every commander to show a good example; and a yacht-owner, who has no professional dignity to sustain, cannot be out of his place if he lends a hand in every emergency.

6

At 6 P.M., the wind still blowing a moderate gale, the mizen was double-reefed, and we again pursued our way through a confused seá, but without shipping any water. The Sunbeam' was behaving admirably, and all seemed to be going well, when, at 8 P.M., shortly after I had taken the wheel, a sudden squall struck the vessel, causing her to heel over to the starboard side, where the gig was hung from the davits out board, where it had been carried the whole way from England, while at the same time a long mountainous wave, rolling up on the lee side, struck the keel of the boat and lifted it upwards, unshipping the fore-davit. The bow in consequence fell into the water, and the boat was dragged through the water, suspended from the after-tackle only, and dashing against the side of the Sunbeam' with a force which threatened at every instant to crush it to pieces. We at once brought to. A brave fellow jumped into the boat and secured a tackle to the bows; and after a short delay, to the great surprise of all concerned, the gig was hoisted on board and secured on deck. It was an exceedingly seaman-like achievement on the part of my crew.

A heavy gale continued throughout the night, and at 2 A.M. on the 27th of January we met with another accident. The boatswain, a seaman of great skill and experience, was at the wheel, steering with care and judgment, when we met a steep wave end on, and the 'Sunbeam,' gallantly springing up, as if to leap over, instead of cleaving through the wave, as a less lively craft would have done, carried away the jibboom at the cap, and with it the topgallantmast. The jibboom was a splendid Oregon spar, fifty-four feet long, projecting twenty-eight feet beyond the bowsprit. Being rigged with wire rope, the gear was only sawn through with the greatest difficulty, and all hands were at work on the bows from 2 A.M. to 6 A.M., clearing away the wreck. Both in securing the spar and the rigging, which had fallen into the sea, and lay across the stem, as well as aloft, in making fast the topgallant-mast and topgallant-yard, which were swaying wildly to and fro, as the vessel was tossed by the tempestuous sea, my crew behaved as British seamen should.

On Sunday, the 28th of January, we found ourselves by observation in 32° 40′ N. latitude, and 138° 35' E. longitude. Almost immediately after the ship's position had been pricked off on the chart we made the island of Fatsizio, on the starboard bow, on the exact bearing, and apparently at the precise distance, at which we had expected to make it. Fatsizio has a lofty peak, rising from the sea to a height of 2,840 feet. It was this peak alone that was visible. It appeared as a mere speck on the horizon. We passed the island at the distance of fifty miles.

During the afternoon and evening we experienced another severe gale. We were navigating among numerous islands and rocks, between which the tide ran with great violence. Great therefore was my satisfaction when we made out, at 1 A.M. on the 29th of January, the glowing fires of the volcano of Vries. This island is the most northern of the chain fronting the Gulf of Yedo. Its summit attains an elevation of 2,550 feet. At its centre, says the writer of the Admiralty sailing directions, is an active volcano, over which a white vapour cloud is generally floating. This cloud frequently reflects the glare of the subterranean fires at work in the crater beneath, and forms in clear weather a conspicuous landmark, visible by night and day for many leagues. At the distance of forty miles the mountain itself was invisible; but the cloud of fire, and the flame occasionally shooting up from the crater, formed an invaluable beacon. For several hours we steered towards it, as for a lighthouse. Meanwhile, although the elements were contending furiously, the sky was serene and cloudless, and the full moon shed such a flood of pale and lovely light upon the scene as we are accustomed to associate only with the calmest and most tranquil scenes.

At 4 A.M. the fires were

past the island of Vries, At 7.30 A.M. we were

The gale began to abate about 2.30 A.M. lighted, and at daybreak we were steaming in a calm, and over a tranquil landlocked sea. off the northern extremity of the island. At ten we entered the Gulf of Yedo. This fine arm of the sea is fifteen miles wide at its entrance between Cape Sagami and Cape King, and thirty-five miles in length. Situated on its north-west shore, at its head, is the city of Yedo, now known as Tokio (eastern capital), the commercial as well as political capital of the empire. On the western shore is the principal seaport and treaty port of Japan, Yokohama.

The chief obstacle to the successful pilotage of the gulf consists in the innumerable small fishing-boats and the fleets of unwieldy junks which crowd together in this well-sheltered and capacious inlet. The junks of China and Japan have been too often described by pen and pencil to make it necessary to repeat a tale so often told. My most exaggerated conceptions of all that could be crazy and unwieldy in a craft undertaking the navigation of the seas fell far short of the reality. The whole frame creaks and groans audibly at the distance of half a mile in the slightest sea-way. Large windows are opened in the sides and at the stern. The rudder is almost equal in area to the whole deck, and the deck is lumbered with a cargo piled after the fashion of the stacks of hay and straw on a barge in the Thames. The petticoated crew generally take things easily, and seem able to endure the Siberian rigour of the winter in thin cotton robes without suffering the slightest inconvenience. To us, coming as it were at a bound from the enervating heats of the tropics, the snow-clad hills and piercing north-east winds were almost intolerably bracing.

