the tide, breeze, waves, chart, buoys, and lights;
also the sails, pilot-book, and compass; and more than all, to scan the
passing vessels, and to cook, and eat, and drink in the midst of all.
With such pressing and varied occupations, he has no time to feel
"lonely," and indeed, he passes fewer hours in the week alone than many a
busy man in chambers. Of all the people I have met with who have
travelled on land or sea alone, not one has told me it was "lonely,"
though some who have never tried the plan as a change upon life in a
crowd, may fear its unknown pleasures. As for myself, on this voyage I
could scarcely "get a moment to myself," and there was always an
accumulation of things to be done, or read, or thought over, when a
vacant half-hour could be had. The man who will feel true loneliness, is
he who has one sailor with him, or a "pleasant companion" soon pumped
dry; for he has isolation without freedom all day (and night too), and a
tight cramp on the mind. With a dozen kindred spirits in a yacht,
indeed, it is another matter; then you have freedom and company, and (if
you are not the owner) you are not slaves of the skipper, but still you
are _sailed_ and _carried_, as passive travellers, and perhaps after all
you had better be in a big steamer at once--the Cunard's or the P. and
O., with a hundred passengers--real life and endless variety. However,
each man to his taste; it is not easy to judge for others, but let us
hope, that after listening to this log of a voyage alone, you will not
call it "lonely."

The Rob Roy is a yawl-rig, so as to place the sailor between the sails
for "handiness." She is double-skinned to make her staunch and dry
below, and she is full-decked to keep out the sea above. She has an iron
keel and kelson to resist a bump on rocks, and with four water-tight
compartments to limit its effects if once stove in. Her cabin is
comfortable to sleep in, but only as arranged when anchored for the
purpose:--sleep at sea is forbidden to her crew. Her internal
arrangements for cooking, reading, writing, provisions, stores, and
cargo, are quite different from those of any other yacht; all of them are
specially devised, and all well done; and now on the 7th of June, at 3
P.M., she is hastily launched, her ton and a half of pig-iron is put on
board for ballast, the luggage and luxuries for a three months' voyage
are loaded in, her masts are stepped, the sails are bent, the flags
unfold to th