versing, some singing, some engaged in amusements-sports and games: at night all retire to their chambers in this floating palace; in the morning they meet, and greet one another at the breakfast table, as if it were a large party on a visit in the country.

The grandeur of the ocean on our first getting out of sight of land, seemed to me something greater than I had felt before-the whole circle around boundless: it was, compared with looking off from the shore, like embracing in one comprehensive act of mind, the eternity past and to come. Yet I defy anybody, not thoroughly accustomed to the sea, to feel much of its grandeur after thought, imagination, feeling, sensation, have been rocked into that indescribable state of ennui, disquiet, discomfort, and inertness which the sea often produces. No, let me look off from some headland, or out from some quiet nook of the fastanchored earth, to feel the grandeur or to enjoy the romance of the sea.

I wonder that nobody has talked, or written, or sung, or satirized, about this horrible discomfort of a sea voyage. It is said that Cato repented only of three things during his life-" to have gone by sea, when he could go by land, to have passed a day inactive, and to have told a secret to his wife."

I will not discuss the other points with the old stoic, but with the first I certainly have the most perfect sympathy. It is not seasickness; I have had none of it; but it is a sickness of the sea, which has never, that I know, been described. It is a tremendous ennui, a complete inaptitude to all enjoyment, a total inability to be pleased with anything. Nothing is agreeable-neither eating nor drinking, nor walking nor talking, nor reading nor writing, nor even is going to sleep an agreeable process, and waking is perfect misery. I am speaking of my own experience, it is true, and others find a happier fortune upon the sea; but, I believe that it is the experience of a class, not much less unhappy than the most miserable victims of seasickness.

JUNE 25. We are sailing slowly up St. George's Channel. It really almost requires an act of faith, to feel that in sixteen days we have reached the Old World; that yonder is the coast of Ireland, and there, on the right, is Snowdon in Wales. As we move on silently, borne along by an invisible power, it seems as if this were a spectre ship; and the surrounding objects, a dream. The stillness and mystery of expectation come over one's mind like a spell-for this, indeed, is the mighty gateway to the Old World, and the misty

curtain before us is about to burst asunder, to turn the visions of a whole previous life reality! If I were approaching the coast of K schatka or New Holland, it would be a diffe thing; it would be comparatively a commonp occurrence; but here is the birthplace of my guage, of my mind's nurture-the world wh my thoughts have lived, my fatherland-and strange and mysterious as if it were the land some pre-existent being!

The Old World!-my childhood's dreamboyhood's wonder-my youth's study-I ha read of the wars of grim old kings and baro as if they were the wars of titans and giants but now it is reality; for I see the very soil th trod. They come again over those hills a mountains-they fight again-they bleed, they d they vanish from the earth. Yet other crow come-the struggling generations pass before m and antiquity is a presence and a power. It h a "local habitation." Its clouded tabernacle peopled with life. Who says that the earth cold and dead? It is written all over-its who broad surface, every travelled path, every way of ocean-with the story of human affection Warm, eager life-the life of breathing generation is folded in its mighty bosom, and sleeps ther

but is not dead! Oh! world! world! what hast thou been through the long ages that have gone before us? Ay, what hast thou been? In this vast domain of old time before me, every human heart has been a world of living affections. Every soul that has lived has taken the experience of life; new and fresh, singly and alone, as if no other had ever felt it. Not in palaces only, but in the cottage, has the whole mighty problem of this wonderful humanity been wrought out. Sighings, and tears, and rejoicings, birthday gladness, and bridal joy, and clouding griefs, and death, have been in every dwelling. Gay throngs of youth have entered in, and funereal trains have come forth, at every door. Through millions of hearts on these very shores, has swept the whole mighty procession of human passions. How has it already lengthened out almost to eternity, the brief expanse of time!

LIVERPOOL, JUNE 26. On approaching the higher latitudes, one of the most remarkable things that drew my attention, was the extreme shortness of the nights. It is not quite two hours from the end of the evening twilight to the first dawn of the morning. The sun sets, I think, at about half-past eight o'clock, and rises at half-past three in the morning. A gentleman on board said that he had read in

England, by twilight, at ten o'clock in the evening without difficulty.

In sailing up the Mersey, I was struck with the aspect of the fields on the bank, particularly with the various shades of green. Most of them were lighter and brighter than are usually seen in America; the deep green of our fields I could hardly find-which to be sure, I think, nothing could replace. But this may be peculiar to the banks of the Mersey. If it is common in England, I shall conclude that the incessant rains, of which one is now dropping from the willing clouds, have produced one effect upon English scenery, which I have never heard anything of in the books of travels.

The next thing to attract the attention of the stranger in ascending the Mersey, is-the glory of Liverpool-its docks. They wall up the river on the Liverpool side, with a solid mass of masonry (hammered freestone) thirty, forty, and, in some places, fifty feet from the foundation. The wall at top appears almost wide enough for a carriage way. The basins within are filled with ships, whose tangled masts and yards gird the town on that side with a mimic forest.

The bells have rung three chimes to-day, in