A CALM. 145 



months ago. My visit to Jamaica becomes eveiy 

 year more filled witli hiatuses of recollection, and 

 more and more reduces itself to a general liue ; lovely 

 and empui'pled, indeed, it will ever be, but one in 

 whicli it requires more and more effort to trace se- 

 quences and to separate adventures ; while of early 

 life how large a portion seems (perhaps only seems) 

 consigned to absolute oblivion ! Yet here and there, 

 along the line of retrospective glance, there are points 

 and prominences whicli seem as if they could never 

 die — occurrences which are, as it were, bumt-in on 

 the memory, and which the haziness of approximate 

 scenes and incidents serves only to place in bolder 

 relief; just as an increase of distance often makes 

 more conspicuous the mountain peaks which the 

 proximity of a multitude of minor objects concealed 

 or obscured. 



Suddenly the wind fails ; rufiles up a little, then fails 

 again; another little puff; but all in vain. The sea 

 becomes as smooth as a table, as glassy as a mirror. 

 There is a dancing, glimmering haze all round the 

 horizon, which tells us it is all over with us ; and the 

 sun, looking out of a sky unveiled by a cloud, pours 

 down his ire upon our heads in the most ferocious 

 manner possible ; and we a couple of leagues from 

 home ! I thought of the Ancient Mariner : — 



"Down dropp'd the breeze, the sails dropp'd dovm; 

 'Twas sad as sad could be ; 

 And we did speak, only to break 

 The silence of the sea." 



Nothing remained but to unstep the mast, and put 

 out the oars. A curious perforated rock was not more 



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