cliffs towards Dover was veiled half way down with fleecy mists, such as are seen frequently in Cumberland and Westmorland. As the night set in a thick fog enveloped us, so that the misthorn had to be blown every ten minutes on the forecastle, to warn other ships of our whereabout, to prevent us running foul upon each other. September 11.-The wind more favourable, but faint: the sea yet very misty. The Branken Moor, outward-bound like us, and for the same portion of the globe, to Adelaide and Port Phillip-is just a-head. We crowd more sail, and come up with her. We sail cheerily in company nearly an hour. The two vessels draw near and nearer to each other; we are next-door neighbours, and converse in a neighbourly manner. All of us are visible: eighty souls in the Branken Moor, passengers; our number forty-eight. The people exchange news, &c., until the ships get too near for each other's safety: getting entangled in each other's rigging. After some stir, the vessels are separated. During this meeting of friendly ships, as if to celebrate it, a little bird sang sweetly aloft, first on the shrouds of our ship, then on the other. TO A SINGING-BIRD ON SHIPBOARD, NEAR SHORE. Thou happy bird, from ship to ship For many a year, the voice I hear Thy happy strain is of a time When life had endless scope, A song of woodland seasons, passed Of days I spent by Mole and Trent With friends and kindred dear. Friends true of heart, the large of soul, O, silly bird! and canst thou come Try not the untried, seek not the unknown; Care never dwelt within a breast The land we love all lands above, But thou, sweet bird! hast nought to shun; Well hast thou sung thy parting strain,- For us-of every storm the sport, The weather has been so hazy that we have not seen land at all to-day. The mist-horn is every now and then blown, at noon, on the forecastle. The captain thinks it likely that we shall not see land again. September 12.—All night and all day the vessel has been sailing with unfavourable winds, and against the tide; losing by one tide what it gained by the other. We were off Beechy Head yesterday, and are so to-day; with only this difference—the mist is gone, and once more we gaze upon dear Old England. A coast of chalky cliffs and bare dark moorlands, unenlivened, as far as we can trace, by any villages. In the evening we had a near and distinct view of Brighton, of George-the-Fourth Brighton, of Pavilion notoriety. September 13.-We have this morning seen afar-off the Isle of Wight, high and bold. The night has been extremely rough, as I augured from the wild dark massiveness of the clouds-dark foreground with orange and crimson gleaming through—a strong contrast of dark and bright, such as Martin would like to see, and would imagine without seeing. A pilot-boat has been out to us from Portsmouth to learn our destination. Several of our passengers sick again to-day through the turbulence of the weather. We have here witnessed many laughable scenes, owing to the vessel's being all on one side, and everybody staggering and holding themselves by anything or anybody that comes in their way. Everything in motion; tins jingling, the dishes and meat topsy-turvy on the floor. We have to hold our plates that our dinners may not run away from us. September 14.-Well had it been for us had we gone in with the pilot yesterday. Towards night the wind increased, and at midnight the sea was stormy. Add to this we were in danger of losing the ship and our lives. Another barque, seen long enough by a light she displayed, before we met, came in dreadful collision with ours. Hitherto, when the sea has been rough I have lain down to rest in my berth without the least dread of danger, but on this occasion a foreboding of some coming catastrophe kept me from undressing and awake. Others in the ship had the same feeling, and after retiring to bed got up again. They had also an impression as I had, that we were aground. This sensation however was owing to the motion of the sea. About two o'clock the vessels struck each other, front to front. As it happened, fortunately, the captain, the other officers, the sailors, and some of the passengers were up; occupied at the time taking in the sails, the wind being very rough, and the ship lying very much on one side. When the barques met, tremendous was the crash, stunning the shock, and it seemed miraculous that both did not immediately go down. It is impossible to describe the consternation and alarm of all on board. The rushing out of people fore and aft, like city-people brought out by an earthquake the bawling, hoarsely heard in the storm and darkness of midnight, of the captain and the crew: the hurry to and fro of lights, borne by people half-naked, brought out by the, to them, unaccountable concussion: the double darkness of the night, and of their rigging lying upon ours: the efforts on our part to clear ours from theirs: the uproar of voices partly drowned in the roar and dash of the sea: the wild wailing of the wind: the rush of axes cutting away ropes and spars: with the recoil and thunder as the ships alongside were dashed_against each other by the waves of these things no idea can be conveyed. And when we had got clear, we were sure to anticipate the worst in fact, all expected the ship was injured irremediably, and that it and all were lost. This impression was evident on all countenances. Quick and eager was the look-out for planks and spars to save ourselves upon. Some got into the boat outside the poop, but abandoned it just in time to save their lives, it being immediately swept away by the other vessel. The bowsprit, the cat-head, and cut-water, were also swept away clear. The captain with great presence of mind called all hands to their duty: and "to the pumps was the cry. But here, as it generally happens, something was out of the way in the confusion; something was also out of order and unusable, so that much time was lost before they were in active use. Being ready dressed I was on the poop early, indeed before the vessels struck, and thence witnessed the whole of the fearful scene-one that I shall never forget, and hope never more to witness. At length it was ascertained that the portion of the ship under water had suffered little injury; and our captain with great skill and promptness got the vessel into something like order and all waited anxiously watching for day. What a host of things had gone overboard to lighten our heavily-laden ship, yet what confusion, and lumber, and ruin, and nakedness did the welcome daylight reveal! Soon after dawn a flag was displayed for a pilot and one at length coming, we entered Portsmouth about 10 o'clock in a most forlorn condition. September 15.-What a contrast with a night of horrors! how fresh and clear the breezy morning, with the Isle of Wight in full and fair prospect: and then tranquilly havened in the harbour of Portsmouth. Mr. Smith, commander of the Branken Moor, who had sheltered here from the tempestuous sea, has been on board, and says we have indeed had a most providential escape, being as we were on a leeward shore; total wrecks being in such circumstances so common. Our fair enemy, or rather fellow-sufferer, is the Sophia, bound from London for Sydney; carrying, like us, Australian emigrants. We knew it was a lady, for the ship's figure-head, a wooden beauty, profuse of clumsy and square ringlets, was left on our forecastle, as was also a part of her bowsprit. Poor Sophia! I heard her main and mizen masts fall into her, just when the last ropes were cut which tied us together in unholy communion, with a dreadful crash. She was a powerless wreck, her hull floating about at the mercy of the waves, until found by an Irish steamer the next day and towed into London. September 16.-Traverse Portsmouth; much delighted with it. See an old building in Portsea with a gilt bust of King Charles I., and a tablet under it inscribed, After travelling through all France and Spain, and enduring many dangers both 66 by sea and land, he first landed at this port in Oct. 1623." This was after his romantic love expedition to the courts of France and Spain, attended by Buckingham. The perils how very light, compared with what they were fated afterwards to endure! Buckingham was assassinated in the High Street of this very town; and Charles, after contending against the adverse flood of many disastrous years, lost his head for-if they were such-his political crimes. September 17.-Reflecting on the manly conduct of our captain, I composed the following STANZAS. I. With a brave captain did we take Our voyage towards the ocean-tide, With adverse winds, through waters wide: Confiding in his skill as one Who knew what best to seek, or shun. II. We stood by him in danger's hour, With death's dark shadow o'er us cast: III. By his firm courage succoured thus, And God our lives unto us gave: IV. God prosper him, where'er he sail! Propitious gales around him play! September 18.-Whilst the ship is refitting, we take many pleasant walks in Portsmouth and its neighbourhood. Amongst other suburban places we visit Kingston, once a separate village, |