nothing to say. One day was but the echo, as it were, of the one that
preceded it; so that a page copied from the mate's log would have proved
as amusing, and to the full as instructive, as my journal provided I had
kept one during the last fortnight.

So barren of events has that time been that the sight of a party of
bottle-nosed whales, two or three seals, and a porpoise, possibly on
their way to a dinner or tea party at the North Pole, was considered an
occurrence of great importance. Every glass was in requisition as soon
as they made their appearance, and the marine monsters were well nigh
stared out of countenance.

We came within sight of the shores of Newfoundland on the 5th of August,
just one month from the day we took our last look of the British isles.
Yet though the coast was brown, and rugged, and desolate, I hailed its
appearance with rapture. Never did any thing seem so refreshing and
delicious to me as the land breeze that came to us, as I thought,
bearing health and gladness on its wings.

I had noticed with some curiosity the restless activity of the captain's
bird some hours previous to "land" being proclaimed from the look-out
station. He sang continually, and his note was longer, clearer, and more
thrilling than heretofore; the little creature, the captain assured me,
was conscious of the difference in the air as we approached the land. "I
trust almost as much to my bird as to my glass," he said, "and have
never yet been deceived."

Our progress was somewhat tedious after we entered the gulf. Ninety
miles across is the entrance of this majestic river; it seems an ocean
in itself. Half our time is spent poring over the great chart in the