lines, and the snowy rail,-cut agai

hat drowns speech,-a humming made up of many sounds: whining of pulleys, whistling of riggings, flapping and fluttering of canvas, roar of nettings in the wind. And this sonorous medley, ever growing louder, has rhythm,-a crescendo and diminuendo timed by the steamer's regular swinging: like a great Voice crying out, "Whoh-oh-oh! whoh-oh-oh!" We are nearing the life-centres of winds and curr

sun, this gold-green light takes vast expansion.... Right on the edge of the sea is a tall, gracious ship, sailing sunsetward. Catching the

at vision! The whole great ship in full sail instantly makes an acute silhouette against the monstrous disk,-rests there in the very middle of the vermilion sun. His face crimsons

Violet the night comes; and the rigging of the