A breeze springs up; our fishing is at an end for the present: I am afraid we shall not pass many days so agreably as we have done this. I feel horror at the idea of so soon losing sight of land, and launching on the _vast Atlantic_. Adieu! yours, A. Fitzgerald. LETTER 174. To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall. Aug. 26, at Sea. We have just fallen in with a ship from New York to London, and, as it is a calm, the master of it is come on board; whilst he is drinking a bottle of very fine madeira, which Fitzgerald has tempted him with on purpose to give me this opportunity, as it is possible he may arrive first, I will write a line, to tell my dear Lucy we are all well, and hope soon to have the happiness of telling her so in person; I also send what I scribbled before we lost sight of land; for I have had no spirits to write or do any thing since. There is inexpressible pleasure in meeting a ship at sea, and renewing our commerce with the human kind, after having been so absolutely separated from them. I feel strongly at this moment the inconstancy of the species: we naturally grow tired of the company on board our own ship, and fancy the people in every one we meet more agreable. For my part, this spirit is so powerful in me, that I would gladly, if I could have prevailed on my father and Fitzgerald, have gone on board with this man, and pursued our voyage in the New York ship. I have felt the same thing on land in a coach, on seeing another pass. We have had a very unpleasant passage hitherto, and weather to fright a better sailor than your friend: it is to me astonishing, that there are men found, and those men of fortune too, who can fix on a sea life as a profession. How strong must be the love of gain, to tempt us to embrace a life of danger, pain, and misery; to give up all the beauties of nature and of art, all the charms of society, and separate ourselves from mankind, to amass wealth, which the very profession takes away all possibility of enjoying! Even glory is a poor reward for a life passed at sea. I had rather be a peasant on a sunny bank, with peace, safety, obscurity, bread, and a little garden of roses, than lord high admiral of the British fleet. Setting aside the variety of dangers at sea, the time passed there is a total suspension of one's existence: I speak of the best part of our time there, for at least a third of every voyage is positive misery. I abhor the sea, and am peevish with every creature about me. If there were no other evil attending this vile life, only think of being cooped up weeks together in such a space, and with the same eternal set of people. If cards had not a little relieved me, I should have died of meer vexation before I had finished half the voyage. What would I not give to see the dear white cliffs of Albion! Adieu! I have not time to say more. Your affectionate A. Fitzgerald. LETTER 175. To Mrs. Temple, Pall Mall. Dover, Sept. 8.