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the Grecian, - perhaps even harder, since the principle of the Gothic is complex, and the ideas which controlled both it and the Lombard have told their errand, and have past away from the world. The Grecian being conceived in a more universal spirit, aspiring to absolute perfection, has in it the principle of life, it has been the parent of the others, and yet flourishes green and strong, while its offspring have passed into decrepitude.

It would be well for us, once for all, to abandon the attempt to transplant hither the Gothic Architecture. The noble trees yet stand in the old world, but their seeds are decayed, the woodwork, that we dignify by this name, can only excite a sigh or a smile at its utter want of harmony and use. A few fine churches we may have, like Trinity church in New York, but they can be only approximations to foreign works. There is nothing new to be done in Gothic architecture. Its capacities, infinite as they seem, are in fact limited, and are exhausted. Not so with the Grecian. It is not indeed to be expected that we shall make more perfect specimens than were made two thousand years ago, but we may reproduce those in endless new combinations. This is what Palladio and Bramante did, and new Palladios and Bramantes would always find room.


A GREEN and vaporous cloud of buds, the larch

Folds in soft drapery above the glade,
Where deeper-foliaged pines high over-arch,

And dignify the heavy, stooping shade,
There yellow violets spring, in rarest show,
And golden rods in secret clusters blow.

There piping hylas fill the helpless air,

And chattering black-birds hold their gossip by,
And near I saw the tender maiden-hair,

With the fine, breeze-born, white anemone;
The glade, though undisturbed by human art,
Has richer treasures than the busy mart.

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I LEFT Boston, or rather Charlestown wharf, on Friday the 6th of March, in the brig Olive, Capt. M., bound for Havana, via Kingston, Jamaica. There was a fine strong breeze in the afternoon on which we sailed, and when we began to cast off, the brig swung round by the stern, see-sawing and straining on her fasts, - apparently very impatient to be under way, and we were soon going down the bay, at the rate of six or seven knots an hour. I always, and I suppose it is the same with you and most people, have some little scrap or other running silently through my head, whenever I am at all excited, and as we sailed rapidly down the bay, passing object after object, I began with the Ancient Mariner,

The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,

Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the lighthouse top, &c. &c. But directly, nearly all Charlestown having disappeared, except the Bunker Hill Monument, these fragments gave way to Webster's oration. "Let it rise to meet the sun in his coming,” &c. “Let it be the last object on which the eye of the mariner shall linger," &c. &c. But I had not time to see whether or not the facts of the case would bear out the wishes of the orator, before these scraps gave place in their turn to others of a different character, among which were certain stanzas from Don Juan's sea voyage, about the “Euxine,” &c., and this from King Lear: Regan. Sick, Oh sick! Goneril (aside.) Or else, I'll ne'er trust poison.

I took but little notice of what was going on during the first three days of the voyage. I recollect on the third night out, there was much noise on deck, the captain and crew being up nearly all the time, and a strong wind blowing, which caused the brig to labor so much, that I was obliged to hold on to the side of my berth. But I made no inquiry, supposing that although it seemed very rough to me, it was a matter of ordinary occurrence at sea. They told

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me in the morning that it had been blowing a severe gale, and that we had been "lying to under a reefed top sail.” And I then learnt for the first time that to "lay to" to take in all sail except enough to steady the vessel, turn her head as near to the wind as possible, and then let her drift backwards. On the fourth, though the sea ran rather high, the weather was fine, and I crawled out on deck. As I was lying on the binacle, trying to read, I heard the captain berating the man at the helm, for shipping without understanding seaman's duty. “Where did you come from?" asked the captain. “From G., near Worcester, sir," was the answer. I looked round at the sailor. He was a good looking young man, of about eighteen or twenty. 6I thought so, I thought so," said the Captain, " just out of the bush. And you have never been at sea before, I suppose.” “Yes, sir, I have just returned from a whaling voyage." “: Well you are no helmsman, and I'll have you logged,” (noted on the log-book.] “Nobody is going to draw full pay here unless he earns it.' “Very well, sir, I only want what I earn." The Captain soon after went below, when I turned to the young man. “Do you know the L.'s of G.?said J. "Yes, sir.” Do you know Major L.? “ He was my father, sir. He is dead." " And Edward L. ?” “He is my brother, sir." Edward was a classmate of mine at Harvard College, and we were a good deal together.

