DECEMBER 19, 1835.
In the evening we saw in the distance New Zealand. We may now
consider that we have nearly crossed the Pacific. It is necessary
to sail over this great ocean to comprehend its immensity. Moving
quickly onwards for weeks together, we meet with nothing but the
same blue, profoundly deep, ocean. Even within the archipelagoes,
the islands are mere specks, and far distant one from the other.
Accustomed to look at maps drawn on a small scale, where dots,
shading, and names are crowded together, we do not rightly judge
how infinitely small the proportion of dry land is to the water of
this vast expanse. The meridian of the Antipodes has likewise been
passed; and now every league, it made us happy to think, was one
league nearer to England. These Antipodes call to one's mind old
recollections of childish doubt and wonder. Only the other day I
looked forward to this airy barrier as a definite point in our
voyage homewards; but now I find it, and all such resting-places
for the imagination, are like shadows, which a man moving onwards
cannot catch. A gale of wind lasting for some days has lately given
us full leisure to measure the future stages in our homeward
voyage, and to wish most earnestly for its termination.
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