Next to the thought of friends whom we had parted from for so long a
time, my mind during the voyage was occupied with the idea of
Columbus. When I looked upon the rude, boundless ocean, and
remembered that when he set out with his little vessel to go to a
land that no one knew any thing of, not even that there was such a
land, he was guided altogether by his faith in its existence; that
he had no sympathy, but only opposition; that he had no charts,
nothing but the compass, that sure but mysterious guide,--the
thought of his sublime courage, of his patient faith, was so present
to my mind, that it seemed as if I was actually sometimes in his
presence.

The other idea was the wonderful skill displayed in the construction
of the small, but wonderfully powerful and beautifully arranged and
safe home, in which we were moving on this immense and turbid ocean,
carrying within her the great central fire by which the engine was
moved, which, in spite of winds and waves, carried us safely along;
then the science which enabled the master of this curious nutshell
of man's contriving to know just in what part of this waste of
trackless waters we were. All these things I knew before, and had
often thought of them, but was never so impressed with them; it was
almost as if they were new to me.

Before I quit the ocean, I must tell you of what I saw for which I
cannot account, and, had not one of the gentlemen seen it too, I
should almost have doubted my senses. When we were entirely out of
sight of land, I saw a white butterfly hovering over the waves, and
looking as if he were at home. Where the beautiful creature came
from, or how he lived, or what would become of him, no one could
tell. He seemed to me to be there as a symbol and a declaration that