We had more blows, and lying to on the 11th and 12th, and on the latter, a snow and sleet storm, which encrusted everything on deck. But on the morning of the 13th, the seventh day out, it set in for serious work. It began to blow about three o'clock in the morning, and by six we were obliged to take in all sail possible, and lie to again. At eight, the foretopmast stay sail got unfurled by accident, and was torn to shreds in an instant; and the sea, which all along had been running very high, began to knock in our bulwarks, until at twelve we had scarcely a plank left on the windward side. Heavy seas now began to break on deck; and first the long boat was carried over board, with all its contents, oars, handspikes, rigging, &c. Shortly after, there came another tremendous sea and carried off the galley (cook shop) with all the cook's concerns. Things now began to get rather scarce, forward on deck; and the

seas from some cause, not from instinct, I presume, though it seemed so to me, broke on us farther aft, where there were some hogsheads of water lashed to the bulwarks, and some other articles secured. I was sick, as I still continued to be, whenever the weather was at all rough, and had not been on deck that morning, but only looked out of the companion-way occasionally. But the increased noise aft, and the mate who was a Swede, howling to the men to "trow dem caskets overboard,” (they having broke from their lashings,) aroused my languid fears and curiosity, and I crawled out again, that is, I looked out, just as the men were staving and throwing overboard the hogsheads of water, some of which, were still tumbling backward and forward on deck, like toys in a cradle. I found things looking bad enough on deck. The decks were all swept clear of everything, the bulwarks were all knocked in; and the men looked no better. All were pale and anxious. I suppose it was now about two o'clock in the afternoon, and about ten hours since the commencement of the gale, and the winds and the sea were still increasing in violence. Directly there came over us a sea so very heavy as to cause the brig to “ broach to” (fall into the wind) and throw her down on her side. But her cargo being solid did not shift, she therefore righted immediately. The captain now put her about, finding she would lie to no longer in such a sea, and endeavored to "send her before the wind under bare poles.” I had, for the last hour or so, been sitting up in the companion-way looking out, for I found this better than to lie quaking below in my berth; but as the cook wanted to pass up and down, to stow away things, I, being in his way, went below. And it was well for me I did so, for I was scarcely seated on the transom, holding on to a berth, when there came a crash like a cannon-shot, and down poured a huge mass of water into the cabin, filling it to the height of four feet in an instant. I knew, by the shout of terror I heard on deck, that something serious had befallen us, but all I could see, as yet, was, that the companion way had been carried away, the cabin stairs and adjoining timbers coming below at the same time with the water. Either by these, or the water, or the shock of the vessel, I was knocked down among the rubbish; but I soon struggled out, thinking at first I had cut my temple, but it was only bruised, and as soon as I had recovered myself, I made all haste to gain the deck, for I thought our time was come, and we were fast filling to sink. I was very much terrified, as you may suppose, and could not bear the thought of dying in this way ; for a few moments, I felt something very much like rage ; but although the fear of death, the horrid conviction that I must die, was the “ground tone," as musicians say, of all my thoughts and feelings, I found that the many details of our misfortune, which necessarily attracted my attention, had the happy effect of staving off, and breaking up, in some degree, the overwhelming influence of this, otherwise most intolerable idea, just as the force of a waterfall is broken by jutting crags; and that even the ludicrous, though it may not have amused at the time, did not fail to make an impression. The first object I noticed, when I looked on deck, (for I did not venture to step out, but stood on some barrels looking out at the hole or "batch," where the companion-way had been) was the cook, a Nova Scotia negro. He was clinging to the main-rigging by one hand, and with the other very earnestly, but as I thought uselessly (considering our probable fate) endeavoring to save a little wooden kid which was drifting past him. And then, as I looked round on deck, a certain old book of shipwrecks, which I used to read when a boy, with wood-cuts representing all varieties of shipwrecked extremity, flashed on my memory for an instant, and naturally enough ; for the same sea which stove in the cabin, and which had struck us astern, (the brig not being able to outrun the sea in “scudding without any sail) had split the trisail mast, carried away the stern boat, the boom gast and trisail, and one whole quarter of the lea bulwarks, even with the deck, breaking off or tearing out the stanchions. The sea was still making a “clean breast,” as they say, over the brig forward and amid ships, and two men, the cook and another, who were all I could see, were clinging to the mainrigging to prevent being washed overboard. I then, by mere instinct, for I knew it would be in vain, should the vessel sink, cast about for some means of saving myself. I dropped off my shoes, threw my handkerchief round my neck, and shut my knise on it, and looked to an empty watercask with some lashings attached to it, which still remained

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