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18 THE GBEAT LONE LAND.<br />

lives are spent in ceaseless movement over the world, who<br />

wander from continent to continent, from island to island,<br />

who dwell in many cities but are the citizens of no city, who<br />

sail away and come back again, whose home is the broad<br />

earth itself, to such as these the coming in sight of land is<br />

no unusual occurrence, and yet the man has grown old at<br />

his trade of wandering who can look utterly uninterested<br />

upon the first glimpse of land rising out of the waste of<br />

ocean : small as that glimpse may be, only a rock, a cape, a<br />

mountain crest, it has the power of localizing an idea, the<br />

very vastness of which prevents its realization on shore.<br />

From the deck of an outward-bound vessel one sees rising,<br />

faint and blue, a rocky headland or a mountain summit—one<br />

does not ask if the mountain be of Maine, or of Mexico, or<br />

the Cape be St. Ann's or Hatteras, one only sees America.<br />

Behind that strip of blue coast lies a world, and that world<br />

the new one. Far away inland lie scattered many landscapes<br />

glorious with mountain, lake, river, and forest, all<br />

unseen, all unknown to the wanderer who for the first time<br />

seeks the American shore; yet instinctively their presence<br />

is felt in that faint outline of sea-lapped coast which lifts<br />

itself above the ocean ; and even if in after-time it becomes<br />

the lot of the wanderer, as it became my lot, to look again<br />

upon these mountain summits, these immense inland seas,<br />

tiese mighty rivers whose waters seek their mother ocean<br />

through 3000 miles of meadow, in none of these glorious<br />

parts, vast though they be, will the sense of the still vaster<br />

whole be realized as strongly as in that first glimpse of land<br />

showing dimly over the western horizon of the Atlantic.<br />

The sunset of a very beautiful evening in May was<br />

making bright the shores of Massachusetts as the<br />

" Samaria," under her fullest head of steam, ran up the<br />

entrance to Plymouth Sound. To save daylight into port

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