At 1.30 P.M. we rounded the light-vessels off Treaty Point, and, entering the Bay of Yokohama, threaded our way through a numerous fleet of mail steamers, men-of-war, and sailing ships, to a buoy near the landing-place, to which we were speedily secured.

So ends our long passage from Valparaiso, and the second great stage in our voyage of circumnavigation. Some idea may be formed of the vast distances traversed in the Pacific when I mention that the voyage from Valparaiso to Yokohama equals in length the voyage from Plymouth to the Cape of Good Hope and back, or from Plymouth to King George's Sound in Western Australia. The solitude of the wide ocean we have just traversed is sometimes almost oppressive. Between Valparaiso and Yokohama we saw only four sail.

With all its interests and attractions to an adventurous spirit, a life at sea is a great trial to men who have no resources or pursuits independent of the passing circumstances of the hour. To them the monotony and the confinement for long periods within the narrow limits of shipboard cannot but be alike depressing and deteriorating. It is probably in fits of moroseness and bad temper that those deeds of cruelty and horror are done which from time to time arrest the attention of the public.

The more I know of the sea, the greater is my astonishment that men can be found to earn their bread upon its troubled waters at lower rates than any skilled labourer on shore can command; and when it is remembered that, in addition to their personal physical privations, they have to bear the pain of long separation from home, or perhaps the worse moral evil of having no home to care for, it must be acknowledged that the lot of the sailor compares unfavourably with that of his brethren on shore. Fanciful dreams of pearls and golden sands, of parrots, cocoanuts, tobacco, and diamonds, are strangely mingled in the fancy, and beguile successive generations of sanguine youths to betake themselves to an employment which, when shorn of its delusions, presents many disagreeable features. Seamen, however, are not the only order of men who are the victims of selfdeception.

The events I have endeavoured to describe in this last portion of my narrative made perhaps the deeper impression on those who took part in them because we had had the singular good fortune to make a voyage of 23,000 miles from England without encountering, on any former occasion, really tempestuous weather. Let it not be supposed, however, that in these last experiences we went through a storm. such as any well-found ship should not easily weather, or that we endured anything more than it is the lot of every seaman to go through.

Patient reader, have I wearied you with these everyday stories of the sea? How just is that remark of Dean Swift's: • To say the truth, there seems to be no part of knowledge in fewer hands, than VOL. III.-No. 14.

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that of discerning when to have done.' This, at least, you have for your consolation-that you can read this description by your warm firesides in greater comfort than the writer enjoyed as through the livelong night he paced the deck and climbed the rigging, drenched in driving spray, and buffeted by the pitiless gale.

I tread his deck,

Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes

Discover countries, with a kindred heart

Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,

Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.

Having reached Japan, a land so well trodden by recent travellers, this narrative of our voyage in the 'Sunbeam' concludes.

THOMAS BRASSEY.

MAN AND SCIENCE: A REPLY.

WHEN the history of modern thought comes to be written in the future, nothing will appear more remarkable to the student of these times than the great divergence, or rather the irreconcilable antagonism, between the utterances of philosophy and the revelations of exact science. That philosophy should transcend science, that it should be something more than a summary of results, is too evident even to require admission; that it should be in absolute contradiction to these results, that it should set aside or distort the most familiar facts, the best established data of science, will scarcely be claimed by its most ardent votaries. Is this the case?

What is philosophy? It is the systematisation of the conceptions furnished by science. As science is the systematisation of the various generalities reached through particulars, so philosophy is the systematisation of the generalities of generalities. In other words, science furnishes the knowledge, and philosophy the doctrine.' What is truth? It is the correspondence between the order of ideas and the order of phenomena, so that the one becomes a reflection of the other-the movement of thought following the movement of things.' For practical purposes, nothing more clear or comprehensive can be required than these definitions, which are given by Mr Lewes in the preface to his History of Philosophy.

The knowledge referred to is defined as arising from the indisputable conclusions of experience;' and the domain of philosophy is thus limited : Whilst theology claims to furnish a system of religious conceptions, and science to furnish conceptions of the order of the world, philosophy, detaching their widest conceptions from both, furnishes a doctrine which contains an explanation of the world and of human destiny.'

In furnishing this explanation, has our modern philosophy been subject to these limitations? Has she been content to generalise the 'indisputable conclusions of experience'? Or has she wildly plunged into the ocean of reckless conjecture, and with worse than Procrustean intolerance lopped, stretched, and mutilated the well-known facts of science, in the vain attempt to adapt them to the exigencies of a Pp. xviii., xx., and xxxi.