All the conversation is about St. Paul's. Some intend to go on shore to fish and shoot; to see what is to be seen; to kill seals; to take albatrosses' eggs; visit the hot-water spring: these and other wonders are to be done. Much canvas taken in, that we may not run against St. Paul's in the night. In the evening anxious look-out kept, but no St. Paul's seen.

January 8.-All the past night, with little sail out, we still kept on seven knots an hour. Dark, with rain-clouds; the wind strong; a dreary dismal night. Here, veiling itself in impenetrable darkness, the island was, our captain supposed, not two miles off, and that we had passed it by. Good-bye to it, if it is passed, and to our expectations.

Our beautiful friends, the whale-birds, are again, after a long absence, with us. Other birds, almost innumerable, attend us, and more tame than usual. It is palpable that we are in the vicinity of land. Here are albatrosses in scores, moving over us with a soft dream-like motion; or floating, a score at a time, on the quiet water, like so many swans on a Canadian lake-a pure and beautiful sight. Our reckless people could not look on this scene with any pleasure; to shoot at them was, as before, irresistible. One albatross, when wounded, rose a little into the air, then flew right on before us. This circumstance, and the arriving out of the east of various kinds of birds during the day, brought to my recollection the impression made by the flight of birds on the mind of Columbus, and confirmed me in the opinion that land lay somewhere not far on before us. This conviction I mentioned to many. Three fine albatrosses have been caught, as fish are caught, by angling, this afternoon. Their plumage is marked very beautifully. It is a saddening sight to see him taken from sea and sky, from his illimitable freedom, a forlorn prisoner. No disparagement to the bird of Jupiter and his regality. Let him keep the cerulean dominion of the everlasting hills, Alpine or Caucasian: let him sport with lightning on Olympus! still a most magnificent creature is the albatrosslord of the world of waters. In the night of tempests is his sovereignty; maintained where the lightning's flash darts amongst mountain billows, and when are bared to his glance, instantaneously, the dread foundations of the mighty deep. In its tranquillity he glides, like Time to Eternity, over the ocean's shipless solitudes.

I shall retire to bed restlessly; perhaps to dream of St. Paul's. Lat. 38° 18′ S., long. 78° 53′ E.

January 9.-By half-past three in the morning I was on deck, looking forward and around in the misty dawn for land; but not

seeing it I went, and again crept, into my berth. My nephew ten minutes afterwards (for he too could not rest), being on deck, saw the island. It was behind us; the ship, on its being first seen, was quickly turned about, and thus I was misled. Right onward for it direct, in the night, through wind, rain, and darkness, had we been going; when, but for God's most especial providence and goodness, by the intervention of day-light, we should have been dashed to atoms amongst its rocks and breakers. Though boldly palpable when seen, and very near us, it had a strange wild appearance. Fortunately we had it in the offing, the wind blowing in strong gusts from its hills upon us. After we had sailed nearly two-thirds of the island's circumference to and fro, 'bouting ship, we saw apart from the land a conical dome-shaped rock. This rock stands like a sentinel at the entrance of a small inland cove, where schooners go and ride safely at anchor. Here we are at St. Paul's, the only land we have seen since the Cape Verd isles; and to see land is something after nine thousand miles of sea. The base of the island has a very square and formal look, having been undermined by the perpetual workings of that day-and-night labourer, the ocean. It is rather precipitous, breaking off above evenly, as it is washed away, age after age, below. High and wildly is dashed the spray, beautifully mimicking white ostrich feathers-veiling momentarily the many-coloured strata, traceable plainly in the shore's elevated frontage. Mists at times hid the hill-tops, and came scattering over us in rain, accompanied by fitful gusts of wind. Although the day cleared up and was bright, it was too rough to permit us to approach the island on its accessible side. Still we could see the island-very closely too-so near as to be able to trace, in its green sward, seams made by the heavy rains coming down the steep sides of its hills. Some of our party, too, took a boat, and going closer into the shore, caught fish, very fine and large-nearly the boat full. What a fishing excursion! They will remember that day; for such another, unless there, can they never have. Fish from four pounds to sixteen-not less, the whole of it, than five hundredweight.

Before we sail away from St. Paul's, I must mention that it is volcanic, some of its craters being observable; one particularly, half washed away by the sea, or perhaps only a third of the cylinder is left. There are three large ocean caves not far from this volcanic hill, in which the billows welter, dash, and foam eternally.

