[481] An anonymous novel, published some years earlier in 4 vols. 12mo.

[482] Cowper’s Monody.

NOVEMBER.

November 1.—­The night was less dismal than yesterday, and we hold our course, though with an unfavourable wind, and make, it is said, about forty miles progress.  After all, this sort of navigation recommends the steamer, which forces its way whether the breeze will or no.

November 2.—­Wind as cross as two sticks, with nasty squalls of wind and rain.  We keep dodging about the Lizard and Land’s End without ever getting out of sight of these interesting terminations of Old England.  Keep the deck the whole day though bitter cold.  Betake myself to my berth at nine, though it is liker to my coffin.

November 3.—­Sea-sickness has pretty much left us, but the nights are far from voluptuous, as Lord Stowell says.  After breakfast I established myself in the after-cabin to read and write as well as I can, whereof this is a bad specimen.

November 4.—­The current unfavourable, and the ship pitching a great deal; yet the vessel on the whole keeps her course, and we get on our way with hope of reaching Cape Finisterre when it shall please God.

November 5.—­We still creep on this petty pace from day to day without being able to make way, but also without losing any.  Meanwhile, Froehlich! we become freed from the nausea and disgust of the sea-sickness and are chirruping merrily.  Spend the daylight chiefly on deck, where the sailors are trained in exercising the great guns on a new sort of carriage called, from the inventor, Marshall’s, which seems ingenious.

November 6.—­No progress to-day; the ship begins to lay her course but makes no great way.  Appetite of the passengers excellent, which we amuse at the expense of the sea stock.  Cold beef and biscuit.  I feel myself very helpless on board, but everybody is ready to assist me.

November 7.—­The wind still holds fair, though far from blowing steadily, but by fits and variably.  No object to look at—­

    “One wide water all around us,
    All above us one ‘grey’ sky."[483]

There are neither birds in the air, fish in the sea, nor objects on face of the waters.  It is odd that though once so great a smoker I now never think on a cigar; so much the better.

November 8.—­As we begin to get southward we feel a milder and more pleasing temperature, and the wind becomes decidedly favourable when we have nearly traversed the famous Bay of Biscay.  We now get into a sort of trade wind blowing from the East.

November 9.—­This morning run seventy miles from twelve at night.  This is something like going.  Till now, bating the rolling and pitching, we lay

    “... as idle as a painted ship
    Upon a painted ocean.”