IBERIAN COASTS.

JULY 13. — On land I rarely date my journal; here on the sea I must hold fast to dates; having no busy world around to do it for me, I shall forget how time passes in this "cycle of Cathay." Yesterday we did nothing but lie in the hammocks on the quarter-deck; for although we do not suffer from actual sea-sickness, we feel a delightful, indolent languor and an unwillingness to commence any regular occupation.

Janet laughingly reminds us of Novalis's saying, "Rest is peculiar to the spirit. Life is a disease of the spirit, a working incited by passion." From this she concludes that we are in a more healthy spiritual state while feeling this enchanting indolence. I must confess my usual restlessness is quieted, and a sweet peace, which must come from mental health, fills my whole being.

Sicily is still in sight, with its bold, beautiful coast. Last night we passed three islands, Ustica, Alicuri, and Felicuri. The blue of the sea is of the deepest hue, but the sky is clear light blue, and yet the most perfect harmony exists; there is not a shadow of a discord between the two shades. Nature is unerring; and he said well who told us that "Art is a prudent steward that lives on managing Nature's riches."

The haze and atmosphere over the mountainous coast of Sicily are very soft, and the heavens are filled with light floating clouds, that dissolve into the blue as the white crests of the waves do into the sea. The sharp cutting which the prow of our swift little ship makes through the waters dresses up the waves with glorious white crests.

15th. — We are all doing very well. We have commenced our regular employments. As we have no sightseeing or land-journeying to keep us occupied together, we separate immediately after breakfast, each to her own pursuit. Venitia goes to her music, the theory of which she is examining very closely. Janet studies languages; and two hours daily I join her in French, German, and Italian. After that, I lie in the hammock and read, or dream waking-visions while listening to Venitia's earnest study of modulations and intricate tone-webs woven from curiously blended chords; sometimes I talk and walk the deck with Janet or read aloud to her.

16th. We are having glorious sunsets, beautiful moonlight, and glassy seas. There is very little wind, and the sails flap lazily to and fro in this July calm. Ah, how charming is this life! Not luxurious like that Neapolitan existence of two baths, five repasts, and three sleeps in the twenty-four hours, but possessing its own peculiar pleasure. Out on the broad sea we are cut off from all provocations to anxiety, and, such as we are, enjoy this calm episode to the very full. On land, humanity and humanity's cares, hopes, ambitions, likings and dislikings, press in upon us, and disturb our tranquillity; here all is divinely still.

At sunset this evening the scene was what might be truly called "fairy-like." The whole horizon opposite

the sun reminded me of Shelley's "dissolved opal.” The sky had the delicate pink hue of a conch-shell, then it melted itself into a soft blue, wedding itself to the ocean without a line of separation, while over the mysterious union of sea and sky flitted fitfully faint but exquisite shades of color; here a blue, there a rose, and then a green, while the soft west-wind hovered over the waters, rippling them prettily together.

On the other side of the heavens hung the "infantine Moon, with her attendant star." As the twilight darkened and the moonbeams shone down, we leaned over the guards and watched the fiery line made by. the sharp cleaving of our quick little vessel through the brilliant phosphorescent waves; small diamond-like sparkles danced and trembled over the waters. While noticing this phosphorescing of the sea, Janet's classical memories were quickened, and she rhapsodized playfully, with “divine frivolity," about the Nereid Mera, who, according to Hesiod, was the one to whom these mysterious ocean beams belonged.

These medusidans give the sapphire-hued sea a metallic lustre in the daytime; at night, sweeping by in huge shoals, they look like smothered flames; and when the vessel strikes them, they emit sharp electric sparks.

In the morning the waves are adorned with dozens of baby nautili sailing gayly along like fairy fleets, with their tiny sails erect. Venitia caught one on the handle of my riding-whip to-day. I fastened it to this page of my journal, but it was like a delicate flower-petal from poor Kilmeny's fairy-garden; it faded and crumbled away in our mortal atmosphere; and yet I wished to preserve the pretty thing, for the deep blue base and transparent lilac and pink sail were bewitching.

The veriest trifles on shipboard possess interest. We are like children in watching them, and find not only quiet as children do, but food for thought and fancy in our observations. This morning the captain and his men amused themselves by catching turtles. The lowering of the boats, the going to and fro of the men up and down the vessel-side, the rowing off, the silent, stealthy approach to the poor, silly, sleeping things, and the shouts made over their capture, gave rise to more entertainment for us than one might fancy.

Then we leaned over the side of the vessel and watched the playing of a rope in the water while a boat was lowered and drawn up. As it caught the sun's rays, it looked as if made of molten gold; and the most fantastic lines and traceries were formed, every change brilliantly beautiful, offering studies of divine shapes for arabesque

ornaments.

To-day has been very calm. At times we did not seem to stir. The whole image of the vessel, sails, cordage, and masts, lay reflected on the truly glass-like bosom of the sea with startling clearness, like the ancient mariner's

"Painted ship upon a painted ocean.'

I try to grow learned over the various sails, and to distinguish them by their different names, but in vain; that which is apparently so easy to these uneducated sailors is grimoire to me. Our ship carries a great number; yesterday I counted thirty-three at one time, spreading out their white wings and making the little vessel skim over the waters as swiftly and lightly as a true zephyr. But a good deal of skill, and of watchfulness too, is needed in using them, for an unlucky squall of

wind might make us pay dearly for our top-heavy finery, by giving us an unexpected capsize.

21st. There is a brisk wind, and the pretty little clipper cuts sharply through the waves. We are now passing Fromantera, one of the Balearic Islands. A little while ago, we were close to Majorca; its sharp cut coast lay clear against the purply blue sky, with beautiful leafy indentations running along its edges, formed by the aloes and palms.

I leaned on the chain of the quarter-deck watching the island as long as I could see it, and recalled Chopin's sufferings. I thought of the desolate winter he spent there, the intense loneliness and sadness he felt, when the cry of the hungry eagle, the wail of the north-wind, and the sight of the desolate yews covered with snow, united to the heart-weariness of the woman he loved, wrung from his soul those divine cries of music sor

row.

Venitia evidently had the same memories awakened, for she also gazed intently at the island.

I looked at her and observed how much her face has altered in the past month. The arch of her brow is, as I have said, a shadow too prominent, and formerly the expression was hard; now it is stern and reflective. There is also a sombre and mysterious look in her eyes, which is like distant thunder and far-off lightning, making me think of the flashing of a storm through the painted windows of a chapel.

The same smile has settled on her face which rests forever on Janet's, and which first attracted me to her. This smile has a pitiful meaning, is sadder looking than tears, and both mouth and eyes rebel; it can be seen on the face of every proud, self-contained person in a season