affectionately like doves; saw the Friends, my friends, sitting side by side, gazing upwards at the moon which shone upon their mild and calm countenances; saw the moonbeams dancing upon the dancing billows while we were borne onward along the calm sea towards Cape Hatteras, the light-house of which shone towards us, like a huge star on the south horizon.
At Cape Hatteras we were to enter the Gulf of Mexico, and this point is one of danger to the mariner. Violent gusts of wind and storm are generally encountered there; and many a fearful shipwreck has occurred at Cape Hatteras; but tempest and disaster came not near us. The moon shone, the billows danced, the wind was still, the pairs of turtle-doves cooed, and the Friends slumbered; we passed Cape Hatteras at midnight, and I hoped now to be in the region of steady summer warmth. But psha! Nothing of the kind.
Next morning it was again grey and cold and cheerless, and not at all like summer. One portion of the company lay in their berths suffering from sea-sickness; another portion sate down to a merry game of cards under an awning on deck. I sate apart with the Friends who were silent arid at last went to sleep. But I was full of life and wide awake all day; felt remarkably well and spent a rich forenoon in company with the sea and with Bancroft's “History of the United States,” which interests me extremely as well from its truly philosophical spirit as for its excellent narrative style. In the former he resembles our Geijer, in the latter, D'Aubigné. I read also on the voyage a little pamphlet on “Special Providence” by a sort of renowned clairvoyant of New York, named Davis, but a production which more clearly testified to the blindness of the spirit I never saw, and I knew not whether to be more astonished at its pretension or at its poverty.
On the morning of the fourth day we were before
