nel,--that lasting monument of the genius of a Brunell,
and of the wealth and enterprise of British merchants!

A Cockney may well boast of his great city, its wealth, its vast
population, and its magnificent buildings; but with regard to the
Thames, of which he is equally proud,--he that has seen the St.
Lawrence, the Hudson, the McKenzie, and many others, compared to which
the Thames is but a rivulet, may be excused if he cannot view its
not very limpid waters with the same extravagant admiration as the
Londoner, who calls the Serpentine a river, and dignifies a pond of a
few roods in extent with the name of a lake. Yet there is one feature
about the Thames, of which he can scarcely be too proud, and which
is unparalleled perhaps in the world,--the often-noticed "forest of
masts," extending farther than the eye can reach, and suggesting,--not
the silence and solitude of the forests with which I have been
familiar,--but the countless population, the wealth, and the grandeur
of Britain; and the might and the majesty of civilized and industrious
man.

I took leave of London on the 12th of September, and set out for
Liverpool by railroad, and reached it in six hours. I had sufficient
time to visit its docks, crowded by the ships of every nation; its
warehouses containing the produce of every clime; and, though last,
not least in my estimation, the splendid monument erected to the
memory of Nelson. No monument of stone or brass is necessary to
perpetuate our hero's fame; he lives in the heart of every true
Briton, and will ever live, till British oak and British prowess shall
cease to "rule the waves."

I embarked on the 15th of December on board a sailing-packet bound
for New York. These vessels are so punctual to the hour of sailing
advertised, that, if the wind proves contrary, and blows fresh, they
are towed out to sea by steamboats. This proved to be our case, and we
kept tacking about in the "chops" of the Channel for six days, when
a fair wind sprung up that soon carried us out of sight of England.
England! great and glorious country, adieu! I shall probably never
see thee more; but in quitting thy white-cliffed shores, I quit not my
ardent attachment and veneration for thee;--and now for _thy_ eldest
daughter beyond the ocean!

To me, who had spent so much of my lifetime in solitude, the tedium
of the voyage so much complained of was gaiety itself; with three
fellow-passengers besides the captain, the time pas