This island is the home of vast flocks of sea-birds, circling and skimming over the solitary waste of waters thousands of miles

hence; hither they come, to this central point, and here they build and rear their young in the rocks. Seals are also abundant as one poor mariner, shipwrecked, Crusoe-like, in this uninhabited island, found, to his satisfaction; killing vast numbers of them, he was, by disposing of their skins when he was at length liberated, amply compensated for what privations he had here endured. Some whalers made a summer and winter's abode here, and spoke praisingly of its summer qualities, but did not relish so well the storms and whirlwinds of the other portion of the year.

When bidding St. Paul's good-bye, as the last land-mark on our way to Australia, I wrote the annexed verses :

ON VISITING ST. PAUL'S ISLAND, IN THE INDIAN OCEAN.
Day after day our ship made way

Through endless seas the same :
Away, away, through foam and spray,
Till to an isle we came,

Whose rocky coast could little boast
Except its sacred name.

We sped along, the breeze was strong,
Thick mist obscured the main ;
Nor gleamed a light upon the night,
The tempest, and the rain :
Till like a giant the lone isle
Stood up before us plain.

In the dim dawn did we behold
The stern and rocky shore,
And turned, as in the gulf of death,
Destruction yawned before;

We started from the sunken rocks-
We heard the breakers roar.

Another hour, no mortal power
Had aught availed to save,
Amid the dark our wandering bark,
From rock and whelming wave;
And we, and our brave mariners,
Had found an ocean-grave.

We gazed with wonder on the isle,
With thankfulness and fear:
As black and grey, it widely lay,
In mist and gloom austere :
And to ourselves did we exclaim,

"The hand of God was here!"

Alas, for him! who from that steep
Once looked, most wretched he,

Who there attained with sinews strained,
In sorest agony;

And saw his wreck, in many a speck,

Float o'er the mighty sea.

How oft those summits did he pace,
His sorrows pondering o'er;
He only to dread life redeemed
Upon that fatal shore :

And with what eyes did he behold
His kind approach once more.

His dwelling is abandoned now,
To silence and decay :

The dead leaves dance about the hearth,
Where sleep the ashes grey.
There comes the mariner-to gaze;
More pleased pursues his way.

Yet with delight, those summits bright,
Through mists, with golden beams,
I saw, where also touched the sun
With joy the inland streams,
For freshly came back through my heart
Youth's early morning dreams:

When in my mind, I could not find
Aught pleasanter to do,

Than round a small Hesperian isle
To guide my small canoe :
A lonely king-my little bark,
Not large enough for two.

O, enviable time! the heart

Had gladness then to spare;
And with its own abundant wealth,
Could make the barren fair:
Like Prospero, could fancy-build
An Eden anywhere.

I could not envy Crusoe now,
His kingdom-if alone :
No longer blind, I of my kind,
Am more a lover grown :
Nor would I, as in boyhood, have
An island all my own.

Yet well it were, even here, to shun
The servile and the dull:

January 10.-At day-break, a full-rigged handsome ship came alongside; then, without displaying her colours, or exchanging a word, passed on just before us, and sailed for the north-west. It appeared by its build and the golden eagle on its stern to be French; but the taciturnity of its people caused us to consider it American. We are going briskly. Lat. 38° 40′ S., lon. 81° 36' E.

January 11.—The night squally. Slow progress; then swift. A little after midnight it came on to blow fiercely; and as though all the canvas would be carried away. "Come along!" shouted the chief mate; all was bustle; there was running, bawling, and the heavy fall of ropes on the deck: then, by the time the studding sails were all in, how provoking! all was still. With the dawn all clouds disperse : the days are warmer, and have steadier breezes. No sooner, however, has the sun declined, even before his setting, clouds in black masses gather in the horizon; an intimation of what we may expect. The night enfolds us, rain falls, and the winds blow upon us in tremendous gusts every half hour. They are like Falstaff's belt-"Out of all compass, out of all compass, Sir John." Sore wear and tear for the ship's canvas. She will want new rigging for the next voyage. Lat. 38° 19′ S., long. 85° 12′ E.

January 12.-Night and day like the preceding. Lat. 37° 45' S., long. 88° 35′ E.

January 13.-About ten o'clock the captain went silently to the forecastle, and called up all the seamen, charging them not to disturb the passengers, as he wished to have as few persons