A voyage across the Atlantic to the isles of the West, in the summer season, in one of the splendidly-fitted steamers of the Royal Mail Company, does not afford many incidents. Fine or stormy, as the weather may perchance be, the noble vessel, alike unheeding tempest or calm, presses on its way; nor does its heart of steam cease for a moment to beat, till the voyagers gaze on the pleasant-looking city of St. Thomas's Isle, and are moored in its land-locked and unhealthy harbour. On the fifth day from Southampton, a brief glimpse was afforded us of the Isle of Terceira, one of the Azores, as towards sunset we hastened by. We passed on the south side of the island. St. George's Isle was also in sight; and dimly on the horizon we caught a glimpse of the cone of Pico, some sixty miles off. The sunset was glorious: it lit up the hills and dales of Terceira with an exquisite purple light, which gradually faded away into the grey haze of twilight. Then came the moon to give another charm to the fretful wave, to the ripple of the more distant sea, and to the shadowy regions of the land, as we hurried on our way.

To most passengers, the objects of interest afforded by the sea are soon exhausted.