THE VOYAGE TO THORSHAVN. 5 Adieu for weeks to friends and foes—to news of Sebastopol, however thrilling—to our part in all that concerns the interests and welfare of Britain! With a daguerreotype of the basaltic cliffs of May on our minds, as caught through flighty mist and spray amidst the thickening gray of night, we bid farewell to land, and take a north-east course into the German Ocean; for the captain, even with steam at bis command, likes good sea-room for his ship. Next morning, we find ourselves alone on the waters—no trace of Caledonia stern and wild to be seen. Cutting against a north wind, we have weather clear, but cold. And so we go on and on; and dinner succeeds breakfast, and tea succeeds dinner; and there are walks along the deck, and outlookings through telescopes over the gunwale, and watchings of sea-birds and of distant sails; and one or two persons confess themselves as not yet quite reconciled gastrically to sea-life—till evening begins to come on, just as we are approaching that outlier of the Orcades, the Fair Isle, to the east of which is the passage usually taken into the North Sea. It is ten o’clock, and the sun is little more than just set, and the north is a long cloud-draped chamber, with the draperies and festoonings dropping a ruby dye, when we approach this unfortunate little island, which, we believe, supports two hundred of God’s creatures, but is wished by everybody besides to be at the bottom, or at the North Pole, or anywhere, seeing that it creates such a monstrous deal of inconvenience, and does such a frightful amount of actual mischief. A very decent- looking little green island it is all the time, as if it had never wrecked a bark nor robbed a crew in the whole course of its existence. More deadly by far appears Sumbrugh Head, opposite, the lofty extremity of the Zetland group, which we now see dimly through the haze to the right. Good or evil, we course past it in perfect security, and so make a final parting from Scottish land. Faroe and Iceland now lie clear before us. On the third day, after a brilliant sunrise at half-past two, the wind changed to the south-west, bringing on the usual unpleasant consequences of rain and bluster, but without impeding our course. It is impossible, however, to get a meridian observation; and as the Faroe Islands cannot be far ahead, we are forced to pause at night, and even go back a little, lest we come to a

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