Hitherto accustomed to an inland life, I had no previous correct notion of a voyage on the sea. Before my departure from Falmouth, I might truly say that the only idea possessed by me on the subject, consisted of waves and breakers, a hurly-burly of thunder, the noise of many waters, dismal skies, drenched mariners, and a constant sense of danger. I had, it is true, an imperfect remembrance of a wide water, and of fair faces looking over the waves; a mingled and hazy reminiscence, something between a drowsy dream and a waking fancy. But when the packet weighed anchor, I felt myself immersed, as it were, in a soft and solemn harmony, and we passed into the ocean soothingly wafted by an almost insensible tide and breeze; the sky was without a cloud, and all the stars as brightly sparkling as if their wicks had been newly trimmed. The beautiful moon shone as a lamp at the gate of heaven.

The other passengers had retired, and the captain had his own affairs to mind. I was thus left to my own meditations, and before break of day—for I remained in calm contemplation all night on deck, I saw the gems of the Lizard light-house beaming in the horizon like stars, and brightening as they neared. In the dim dawning of the morning, they seemed as the eyes of a friend looking out at his window to bid us farewell and good morrow.