followed the coast in all its windings from Newfoundland to Florida; but he, like me, was under the thrall of the same vague and undefinable depression, and instead of administering consolation, went off into a narration of how, time after time, he had made the same light with a southerly wind, hove the ship to through the night, anticipating a run in during the next morning, but at dawn the wind came out at north-east with hail and snow, and for weeks nothing could be done but to lay to and sweat it out. This was adding gall to wormwood, and the old fellow, perceiving my lugubriousness, slapped me on the back, and said, “Cheer up, my hearty! we have weathered many a gale together, and, please God, we will make port to-morrow, when we can laugh at our forebodings of to-night.” In this state of mental inquietude, at 11 o’clock at night I went below, and with a prayer that the wind should favor us at dawn, I threw myself in my berth, hoping to rid myself of the solicitude in sleep, but fruitlessly; it was a mere repetition of the afternoon’s performance. I rolled, tumbled, and almost worried myself into a fever; several times I caught a moment’s nap, only to be visited by visions in which the voices of home were calling me, and the outstretched arms of loved ones, prompted by affection, were extended towards me to welcome the wanderer home. But in vain did I struggle to reach them, some invisible agency held me back despite my frantic efforts, and with the sweat profusely dropping from my reeking brow, parched tongue and straining eyeballs, I would awake to find it but a dream. Thus passed the weary hours until 3 o’clock, when on the calling of the watch I turned out, and took the helm. My attention, of course, was directed first to the wind. My forebodings were too truly realized. There it was, from the northwest; and, with gloomy resolution, I resigned myself to the decree. Our officer of the deck, scarcely a whit behind me, came to the binnacle for the same purpose. From his anxious and careworn face I could see that he had experienced no refreshment in sleep. Sympathizing with him, I forebore remark; but, after satisfying himself, he turned to me, with a countenance on every line of which was written mental torture, and in a tone that expressed his feelings, he said, “There depart all our bright anticipations--God help me to bear the disappointment!”--and then proceeded moodily to walk the quarter-deck. Again he came, and related to me that on two former occasions, in this same delectable month of March, he had been served in precisely the same way, and wound up by saying, “I shall worry no more! I am now satisfied that we will not get in before the first of April; and so we may as well grin and bear it”