"Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue,
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land--Good night!"--BYRON.


Late in the fall of the year 18--, I embarked on board the ship _Cosmo_,
bound from the port of Bristol to that of New York. The season was
unpropitious, the lingering effects of the autumnal equinox rendering it
more than probable that the passage would be tempestuous. The result
soon proved the correctness of this surmise, for soon after the vessel
departed from Kingroad, and before she got clear of the English coast,
we experienced boisterous weather, which was followed by a succession
of gales, that rendered our situation perilous. But a partial
destruction of the rigging, the loss of some sheep on the deck of the
vessel, and a slight indication of leakage, which was soon remedied by
the carpenter of the ship and his assistants, were happily the only
detrimental consequences arising from the weather.

Our progress on the whole was satisfactory, although, when we arrived
between 48 and 52 degrees north latitude, we narrowly escaped coming in
contact with an enormous iceberg, two of which were descried at daybreak
by the "look-out," floundering majestically a little on the ship's
larboard quarter, not far distant, the alarm being raised by an uproar
on deck that filled my mind with dire apprehension, the lee bulwarks of
the vessel were in five minutes thronged with half-naked passengers, who