1836.] DARK SIDE OF TRAVEL. 491 



long night. Other losses, although not at first felt, tell 

 heavily after a period : these are the want of room, of 

 seclusion, of rest ; the jading feeling of constant hurry ; 

 the privation of small luxuries, the loss of domestic society, 

 and even of music and the other pleasures of imagination. 

 When such trifles are mentioned, it is evident that the 

 real griev^ances, excepting from accidents, of a sea-life 

 are at an end. The short space of sixty years has made 

 an astonishing difference in the facility of distant navi- 

 gation. Even in the time of Cook, a man who left his 

 fireside for such expeditions underwent severe privations. 

 A yacht now, with every luxury of life, can circumnavigate 

 the globe. Besides the vast improvements in ships and 

 naval resources, the whole western shores of America are 

 thrown open, and Australia has become the capital of a 

 rising continent. How different are the circumstances to 

 a man shipwrecked at the present day in the Pacific, to 

 what they were in the time of Cook ! Since his voyage 

 a hemisphere has been added to the civilised world. 



If a person suffer much from sea-sickness, let him weigh 

 it heavily in the balance. I speak from experience : it is 

 no trifling evil cured in a week. If, on the other hand, 

 he take pleasure in naval tactics, he will assuredly have 

 full scope for his taste. But it must be borne in mind, 

 how large a proportion of the time, during a long voyage, 

 is spent on the water, as compared with the days in 

 harbour. And what are the boasted glories of the illimit- 

 able ocean? A tedious waste, a desert of water, as the 

 Arabian calls it. No doubt there are some delightful 

 scenes. A moonlight night, with the clear heavens and 

 the dark glittering sea, and the white sails filled by the 

 soft air of a gently-blowing trade-wind ; a dead calm, 

 with the heaving surface polished like a mirror, and all 

 still except the occasional flapping of the canvas. It is 

 well once to behold a squall with its rising arch and 

 coming fury, or the heavy gale of wind and mountainous 

 waves. I confess, however, my imagination had painted 

 something more grand, more terrific in the full-grown 

 storm. It is an incomparably finer spectacle when beheld 

 on shote, where the waving trees, the wild flight of the 

 birds, the dark shadows and bright lights, the rushing 

 of the torrents, all proclaim the strife of the unloosed 

 elements. At sea the albatross and little petrel fly as if 

 the storm were their proper sphere, the water rises and 



