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"Adieu, adieu!—my native shore

Fades o'er the waters blue;

The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar.

And shrieks the wild sea-mew.

Yon sun that sets upon the sea

We follow in his flight;

Farewell a while to him and thee!

My native land, good-night!"

On the 18th July, 1849, I took passage in the steam-ship Canada, Captain Judkins, bound for Liverpool. The day was a warm one; so much so, that many persons on board, as well as on shore, stood with their umbrellas up, so intense was the heat of the sun. The ringing of the ship's bell was a signal for us to shake hands with our friends, which we did, and then stepped on the deck of the noble craft. The Canada quitted her moorings at half-past twelve, and we were soon in motion. As we were passing out of Boston Bay, I took stand on the quarter-deck, to take a last farewell (at least for a time) of my native land. A visit to the Old World, up to that time, had seemed but a dream. As