wind. Delme hesitated not an instant, but threw himself into a boat, and
was rowed alongside. The yacht's commander was a lieutenant in our
service, although a Maltese by birth. He at once entered into Sir
Henry's views, and felt delighted at the prospect of a companion in his
voyage. A short time elapsed--the anchor was up--the white sails began
to fill--Sir Henry was once more on the wide sea.

What a feeling of loneliness, almost of despair, infects the landsman's
mind, as he recedes from an unfamiliar port--sees crowds watching
listlessly his vessel's departure--crowds, of whom not one feels an
interest in _his_ fate; and then, turning to the little world within,
beholds but faces he knows not, persons he wots not of!

But to one whose home is the ocean, such are not the emotions which
its expanse of broad waters calls forth. To such an one, each plank
seems a friend; the vessel, a refuge from the world and its cares.
Trusting himself to its guidance, deceit wounds him no more--
hollow-hearted friendship proffers not its hand to sting--love
exercises not its fatal sorcery--foes are afar--and his heart, if not
the waves, is comparatively at peace. And oh! the wonders of the deep!
Ocean! tame is the soul that loves not thee! grovelling the mind that
scorns the joys thou impartest! To lean our head on the vessel's side,
and in idleness of spirit ponder on bygone scene, that has brought us
anything but happiness,--to gaze on the curling waves, as impelled by
the boisterous wind, we ride o'er the angry waters, lashed by the sable
keel to a yeasty madness,--to look afar upon the disturbed billow,
presenting its crested head like the curved neck of the war
horse,--_then_ to mark the screaming sea bird, as, his bright eye
scanning the waters, he soars above the stormy main--its wide tumult
his delight--the roaring of the winds his melody--the shrieks of the