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for Liverpool, with a relative and friend, whose circumstances were somewhat similar to mine. How far the success of the experiment and the object of our long pilgrimage were attained, these pages will show.
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LAND AND SEA.
There are springs that rise in the greenwood's heart, Where its leafy glooms are cast, And the branches droop in the solemn air, Unstirred by the sweeping blast. There are hills that lie in the noontide calm, On the lap of the quiet earth; And, crown'd with gold by the ripened grain, Surround my place of birth.
Dearer are these to my pining heart, Than the beauty of the deep, When the moonlight falls in a bolt of gold On the waves that heave in sleep. The rustling talk of the clustered leaves That shade a well-known door, Is sweeter far than the booming sound Of the breaking wave before.
When night on the ocean sinks calmly down, I climb the vessel's prow, Where the foam-wreath glows with its phosphor light, Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow. Above, through the lattice of rope and spar, The stars in their beauty burn; And the spirit longs to ride their beams, And back to the loved return.
They say that the sunset is brighter far When it sinks behind the sea; That the stars shine out with a softer fire-- Not thus they seem to me. Dearer the flush of the crimson west Through trees that my childhood knew. When the star of love with its silver lamp, Lights the homes of the tried and true!
Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of "creature comforts," a sea-voyage would be delightful. To the landsman there is sublimity in the wild and ever-varied forms of the ocean; they fill his mind with living images of a glory he had only dreamed of before. But we would have been willing to forego all this and get back the comforts of the shore. At New York we took passage in the second cabin of the Oxford, which, as usual in the Liverpool packets, consisted of a small space amid-ships, fitted up with rough, temporary berths. The communication with the deck is by an open hatchway, which in storms is closed down. As the passengers in this cabin furnish their own provisions, we made ourselves acquainted with the contents of certain storehouses on Pine St. wharf, and purchased a large box of provisions, which was stowed away under our narrow berth. The cook, for a small compensation, took on himself the charge of preparing them, and we made ourselves as comfortable as the close, dark dwelling would admit.
As we approached the Banks of Newfoundland, a gale arose, which for two days and nights carried us on, careering Mazeppa-like, up hill and down. The sea looked truly magnificent, although the sailors told us it was nothing at all in comparison with the storms of winter. But we were not permitted to pass the Banks, without experiencing one of the calms, for which that neighborhood is noted. For three days we lay almost motionless on the glassy water, sometimes surrounded by large flocks of sea-gulls. The weed brought by the gulf stream, floated around--some branches we fished up, were full of beautiful little shells. Once a large school of black-fish came around the vessel, and the carpenter climbed down on the fore-chains, with a harpoon to strike one. Scarcely had he taken his position, when they all darted off in a straight line, through the water, and were soon out of sight. He said they smelt the harpoon.
We congratulated ourselves on having reached the Banks in seven days, as it is considered the longest third-part of the passage. But the hopes of reaching Liverpool in twenty days, were soon overthrown. A succession of southerly winds drove the vessel as far north as lat. 55 deg., without bringing us much nearer our destination. It was extremely cold, for we were but five degrees south of the latitude of Greenland, and the long northern twilights came on. The last glow of the evening twilight had scarcely faded, before the first glimmering of dawn appeared. I found it extremely easy to read, at 10 P.M., on the deck.
We had much diversion on board from a company of Iowa Indians, under the celebrated chief "White Cloud," who are on a visit to England. They are truly a wild enough looking company, and helped not a little to relieve the tedium of the passage. The chief was a very grave and dignified person, but some of the braves were merry enough. One day we had a war-dance on deck, which was a most ludicrous scene. The chief and two braves sat upon the deck, beating violently a small drum and howling