Travellers Stories | Page 5

box on the ear.
We had a horrid night, but the next day it grew quieter, though it was still rough, and the wind ahead. Soon after, it grew fair, and the captain promised us that on Monday, before twelve o'clock, we should see Ireland; and sure enough it was so. I was on deck again just at twelve; the sun came out of the clouds, and the mate took an observation.
"That is worth five pounds," said he; "now I know just where we are."
Then the captain went up on the wheel-box, and we heard the welcome sound, "Tory Island." We were then greatly rejoiced; this was the twelfth day of our voyage. At night, for one hour, the wind blew a gale, and the ship rocked in a very disagreeable manner; but at six o'clock on Tuesday morning we were on deck, and there was the beautiful Welsh coast, and Snowdon just taking off his night-cap; and soon we saw "England, that precious stone set in a silver sea."
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 the souls of those whose bodies lay in the ocean were yet living and present with those they had loved.
When we arrived at Liverpool, we found a very dear friend, whom we had known in America, on the wharf ready to receive us. He took us to his house, and we felt that we were not, after all, in a strange land. Love and kindness are the home of all souls, and show us what heaven must be.
The thing that impressed me most was the dim light of the English day, the soft, undefined shadows, compared with our brilliant sunshine and sharply defined shade--then the coloring of the houses, the streets, the ground, of every thing; no bright colors, all sober, some very dark,--the idea of age, gravity, and stability. Nobody seems in a hurry. Our country seems so young and vehement; this so grave and collected!
Now I will tell you something about my visit to my dear friend Harriet Martineau, whose beautiful little books, "Feats on the Fiord," "The Crofton Boys," and the others, you love so much to read. She lives at Ambleside, in what is called the Lake Country. Ambleside is a beautiful country town in the valley of the Rotha, and not far from Lake Windermere. Around the town rise high hills, which perhaps may be called mountains. These mountains are not, like many of ours, clothed to the summit with thick wild forests, but have fewer trees, and are often bare at the summit. The mixture of gray rock and green grass forms such a beautiful coloring over their graceful and sometimes grotesque outline that you would not have them other than they are.
The Ambleside houses are of dark-gray stone, and almost all of them have ivy and flowers about them. One small