EDGINQ SOUTHWARD. 231 



Christmas Day drew near, beloved of Englishmen all 

 the world over, though thought little of by Americans. 

 The two previous ones spent on board the Cachalot have 

 been passed over without mention, absolutely no notice 

 being taken of the season by any one on board, to all 

 appearance. In English ships some attempt is always 

 made to give the day somewhat of a festive character, 

 and to maintain the national tradition of good-cheer and 

 goodwill in whatever part of the world you may happen 

 to be. For some reason or other, perhaps because of 

 the great increase in comfort we had all experienced 

 lately, I felt the approach of the great Christian anni- 

 versary very strongly ; although, had I been in London, I 

 should probably have spent it in lonely gloom, having 

 no relatives or friends whom I might visit. But what of 

 that ? Christmas is Christmas ; and, if we have no home, 

 we think of the place where our home should be; and 

 whether, as cynics sneer, Dickens invented the English 

 Christmas or not, its observance has taken deep root 

 among us. May its shadow never be less ! 



On Christmas morning I mounted to the crow's-nest 

 at daybreak, and stood looking with never-failing awe 

 at the daily marvel of the sunrise. Often and often 

 have I felt choking for words to express the tumult of 

 thoughts aroused by this sublime spectacle. Hanging 

 there in cloudland, the tiny microcosm at one's feet 

 forgotten, the grandeur of the celestial outlook is 

 overwhelming. Many and many a time I have bowed 

 my head and wept in pure reverence at the majesty 

 manifested around me while the glory of the dawn in- 

 creased and brightened, till with one exultant bound 

 the sun appeared. 



For some time I stood gazing straight ahead of me 



