READER, if thou hast ever experienced the pleasures of a country life; if thou hast ever known the enjoyments of retirement, or felt the comfort of residing at a distance from the smoke and fog of London, thou mayest fancy, perchance, our feelings on leaving our little farm to prepare for a journey to foreign lands, and to experience the turbulence of the watery element, after having enjoyed peace and quietness for the space of nine long years. From the commencement of our preparations to our departure, I felt a kind of mournful melancholy in visiting the familiar scenes around me, which I was so soon about to leave. The fertile meadows, the rich vallies, the smooth and silvery lakes, the rippling of winding streams, the falling of cataracts, and indeed all the beauties

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of nature appear to have united to render one of the loveliest counties in England: our cottage was adjacent to one of its prettiest villages; and I could not leave such scenes without a feeling of regret.

I particularly remember one sunny afternoon, I had rambled with a friend to a very beautiful and interesting lake in the neighbourhood; and we had sat down on its brink, beneath the welcome shade of a spreading oak, to try our success in catching some of the finny tribe that were sporting beneath its surface. I have been, since then, in lands that were ever warmed by the splendid rays of a tropic sun; I have seen vallies which those rays could scarcely penetrate, and mountain tops that were always enveloped in clouds; I have witnessed the grandest and the softest scenery, and yet I can remember nothing more pleasing to the mind, or more enchanting to the eye, than the scenes of that afternoon.

The conversation of my friend, the warbling of the birds, the clouds passing over our heads, and reflected in the clear lake below; the rich lands around us, scattered here and there with a noble's lordly mansion, or a peasant's lowly cot; the beautiful little village in the distance, and the rural simplicity of the spot on which we were sitting, all combined to awaken feelings of sorrow that I was about to leave, which I could not repress. I know not if this circumstance awakened more interest in my mind ;-but I could not help exclaiming to my friend in the words of Virgil,

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Tityre, tu patulæ recubans sub tegmine fagi, "Silvestram tenui musam meditaris avena;

"Nos patriæ fines et dulcia linquimus arva,

"Nos patriam fugimus, tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra
"Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas.”

These had been the scenes of my childhood, and I could not leave them without a tear for the pleasures that had past, and a sigh for the woes that were to come. I suspect too that my father entered into my feelings; for after bidding adieu to our friends, and entering the chaise that was to convey us to Gravesend, I do not believe that during the first stagė of our journey, we uttered a single word.

away,

In a short time, however, our melancholy wore and we recovered, by degrees, our spirits and our appetites; the former rising to their usual height, and the latter requiring the aid of some substantial beefsteaks, to prevent our following the example of that hero of classical memory, who was wont to consume himself to allay his own hunger.

In due time we arrived at Gravesend, where the Captain of our vessel was to meet us, and took up our quarters at the best hotel. I need not dwell on a description of this place, for I presume that most of my readers are acquainted with the agreeables and disagreeables of English seaport towns: suffice it to say, that after paying sundry unnecessary guineas to our honest host of the tavern, and sundry unnecessary shillings to the officious boatmen who bore our baggage to the ship, we embarked on board the Genoese merchantman, which was to convey us to

Barbados, over the wide expansive ocean that lies between that island and our native country.

Perhaps, however, it might be the means of saving an extra guinea or two, to some unwary traveller, if I were again to revert to the abovementioned boatmen of Gravesend, who are, without doubt, the most imposing, and pay-extorting vagabonds I ever saw. When we first arrived, they flocked around our carriage like a swarm of bees, eagerly disputing for the honor, such was their polished expression, of conveying our baggage to the ship :-" Do, your honor," "Shall I take it, your honor;" "I'm the most careful man, your honor;" and sundry other expressions of the same nature assailed us from all quarters, until, tired and vexed with their importunities, we left the matter to be settled by the waiter, and entered the tavern to order the necessary refreshment after our journey :-in consequence of this indifference, we had shortly after the pleasing task of paying the conductors of six several boats, for their various trips to our vessel; when our luggage, had it been properly managed, would certainly not have filled a single boat: "tel est le monde;" that is to say, the world in general, but more especially that part of it yclept Gravesend:-O tempora, O mores!—Oh wondrous march of avarice and cupidity!

We embarked on the morning of the 15th October; and we had not been long on board before the master and the pilot began to issue the necessary orders for getting under weigh.

The Genoese was a very fine vessel; those of my readers who have never seen a ship could hardly fancy, or form an idea of the beautiful manner in which, her bellying sails filled with a prosperous breeze, the colors at her topmast head, and the ensign gaily floating at her peak, she scudded gracefully and majestically along the silver Thames, and finally rushed into the ocean, quickening her pace with the breeze, and striding (if I may so say) through the waters of the "vasty deep," as if she had then, indeed, reached her proper element.

We had many passengers on board, and all but one appeared instigated by the same feelings; for they were standing on deck, straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of the well known objects on their native shores, as they receded from their view.

One who has never left his country; one who has never roamed beyond old England, nor tried his fortunes on the perilous deep, cannot certainly picture to his mind the feelings of those who gaze on the home they are leaving, withdrawing from their view; who gaze on it too, with the reflection, that it contains all they hold dear upon earth; and that they are only in a frail and brittle vessel, which the violence of the winds, or the fury of the waves, may dash into a thousand pieces, and sever, by one great and overwhelming stroke, the ties of kindred, of friendship, and of love.

Influenced by such feelings, I do not remember ever to have seen a more mournful group than the