nia, so mathematically exact are the rules of
navigation, so well known are the prevailing winds and currents, that
the passengers of a steamship may make the voyage and not sight even a
headland between Honolulu and Auckland,--a distance of more than four
thousand miles. This is the course we pursued, first steering for the
Hawaiian group, and thence for the north headlands of New Zealand, _via_
Tutuila, of the Samoan Islands.

It was Magellan, the Portuguese navigator, who first discovered this
great ocean, sailing through the strait which bears his name. In the
month of November, 1520, he finally came into the waters of the new sea
upon which he was the first to sail, and which he named Mar Pacifico. It
may have been "pacific" in his day, or may have seemed so to him after
experiencing some rough weather on the other side of the continent of
America, but we have seen it more turbulent than the Atlantic,
especially where it approaches the Antarctic circle. Magellan did not
long survive to enjoy the fame and profit of his discovery, as about a
twelvemonth later he was killed in an unfortunate skirmish with the
savages of some of the Pacific islands. He is often compared with his
great contemporary Columbus, whose experience in the West Indies was
undoubtedly the incentive for Magellan on his voyages of discovery.

Sea-life is conducive to idleness, and the saline atmosphere is
narcotic. Lying in his berth the voyager gazes listlessly at the yellow
iron-mould on the towels, the greasy moreen curtains, the restless
hanging-lamp, and the damp, begrimed carpet, while he inhales the
unpleasant bilge-scented atmosphere which penetrates everything. The
jerking motion of the ship shaken incessantly by the propeller, causes
the letters of the printed regulations tacked upon the door to run
together in unintelligible lines, until at last he grows dizzy with the
ceaseless motion imparted to everything. Finally, with a sudden burst of
energy the deck is reached, where there is pretty sure to be something
suggestive to occupy the mind and vary the wearisome monotony. The
wonderful blue of the sea by day, and its fire-like phosphorescence by
night, are always interesting. The Mediterranean between Malta and
Gibraltar is proverbially blue, but the Pacific seemed to us more so. At
times it lay as if in a trance, a perfect calm, the ship's keel gliding
as it were over a burnished metallic field, or a flood of molten
sapphire. The fami