The small, sad boy looked smaller and sadder than ever as he stood on the deck of the _Flying Cloud_ and waved his last farewell. He tried his best to be manly and to swallow the heart that was leaping in his throat, and at the earliest possible moment he flew to his journal and made his first entry there. He was going to keep a journal because his brother kept one, and because it was the proper thing to keep a journal at sea--no ship is complete without its log, you know; and, moreover, I think it was a custom in that family to keep a journal; for it was, more or less, a journalistic family. Now we are nearing the anniversary of that boy's journal: it runs through January, February and March; it is more than forty years old this minute. And because it is a boy's journal, and the boy was small and sad, I'm going to peep into it and fish out a line or two. With an effort he made this entry: "CLIPPER SHIP, FLYING CLOUD, "January 4, 1857. "I watched them till we were out of sight of them, and then began to look about to see what I could see. It begins to get rough. I tried to see home, but I could not. The pilot says he will take a letter ashore for us. Now I will go to bed." Then he cried unto the Lord in his trouble with a heart as heavy as lead. "JAN. 5.--The day rather rough, with little squalls of rain. We are passing the Farallone Islands, but I feel too bad to sketch them. I get homesick when I think of the dear ones I left behind me. I hope I may see them all in this world again." That was the gray beginning of a voyage that had very little color in it. The coast-line sank apace; the gray rocks--the Farallones, the haunt of the crying gull--dissolved in the gray mist. The hours were all alike: all dismal and slow-footed. "I don't feel very well to-day," said the small, sad boy, quite plaintively. On the 6th he brightens and begins to take notice. History would have less to fasten on were there not some such entries as this: "A list of our live-stock: 17 pigs; 12 dozen hens and roosters; 3 turkeys; 1 gobbler; a cockatoo and a wild-cat. We have a fair breeze, and carry 26 sails. "JAN. 7.--The day is calm. I began to read 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' I like it. The captain's wife was going to train the wild-cat when it bit her--but not very hard. "8.--There was not much wind to-day. We fished for sea-gulls and caught four. I caught one and let it go again. Two hens flew overboard. The sailors in a boat got one of them; the gulls killed one. "9.--The day has been rather gloomy. I caught another sea-gull but let him go again. On deck nearly all day. "10.--The cockatoo sits on deck and talks and talks. "11.--It makes me feel bad when I think of home. I want to be there."