ot think I have done wrong in not telling her of what I saw.

Most agonizing is the thought that, perhaps, father and son may fight
against each other in opposing armies. My consolation is, that
Sonnenkamp, being an old sailor, will probably enter the navy.

Roland is the darling of the whole ship. He is indefatigably zealous to
learn about the arrangement of the vessel, and about all the duties of
the crew. He is busy with them first in one place, then in another, and
I am glad to see that, by this means, all his hard thinking and
speculation are driven away.

We have favoring winds.

Very merry, too, is the chirping and singing of the birds that Claus
has brought with him. The blackbird strikes an attitude on her perch,
like that of a renowned singer on the stage, looks coquettishly round
on the bystanders, and sings her "Rejoice in your life." You know she
never gets beyond that: but we like to have it said and sung to us:
"Rejoice in your life."

On the second evening out.

Now it is night. Manna is alone on deck, looking at the stars. What a
wondrous world! Overhead the innumerable stars, and around us the
boundless sea. I feel as if I must, on this voyage, let all hard
thinking, reflection, and speculation take wings and fly away, in order
that I may tread the soil of the New World as simply a man of resolute
action. There has always been a vein of romance running through my life
and nature. What is it that leads me thither, to stake my whole being
in a great crisis of human history? No longer to be a mere spectator,
but to act, to live, and, perhaps--no, mother, an inward assurance
tells me I shall come home alive from this conflict.

Home! Home! Oh, mother, my soul wings its way across to it, over the
boundless billows of life: we are with you, and Villa Eden makes true
its name. And yet, if Fate has otherwise decreed, be firm: your son has
been perfectly happy; he has enjoyed all the fulness of life. I have
had you, father, Manna, knowledge, pure aspirations, action. All has
been mine.

Here I sit, and the billows bear me on. We rise and fall with the
waves, and well for him who feels, as I now do, that the goal at which
he aims is a good one.

It seems as if your hand were on my brow: I am well and free. And,
oddly enough, I see myself in my mind's eye, transported to the
University town again. Now it is evening; in the parlor at the "Post,"
the regular gues