were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the side of
the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were
raging around this floating prison, seeking for his prey: the
mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him
entrance.

A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze,
soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible
to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind
at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her canvas, every sail
swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how lofty,
how gallant, she appears--how she seems to lord it over the deep!

I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage; for with
me it is almost a continual reverie--but it is time to get to
shore.

It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land!" was
given from the mast-head. None but those who have experienced it
can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensations which rush
into an American's bosom, when he first comes in sight of Europe.
There is a volume of associations with the very name. It is the
land of promise, teeming with everything of which his childhood
has heard, or on which his studious years have pondered.

From that time, until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish
excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants
along the coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into
the channel; the Welsh mountains towering into the clouds;--all
were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, I