which disposes you to exult in your fancied security. But in an open
boat, brought down to the very plane of the sea, this feeling almost
wholly deserts you. Unless the waves, in their gambols, toss you and
your chip upon one of their lordly crests, your sphere of vision is
little larger than it would be at the bottom of a well. At best, your
most extended view in any one direction, at least, is in a high,
slow-rolling sea; when you descend into the dark, misty spaces,
between long and uniform swells. Then, for the moment, it is like
looking up and down in a twilight glade, interminable; where two
dawns, one on each hand, seem struggling through the semi-transparent
tops of the fluid mountains.

But, lingering not long in those silent vales, from watery cliff to
cliff, a sea-chamois, sprang our solitary craft,--a goat among the Alps!

How undulated the horizon; like a vast serpent with ten thousand
folds coiled all round the globe; yet so nigh, apparently, that it
seemed as if one's hand might touch it.

What loneliness; when the sun rose, and spurred up the heavens, we
hailed him as a wayfarer in Sahara the sight of a distant horseman.
Save ourselves, the sun and the Chamois seemed all that was left of
life in the universe. We yearned toward its jocund disk, as in
strange lands the traveler joyfully greets a face from home, which
there had passed unheeded. And was not the sun a fellow-voyager? were
we not both wending westward? But how soon he daily overtook and
passed us; hurrying to his journey's end.

When a week had gone by, sailing steadily on, by day and by night, and
nothing in sight but this self-same sea, what wonder if disquieting