It was a pleasant morning in spring when we set out in the cars from
New York to Boston. Having been a hundred and sixteen days on the water
since leaving Manila, we were prepared to appreciate the solid earth.
The privilege of walking and not coming to the ship’s rail every few
minutes, was vividly felt. I hardly enjoyed anything in detail, when
first on land again; every thing was absorbed in the one consciousness
of being on the solid earth. “Then are they glad because they be
quiet,” says the sacred penman, describing the sailors’ feelings, on
reaching shore.
It was a windy day when we reached Boston. Clouds of dust filled the
streets. It was not so at sea. It occurred to me, How do these people
endure such discomfort? It seemed to me that they must find sufficient
comforts on land, notwithstanding the dust, to make existence
tolerable. I soon found that there are things to be enjoyed on land as
well as at sea.
Language fails me in attempting to describe the experience of arriving
home and of being at home, after an absence of nineteen months on ship
board. We are willing, too willing, perhaps, to fancy resemblances in
earthly occurrences to possible scenes of terror hereafter; but let us
make our joyful experiences foretokens of heavenly bliss.