£lpuj3ing tl^e CtDent^^jseconD 



Among the Islands 



WE sailed out of Unalaska harbor and 

 from the verdant and blooming hills 

 into a gloomy sea. Of all that splen- 

 did scenery which we beheld when going west 

 there was only the tip of one peak dimly visible 

 through the mist. As we passed along the leaden 

 shores that were so splendid before, I recalled 

 and thought of the effects which, in their glory, 

 they produced upon the beholder. One of those 

 snowy volcanoes, rising to an incredible height 

 from the sea, uplifts one and fills him with a noble 

 pleasure. It awakens something in one that has 

 been sleeping for years — for always, if one have 

 never beheld such a scene. Does not this teach us 

 that we do not know what we are? That we are 

 unfolded flowers, unconscious of what is hidden in 

 ourselves? The dazzling majesty of the mountain 

 does not overawe us. On the contrary, we rise to 

 its height and to its grandeur, and are enraptured 

 by communications with it. We understand what 

 it says, though we cannot translate it into words. 

 We apprehend perfectly what we can neither describe 

 nor explain. In such a presence one does not wish 

 to speak nor to be spoken to. It is said, and 



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