, used to stand for hours on the quarter deck, sublime and
motionless as a statue of Jupiter. An interesting incident occurred
during the calm of which I spoke. They began to be fearful we were
doomed to remain there forever, unless the spirits were invoked for a
favorable wind. Accordingly the prophet lit his pipe and smoked with
great deliberation, muttering all the while in a low voice. Then, having
obtained a bottle of beer from the captain, he poured it solemnly over
the stern of the vessel into the sea. There were some indications of
wind at the time, and accordingly the next morning we had a fine breeze,
which the Iowas attributed solely to the Prophet's incantation and
Eolus' love of beer.

After a succession of calms and adverse winds, on the 25th we were off
the Hebrides, and though not within sight of land, the southern winds
came to us strongly freighted with the "meadow freshness" of the Irish
bogs, so we could at least _smell_ it. That day the wind became more
favorable, and the next morning we were all roused out of our berths by
sunrise, at the long wished-for cry of "land!" Just under the golden
flood of light that streamed through the morning clouds, lay afar-off
and indistinct the crags of an island, with the top of a light-house
visible at one extremity. To the south of it, and barely
distinguishable, so completely was it blended in hue with the veiling
cloud, loomed up a lofty mountain. I shall never forget the sight! As we
drew nearer, the dim and soft outline it first wore, was broken into a
range of crags, with lofty precipices jutting out to the sea, and
sloping off inland. The white wall of the light-house shone in the
morning's light, and the foam of the breakers dashed up at the foot of
the airy cliffs. It was worth all the troubles of a long voyage, to feel
the glorious excitement which this herald of new scenes and new
adventures created. The light-house was on Tory Island, on the
north-western coast of Ireland. The Captain decided on taking the North
Channel, for, although rarely done, it was in our case nearer, and is
certainly more interesting than the usual route.

We passed the Island of Ennistrahul, near the entrance of Londonderry
harbor, and at sunset saw in the distance the islands of Islay and Jura,
off the Scottish coast. Next morning we were close to the promontory of
Fairhead, a bold, precipitous headland, like some of the Palisades on
the Hudson; the highlands of the Mull of