"I have heard very learned men say that they did not regard this legend as a poetic fiction or allegory; that the configuration of the ocean just here accords strangely with the ancient tradition, and that the accidental elevations which occur on the bosom of the Atlantic, which have made hydrographers despair, can thus be cleared up, for the Archipelagos of the Azores, Madeira, the Canaries, and Cape Verd, can be regarded as the high table-lands and mountain-summits of this lost continent."

We are still working out, notwithstanding our rebuff. It is now two o'clock in the morning, and the whole vessel is alive. The good, energetic captain and his brave men seem to have caught our adventurous spirit; a pride has taken possession of them, and they have determined to make this passage unaided. I do not believe they

would now consent to employ a steamer, even if we should

Sunday Morning, August 1.-Safely through the Straits at last, and fairly out on the broad ocean. At four o'clock this morning we had worked out to Tarifa again. The rising of the sun was very, very curious; coming up above the horizon without any dazzling rays, round and red as a full moon, it seemed to sway to and fro like a ball of liquid flame.

At ten o'clock we were once more in front of Capes Trafalgar and Espartel; when we were lunching at two o'clock, we had reached the open sea. We have just enough wind against us to make fine work with the waves. Venitia and Janet seem fatigued and sleepy. They are lying in their hammocks, enjoying the swift sweep of the graceful little ship, the mad dash of the waves as they come rolling by, carrying proudly their white-crested crowns, and the far-off dome of the sky.

A fine salt-bath has refreshed us after our days' and nights' watch, but we all feel too weary even to talk, and I think I shall find it pleasant to doze, awaken and enjoy with dreamy pleasure this "fine fluent motion," as Janet called it just now.

"Ottilie, stop writing, and come to your hammock. Do you remember De Quincey's speaking somewhere of the fine fluent motion of a mail-coach'? The expression is very descriptive; and the dash and sweep of this clipper over the fast-rushing waves may readily return to the memory some time when we are rolling along a superb road in a swift-going, well-balanced coach."

MARE TENEBROSUM.

JUGUST 9. The sea is very rough, and the ship rolls tremendously. If I did not know how to write in any position I should not be

able to manage my pen. The waves dash up feathery spray, which catches the sunbeams, making rainbows play and dance over every crested billow.

The grand ocean swallows all our little chagrins and complaints. Its superb symphony sweeps up and on, drowning all human moans and griefs, and the sorrows of humanity seem as the veriest trifles in the presence of its sublime terrors and divine beauty.

Humboldt says, whoever builds his own world within himself must be excited by the view of the free, open sea, the majestic picture of boundlessness it presents; but he speaks of "a shade of melancholy longing" mingling with the enjoyment. And this is so. Not that we are sad outwardly, indeed, the captain says we are "a cheery set of passengers"; I know, too, that we are happier here than we should be on shore, or probably ever shall be again but there is at bottom an intense melancholy, and it is soothed by finding itself in perfect unison with the ocean diapason.

The simple-minded captain doubtless thinks us a gay, happy trio; he knows of no other merriment than that

proceeding from animal spirits. Ours, which results from ✦ mental excitement, deceives him, as it does nine out of ten in the world, who take it for real mirth and true humor, and do not see that it is simply a pleasant garment with which we clothe ourselves to hide even from our own eyes the unseemly rags and rents made by

sorrow.

15th. Our sunsets continue to be glorious. The clouds this evening formed veritable landscapes, in which there were mountains of silver, and lakes, rivers, and waterfalls of gold. Then followed a brilliant, sparkling night, when the starry vault of the heavens rested the edges of its superb dome on the profound ocean base.

We enjoy very much the various changes of the ocean and sky. In the heavens the pale green modulates by ascending full harmonies into brilliant carmine and gold, just as some glorious music; then in the finest weather, when the sky is clear and a steady blue, the sea will vacillate and waver from one shade to another, from dark indigo to deep green, and sometimes a dull, solemn gray. 22d.- We are having fine weather, fair winds, and smooth seas. These "primeval waters of the circling Oceanus," after battling against us, have generously extended their huge arms and laid us on the broad, palpitating bosom of the sea. Not a storm, or anything that could throw the faintest shadow of danger over us, has occurred. Just three weeks to-day since we left Gibraltar.

The ocean is enchantingly beautiful this morning. A fine fresh north wind is blowing, and the sea is with us. We ride gracefully over the waters, and the waves rise and fall with gracious dignity and beauty. Now a slight breath trembles above the sea, breaking it into delicate ripples, which spread along in silvery radiance under the

sun sheen; but soon a fresh swell or white-crested wave comes sweeping along, and the surface is again calm and smooth. As I lean against the bulwarks, looking at these changes, all manner of pretty poetical conceits are suggested to me.

Venitia's comparison which she made just now, when observing with me this ripple and wave break, pleases me. She says it is like some music, in which the melody goes trembling along with a half-trilling sound, then comes a grand chord, or brilliant modulation, or noisy resolution, which dissolves and annihilates the whole pretty trilling motivo. Janet says we remind her of good old Jeremy Taylor in our disposition for making comparisons, therefore I shall not write mine.

Venitia has gone down to the music. We are in good luck about this piano. At Gibraltar we discovered that one of the crew, a Sicilian, who had admired Venitia's music very much, knew something about tuning. She made the piano-tuner at Gibraltar give him some counsel, and go over the instrument several times; now he keeps her piano in capital order, examining it every morning. She provided fresh strings in hermetic cases before leaving Naples; and no one could imagine, from its pure and beautiful sounds, that the instrument was in so trying an atmosphere as the ocean. The chords and harmonies blend most mysteriously, too, with the ocean's roar: no matter what key Venitia opens in, the wave tone-pitch seems always to adapt itself, and we never have enjoyed music so much.

Venitia has just been playing her favorite Sonate of Beethoven, the one in D (Re). (Opus 31, No. 2.) The glasses of the cabin skylight are raised, and I am resting against the casement, listening,

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