DREAMS OF THE OLD WORLD.

15

ed the resolution, ere long, to sail down that bay in one of these beautiful ships? Or was I only dreaming of doing so, as I had done before? In one short month from that time, on a day no less serene and enchanting, I was sailing down that bay with my wife and daughter beside me. I could hardly believe it real—it was a kind of waking dream still. But we passed out the Narrows-we left Sandy Hook behind -the Neversink highlands faded from our view-we coursed along the low shore of Long Island—we were at length in the midst of the world of waters out of sight of land. Then after a time there came a strange feeling over me— country, home, all the known and familiar objects of my life were lost to me, and there remained to me nothing of existence but what was contained in a solitary ship in mid ocean —like a speck in immensity. No other world yet was realized. It seemed to me a sort of death-the passage from one state to another. I actually experienced a kind of sadness and dread. Then the ship itself became dear to me. It contained two beings whom I loved, a few acquaintances, and strangers into whose society I was thrown. But I found myself drawn by the most kindly sentiments to all. Here

was all that remained to me of human kind. I became soon accustomed to this new state, and found in this little world room to expatiate. I formed new acquaintances, I made new friends, I studied new forms of character, I compared men of different nations thrown intimately together. I talked with the officers and the sailors, and with the sooty firemen as they came aloft dripping with perspiration to take a breath of cool air. Then there was the motion of the ship and the

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DREAMS OF THE OLD WORLD.

working of the engine to be observed. Many little incidents of every day had their measure of interest. There was the

daily bulletin of latitude and longitude to be noticed. Even eating and sleeping became amusements. The sky and the ocean, too, were studied with a keen interest. For glorious sights we had the rising and the setting of the sun and moon.

By and by the conviction came over me that we were drawing near the eastern shore. We had been sailing on and on, day and night; we reckoned the number of miles we had passed; we calculated our latitude and longitude. If there was an eastern shore, it must soon come in sight. Now expectation became eager. I felt like a child standing before the curtain, behind which was the show I had been dreaming of. I knew it was there, and yet could hardly believe it true; it was too good to be true; still a dreamy state of mind prevailed. But now the curtain begins to move, we shall soon see.

It was near the hour of noon one day, when some one cried out that he saw the land. We all gathered to the side of the ship, and strained our eyes in the direction pointed out. I saw something in the horizon cloudlike; but the clouds, instead of moving, became more distinct, and assumed definite form. There was something like rocks, and then, rising above, a white obelisk—it was a lighthouse! The shore grew more and more distinct, and, dimly straggling along, appeared the houses of a town; the Scilly Isles were in sight! But these Scilly Isles were only an outpost of reality. At length, however, Land's-end comes in sight, and we are running along the coast, and green fields and human habitations appear. And

DREAMS OF THE OLD WORLD.

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that is old England rising from the bosom of the sea. We have crossed the Atlantic. We belong now to the Old World. Who can doubt it? Land's-end, the Lizard, Eddystone Lighthouse, green fields and human habitations, here they are. I am dreaming no longer; to-morrow I shall set my foot on shore. How often does it happen to us in life that our fondest dreams become reality? When it does happen, we feel, for the time, reconciled to heaven and earth, and all things are good and beautiful, and we love all, and seem to be loved by all.

Setting Sail-The Voyage - The Landing.

the banks of the Hudson, a hundred miles above the

city of New-York, there is an ancient Dutch town, which my ancestors, with other emigrants from Holland, settled, and where they quietly throve for several generations. Here before the days of swift sloops and schooners, and especially before the days of steamboats, and when those old, tubshaped vessels were in vogue which one may yet see lying about in Rotterdam and other towns of the mother country, it was customary, before undertaking a voyage to the great city on the island of Manhattan, where the Hudson sweeps into a broad and placid harbor ere it meets the sea, to make a formal and serious leave-taking of one's relatives, friends, and neighbors: nay, the prudent and peace-loving inhabitants deemed it expedient to adjust all matters of busi

ANCIENT NAVIGATION.

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ness that might contain elements of dissention to those who should come after them; to make their wills, to unburthen their consciences, and, in fine, to prepare for the contingencies of no ordinary adventure, and for an absence of no ordinary duration.

But every thing is relative in our world, and perhaps in all other worlds. How many things that were great in former generations are great no longer! How many that we esteem great will sink into insignificance hereafter! Many days, and often weeks, were occupied by the passage along the bold shores of Esopus, through the mighty Highlands with their cloud-capped peaks, over the broad expanse of the Tappan Sea, along the base of the far-stretching Pallisades, and so down, until the distant shores of New-Jersey came in sight. Many perils of changing winds, and of winding and adverse currents, had to be encountered. Sometimes it was necessary to cast anchor and await a favorable breeze; and sometimes expeditions were made on shore for fruits and vegetables, and other fresh provisions. We are amused at the accounts which the old men give us of the olden time. A voyage down the Hudson then occupied a longer time, and seemed in every respect a more serious affair, than a voyage to Europe does

now.

Now, with little deliberation, with less preparation, and with no mention of his intention except to his nearest relatives and a few friends whom he may chance to meet, a man gets into a carriage with his family, drives down to the ocean steamer with very much the same air as when he drives to a steamer for Albany or Newport. On the deck of the steamer