FIRST DAY OF THE SHOOTING SEASON—AT SEA.
Oh, what a spirit-stirring day
For me would this have been,
Had I on land been doomed to stay;
But here, how changed the scene!
I tread not now the heathy plains,
Nor climb the mountain's side,
Where undisturb'd the moor-cock reigns
In solitary pride.
My path is on the trackless wave,
And through the billowy foam;
Where ocean birds together have
Their cradle and their tomb.
But memory dwells on that dear sound,
The cheerful, welcome home;
When amidst friends those joys were found
Which ne'er again may come.
But, home and friends, where shall I find?—
Henceforth 'twill be my part
To seek for friends within my mind;
My home must be my heart.
Sept. 1st.—While fishing with a piece of pork as bait, a Cape pigeon caught the hook in his bill and was pulled up. Porpoises, and an albatross about the ship. Weather cold, like the month of March. Thermometer 52°. Drew the quilt over me for the first time for many weeks.
llth.—A heavenly day, like one of our autumn days; but rather too calm for our impatience—the Cape being within less than a
