trived to place their eggs there, the sailors replied, they did not know, but that such was the fact. The Stormy Petrel is the smallest of all webfooted birds, being of the size of the common swallow, which, when on the wing, it very much resembles. A flock of them following the wake of the vessel is a very curious object. They dip down and skim along the surface of the water; and if a small piece of board, with some grease on it, be thrown into the sea, they will hover round it, like a swarm of wasps round a piece of honeycomb.

Buffon tells us that these birds are called Petrels or Peterells, from their appearing to walk upon the sea-a feat attempted by St. Peter.

As we approached the Great Bank of Newfoundland, we encountered the Gulph Stream. This current, running from the Gulph of Mexico, between the island of Cuba and the point of Florida, rushes up the coast of America, strikes the southern end of the Great Bank, and then, taking an E.S. E. direction, loses itself in the ocean. Sailors are always able to tell when they are in this stream, from the great quantity of sea-weed, and from the increased temperature of the water, which, on the 20th of September, was 72° of Fahrenheit, that of the air being only 62°.

The weather on the Great Bank of Newfoundland is called by way of distinction, "Bank weather;" that is, very damp, rainy, and cold. The temperature of the water was, on the 21st of Sep

tember, only 48°. This sudden change was very disagreeable. It has been affirmed by some, that the Bank of Newfoundland has been formed by the great deposition of sand and sediment, occasioned by the crossing of the Gulph Stream with a current, which sets towards the south from Hudson's Bay and the Gulph of St. Lawrence. While crossing the Great Bank we had some rough wea ther, accompanied by a very thick fog. One night, when it was blowing pretty fresh, we suddenly felt it so extremely cold, that some of the passengers, who had been a great deal at sea, were induced to suppose that we had passed near an iceberg. Although the captain said, that he had sometimes felt currents of cold air, on this Bank, without being near ice, yet I am inclined to think that the passengers were right. Indeed, on our arrival at New York, we heard that one of the finest vessels of that port, the ship Liverpool, had, a few weeks before, struck an iceberg on the banks, at twelve o'clock in the day, during a thick fog, and had only just given the passengers and crew sufficient time to save themselves in the boats. This ice is brought down by the northerly current before-mentioned, and is prevented from finding its way further to the south by the Gulph Stream. Hence it is collected in great quantities, and sometimes renders the Bank very dangerous, particularly during the whole of June and July, and the be ginning of August.

We again experienced warm weather, upon coming a second time into the Gulph Stream. Thus, on September 26th, lat. 40° 31', long. 63°, the temperature of the air was 62°, and that of the water 74°. When we were near this spot, several beautiful nautili passed us, with their natural sails hoisted, scudding before the wind.

Some of them

colour. The

were of the most beautiful pink sailors call them Portuguese men of war, but wherefore I could not learn. The nautili, if in danger of being run over, will, as the sailors term it, capsize, let the boat or ship pass over them, and then hoist sail and proceed again. Such is the melancholy sameness on board a ship, that even one of these passing by, creates for the moment a sensation of novelty; and a whale, a dolphin, or a flying-fish, brings every one on deck, and affords a subject of conversation. I am at a loss to conceive why the dolphin is so strangely represented in all pictures, from the Gothic emblems of he raldry, down to the modern signs of inns; for this fish is of the most elegant and beautiful shape, and bears as little resemblance to the crooked monster we generally see in pictures, as the lion of England to Peter Pindar's "old red cat."

The first time I saw Sandy Hook and the Highlands of Staten Island, seemed to me one of the happiest moments of my life, so delighted was I with the certainty of being able to quit my prison. Even the brute animals on board, that

formed part of our stock, seemed to partake in the joy of their more rational companions. The hogs frisked about, the cow lowed, and all appeared sensible (the sailors said, by smelling) that we were now approaching land. Our delight, however, was a little damped by the arrival of the pilot, who, on coming on board, informed us, that the yellow fever raged in New York, and that the city had in consequence been deserted by nearly all its inhabitants. At this intelligence some of our passengers, who were coming to join their wives and children, were thrown into the greatest consternation; but, for my part, I was so rejoiced at arriving at the end of my voyage, that I thought of nothing but getting ashore.

The entrance to the bay of New York is one of the most beautiful sights in the world. On each side of the Narrows, where the steep and almost perpendicular cliffs of Staten Island are only two miles distant from the shore of Long Island, the forts and fortifications that defend this celebrated harbour seem to frown upon the vessels that enter. We passed close to the formidable batteries of Fort La Fayette, which advances into the water, with four tiers of guns, one of which tiers is occupied by a large kind of carronades, called Columbians, each throwing a hundred pound shot.

After passing the Narrows, we entered the Bay of New York, which, expanding immediately, is about nine miles in width in the broadest part.

On each side, the shore, though wooded down to the water's edge, is thickly studded with farms, villages, and country seats. At the upper end are seen the spires of the city; and in the distance, the bold precipitous banks of the Hudson. The day was beautiful, the sky without a cloud, and the vast sheet of water was covered with inward and outward bound vessels, the white sails of which were illuminated by the sun-beams.

We anchored just below the battery, at the point of the island on which New York is built, and getting into a boat rowed round to Greenwich, which, though once a separate town, now forms part of the city. Looking up the streets that run down to the water, I perceived they were all barricaded at the upper ends, and strewed with lime. The houses of course were all shut up and deserted; and out of a population of 120,000 inhabitants, not more than 7 or 8,000 remained in the city; and those only in the higher and more healthy parts.

I do not know a more sombre spectacle than a large deserted city. We are so accustomed to associate the idea of a town with that of an active and noisy multitude, that to see a number of houses quite deserted and hushed in perfect silence, impresses the mind with the deepest melancholy. Nothing endued with life was to be seen in any of the streets or neighbouring quays, except here and there a cat; for these animals, in the hurry and