demoiselle de la vieille Cour." The "Gallia" had made a quick passage from Liverpool, and had been fuming about the moorings off Roche's Point since 5.30 A.M. Many of her passengers had landed and gone, some to church, others to chapel, or to the "grand cathedral," and some to stroll about the uninviting streets, and these were now waiting for us in the tender, but the majority of the voyagers were on board writing letters or abusing the post-office and the authorities generally which enforced such a waste of the time they found so heavy on their hands. I found two acquaintances—one indeed an old friend—among the passengers in the tender, and with them I divided the cares of looking after my two married daughters who came "to see me off," thereby obtaining an opportunity for a dash to "see after" my luggage, for I am too old a traveller to trust to the assurances of porters—"It's all right, your honour!" In twenty minutes more the tender, inspected by hundreds of eyes from over the bulwarks, was alongside the slim vast hull of the great Cunarder. I looked up as the eyes looked down, and saw most of my party above, and in a few seconds more was on deck shaking hands with them all round; finding out my State Room—what a noble appellation for the cubicle, "that heritage of woe," of which I was lord!—exhibiting the charms and conveniences of the same to my anxious daughters, who with feminine enthusiasm declared it was "delightful! so snug!" &c., and distributing my property in its angles and covert retreats. "All on board for the shore!" The bell is ringing for the third time! And as the last adieux are spoken, the last kiss, the last shake of the hand, given, and the outward and visible signs of friendship or of love are relegated to tearful eyes and waving kerchiefs, those who are going to sea think perhaps how pleasant it would be to return to the solid earth, and those who are bound for road or pavement struggle with the thought, "I wish I were going too!" Any stick will do to beat a dog! Any umbrella or hat will do to wave at a friend. And so, at 3.30 that afternoon, the "Gallia" made a graceful curtsy to an incoming wave, screwed herself out of the roadstead, and turned her stem to the Far West, towards the sun "which, by the bright track of his fiery car, gave token of a goodly day to-morrow." How green and fresh seemed the land where the fields swelled to the edge of the cliffs dotted with whitewashed cottages! Forward, leaning over forecastle bulwarks, the poor Irish emigrants and Irish-Americans were watching the coast-lines and listening to the experts who were pointing out the "Killies" and "Bailies" which adorned them. But the bell soon sounded again, this time to prepare for dinner, and in half an hour more, from the recesses of many cabins the multitude came trooping to the banqueting hall, which was at the time just gently yielding to the blandishments of the sea-nymphs to desert the line of strict propriety, and to leave off doing its level best. The "party" had a table all to itself on the right of the Saloon, but at the end there were two places left which we could not occupy, and these were filled by two American gentlemen, one of whom developed a marked talent for salads and anecdote, and the other equal gifts in the way of silence. The Cunard cuisine is copious at all events, and the cellar—albeit vexed by various temperatures and altitudes—commendable. The show of strength at table was creditable to our seagoing powers, and our first night with the expeditionary forces was passed pleasantly in discussing plans and the like till bed-time, when our grim chamberlain put out our candles, and left the inmates of the cabins to rest as best they might. On the second day people began to look more at each other at meal-times—to take notice, as the nurses say—but a strong easterly breeze introduced elements of discomfort and unsociability, and impeded friendly communion even in the smoking-room for a day or two. It was evident that the majority of the living freight of the "Gallia" were returning to their native land. There is always something or other cropping up out of the sad sea wave for those who are not absorbed in their own sufferings from the mal de mer; and though I have been fortunate enough to have escaped the slightest inconvenience in my marine experiences, I have had that share in the misery of others which is derived from sympathy. I have sometimes doubted whether exemption from sea-sickness, in bad weather, is such a boon, till I duly considered the state of those who were its victims. To be quite well, and yet to be unable to read or to write—to sit or to stand, or to lie down—without some sort of tension—is very aggravating. If you go on deck you are wet by sea or spray, and can do nothing but "hold on"; and if you go below you are half suffocated by the close air, and altogether tortured by the cries of distress around you. My cabin was on the main deck forward—large, airy, and, when the ports were open, well lighted—and the only inconvenience attendant on the situation was that it lay some distance from the bath-rooms, which are never numerous enough for the wants of the passengers even in the most liberally-appointed steamers. The knowing ones make a rush for the bath-room steward and inscribe their names at once for their quarter of an hour as soon as they come on board, and the unfortunates who neglect that precaution are obliged to take their chance later in the morning, and sometimes fare but badly. It was my fate once to be a passenger on board one of the steamers of the Messagéries Impériales to Marseilles from the East, at the close of the Crimean War. There was an immense crowd of officers and soldiers on board, and the weather was very hot, but the only bath-room was closed, and it was from a conclusive answer to the demands for admission which were made to the persecuted steward that we learned the reason why—"the bath was occupied." It contained the body of an officer which had been embalmed, and which was being taken to France for burial in some martial cemetery!

Washington Irving wrote long ago that "the sea is all monotony," though he claimed leave to correct the expression, and if it were a monotony of fair winds and smooth water, and eighteen miles an hour, it would be very tolerable indeed. But surely there is no monotony in a sea voyage in an Atlantic liner! Look at the different phases of character exhibited on board day after day! Observe the ups and downs of its life; watch the microcosm of the crowded deck, where every chair holds its little Areopagus and pronounces judgment on the world around it.

There were brave men among us who resorted to ignoble artifices, and went by devious ways to their cabins to escape the masked batteries, and the spectacles and glasses en barbette of the long lines of cushioned bastions where the enemy were lying in vigilant scrutiny of every movement.

And then the Babel of tongues at times—the variety of topics one hears discussed. Hark to that trumpet tone! It is not Jeremiah warning the nations to flee from the wrath to come! No! it is merely a gallant officer of a scientific corps who is expounding to some admiring Americans a few articles of his faith, and proving that Mr. Gladstone is the "Man of Sin" specially intended for the destruction of the British army and Empire. And there, in a cozy nook by the wheel-house, an earnest Democrat is holding forth to his English auditors on the evils of democracy as illustrated by the conduct of the Republicans in the exercise of political power, the manipulation of ballot-boxes and public bullion; and a sturdy Briton near at hand is enlarging on the absolute necessity of restoring the worn-out lands of the Eastern States and