that a great and enlightened people would not systematically pursue a particular practice if it were actually dishonest. With this prospect at an early stage of the journey of an unlimited supply of books in cheap and portable form, it seems sufficient if one could take from home a compendious little volume with something in it for all possible emergencies.

This is to be found in "English as She is Spoke," that precious volume with which Senor Pedro Carolino has dowered the world. Turning up the page where instructions are given "For embarking one's self," I find the hints brief, but to the point.

"Don't you fear the privateers?" asks the inquiring mind.

"I jest of them," answers the dauntless traveller. "My vessel is armed in man of war. I have a vigilant and courageous equipage, and the ammunitions don't want me its."

"Never have you not done wreck?" the inquirer proceeds, determined to make his friend as uncomfortable as possible on starting.

"That it has arrived me twice;" and here the conversation ends, it being plainly impossible to flutter this calm, courageous soul.

There is, however, one danger of the deep not here alluded to, which I have

found in the realization more terrible than pirates, storm, or fog. This is the presence of an infant of tender years in an adjoining state-room. That a passenger should chance to be thus situated is not a matter of great surprise, nor would it in ordinary circumstances be one of just complaint. The ship is swarming with children, from infants in arms to a lusty contingent who when the deck is wet, as not infrequently happens, take possession of our chairs and run them up and down the slippery boards. It seems to be the correct thing for American infants to be teethed on the Atlantic or weaned on a White Star Liner.

During the first days of the voyage I looked for a sensible diminution of numbers among the elder children owing to natural causes. The boundless hospitality of the ship concentrates itself in a succession of mighty efforts at half-past seven in the morning, at noon, and at five o'clock to fill these children up. To see them at breakfast, dinner, or tea it would reasonably be supposed that the effort would be more than successful. But ten minutes after any meal you shall behold a cluster of small boys and girls at the foot of the staircase wheedling the second steward, a man of infinite, if mistaken, kindness, into

giving them handfuls of gingerbread, pocketfuls of nuts, or plates loaded with a dubious confection highly popular in this community under the name of Eccles cakes.

I never pass this ever-changing group at the foot of the staircase without apprehension of coming in contact with fragments of a burst boy or an exploded girl. But nothing ever happens of a fatal kind. They eat all day, sleep all night, and turn up on deck early in the morning to "skate the chairs," which, in addition to running the risk of breaking them, has the recommendation of waking up any one asleep in the berths below.

These are general blessings diffused throughout the ship's company. My particular boon is something over and above, a special addition to the common lot. My baby never leaves the state-room to go on deck. Sometimes in the dead unhappy night I find it hard to resist the wish that it were otherwise. One might volunteer to take him for awhile from the wearied nurse's arms, show him over the side of the vessel the wild joy of the Atlantic waves, and then-who knows? A babe is never safe in inexperienced hands, and on the following night an unwonted peace might brood over one quarter of the ship. This terrible infant is not only

always in his cabin, but is always wailing, after all not the most serious part of the infliction. His entourage is German, and every one who has met Germans travelling is painfully aware of their vocal peculiarities. I remember one quiet autumn evening sitting on the terrace of an hotel at Baveno. Far away across the broad Lago Maggiore shone the white walls of Pallanza, with its big hotel. Suddenly the stillness was broken by a murmur, as of a distant multitude engaged in deadly conflict.

"What's that?" I asked my companion, "an émeute?"

"Oh no," he answered carelessly, "they've finished dinner at the hotel over there, and the Germans have come out on the terrace for a little friendly conversation."

Pallanza has come alongside Baveno now, and sometimes when the family are conversing there is a difficulty in hearing the shrill wail of the infant. But only then.

Two or three Sessions ago a question was raised in the House of Commons as to the steerage accommodation in Atlantic steamers outward bound. Statements were made, purporting to be the result of personal experience, which greatly shocked public opinion, and, though discredited by a report subsequently

made at the instance of the Board of Trade, something of that impression doubtless still lingers. It occurred to me that the present was a favourable opportunity of making investigation. On Thursday, being just a week out, I found a quiet and full opportunity of spending some time in the steerage. There are 708 steerage passengers on the Britannic, apparently exiles from all the kingdoms of Europe. As far as possible, they camp out in nations, the Scandinavians having their quarters, the Germans theirs, the Finns theirs, the Irish theirs, and so on through the record.

With the exception of married couples, who have their special quarters, the women are all aft and the men all forward. Where the married couples live their berths are set out in blocks, each decently curtained from the other. In none of the berths is bedding provided, emigrants bringing what they deem requisite in that way, which in some cases, notably that of the Finns, does not reach extravagant proportions. The single women sleep on bunks, each containing five berths, one tier above the other, as in the saloon state-rooms. The arrangements for the single men are of the same character. Both forward and aft there are broad gangways providing free circulation, and portholes,

VOL. I.

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