venient. The saloon is built upon the deck, extending about twenty-four feet in length, and covering the whole breadth of the ship except a narrow passage on either side, which serve as the means of communication between the steward's pantry and the galley. Four plate glass windows on either side afford abundance both of light and ventilation. The handsome fittings of the saloon are of bird's-eye maple, with mahogany settees and tables; and a broad sofa-like seat, well stuffed and easy, covered with crimson velvet, runs all round the comfortable apartment, except one end, which is occupied with handsome cupboard sideboards with marble tops, and surmounted with large and costly mirrors in massive gilded frames. On the same deck are the ladies' saloon and the first class state-rooms. On the deck underneath are situated ranges of second and third class state-rooms for the cabin passengers. We inquire for the state-rooms marked 1 and 2 and 23 and 24 on the saloon deck, and find ourselves in comfortable, well lighted, and well ventilated apartments, each containing a well stuffed sofa, and as commodious and well furnished as we can expect to find rooms in a moveable and crowded home at sea.

A smooth and pleasant passage of about twenty-four hours brings us into Queenstown harbour, where, as we enter, we meet the Colorado," a fine screw steamer, just passing out crowded with passengers, and bound, like ourselves, for New York. Coming to anchor, we await the coming off of the tender, which is soon seen approaching with a considerable number of Irish passengers. These are expeditiously transshipped, with the huge heap of their baggage and bedding that is piled up amidships. They are all of the steerage class, emigrants going out to join the multitudes which the emerald isle has sent forth to people the vast regions of the far west, and add strength to the giant republic of the new world. Scarcely an hour has elapsed when the anchor is raised; the bell rings to warn the crowd of apple-selling girls who have come on board to vend their treasures, that they must take their departure. The tender is cast off, the screw re-commences its play, and we are again gliding outwards

beneath the batteries that defend the harbour to the open sea. Our voyage has commenced in earnest, and for a while our home is on the deep.

Within its narrow confines there are between five and six hundred souls. Several hundreds of these are Germans, who have bidden farewell to their fatherland, and are going to join the thousands of their countrymen in the far off land where wealth, and luxury, and social distinction have crowned the efforts of not a few of them; and where multitudes more, settled on their own ample farms, realize an amount of comfort not within their reach in the land of their birth; giving back to their country the inestimable blessings of that pure and undefiled religion, to the knowledge of which they have been brought in the land of the stranger. A considerable number more are Irish emigrants who embarked at Queenstown. All these find comfortable accommodation in the fore part of the ship set apart for steerage passengers, but spend as much of their time on deck as the boisterous weather will allow. Old men and maidens, young men and children, constitute the miscellaneous group, whose appearance exhibits no degree of that squalid wretchedness which has sometimes characterized the export of emigrants to the far west.

The cabin passengers, amounting to sixty or seventy persons, are chiefly Americans, naturalized or native. Those two respectable-looking American ladies, each with a daughter under her care, bear German names; but they are the wives of New York merchants, and are returning to their husbands and homes, after a tour of some eighteen months upon the continent of Europe. The aristocratic-looking couple, with the lively intelligent sprite of a daughter, the very image of her fine-looking mother, are amongst those in New York who have achieved wealth during the war commotions, and have been making the tour of Europe, from which they are now returning to their palatial residence in Fifth Avenue. The fast young lady who sports a rough pea-jacket, with expansive horn buttons, and whose ringing laugh is often heard far into the night, is said to be a votary of the stage.

died on Saturday, the day before, at mid-day, and he, Mr. C., was just returning home from the funeral.

The unhappy lady, who has partly risen to a standing position in the gig, suddenly realizing the mournful truth, gives utterance to a piercing sound, between a shriek and a groan, that thrills the very souls of the hearers, and sinks down at once into her seat, leaning helplessly against her travelling companion. She does not faint, neither is there a tear in her eye. She seems as if the shock had turned her into stone. The eyes, wide open, seem fixed on vacancy and every feature is rigid as if with the coldness of death. Her travelling companion, himself almost choking with grief, endeavours to address to her such words of condolence and sympathy as he is capable of uttering. She appears not to hear anything that is spoken. It is in vain that he urges her, for the sake of her beloved children, not to yield herself up to this bitter sorrow that has come upon her. Alarmed at the condition into which the terrible news so suddenly imparted has thrown her, he urges on his jaded horses, and in little more than half-an-hour reaches the end of this painful journey.

The unhappy widow is lifted from the vehicle, and assisted into the mission house; but she is still in the same state. The appalling fact that she has come to see and to aid her husband, and found only his new-made grave, seems to have come like a thunder-clap upon her, and to have paralysed all her faculties. From the moment that the intelligence fell upon her ear, she has uttered not a single word; she has shed no tear. A low, distressing, plaintive moan, uttered at intervals, and most painful to listen to, alone indicates the fearful weight of grief that is pressing upon that poor, bereaved heart. The All-merciful alone knows the thoughts passing through that troubled mind; the heavy load of sorrow which presses down the soul. Several missionaries and their wives have assembled from mission stations around, and all that loving kindness and tender sympathy can do to afford relief is done by those around her, who share, in some measure, the sorrow of this sudden and

man named Le Mesurier. He looks the first-rate sailor that he is; but is courteous in his bearing, and kind to his passengers, readily granting all indulgences to the weak and suffering that their circumstances require. The doctor who has charge of the emigrants is a gentlemanly young man from the north of the Tweed, and all the officers of the ship are intelligent and courteous.

On the second morning, few of the passengers put in an appearance at the breakfast-table; for during the night not only has the wind been ahead, but we have been steaming into a very rough sea. There has been a heavy gale to the north; and though we have escaped the tempestuous blast, our vessel feels the effect of it. The huge rolling waves come sweeping down with tremendous force, imparting a rolling motion to the ship that is almost perpetual; so that to lie in our berths, or to retain a sitting position, we must hold on with all our might to what may happen to be near us. Loud calls for the stewards may be heard, and sounds indicative of the distress which a heavy rolling sea is very apt to produce, especially at the commencement of a voyage, come up from the cabins on the lower deck. The few who are seasoned voyagers, and therefore not prostrated like their neighbours, cut strange capers as they attempt to move about, making steps that the dancing-master never taught them, and sometimes finishing up their involuntary movements in a prostrate condition across the saloon table, or under it. In vain the stewards place the table in order, with strong guards affixed, to keep things from sliding off. Plates, dishes, joints, and poultry, take flight over the guards; and the disappointed passenger finds that the savoury morsel just laid before him, with its delicious accompaniments of sauce, &c., has vanished in a moment without his aid. This lasts for two or three days, and then the heaving ocean subsides gradually into a state of comparative quietude; the sun shines out, and the ladies are to be seen, well defended by numerous wrappers against the cold wind which comes from the north-west, basking in his cheering beams upon the hurricane deck.

Now dawns the Sabbath, the pearl of days. The sea is somewhat rough, and the captain thinks it not expedient to prolong the service with a sermon; but he will see what the weather is. The sea has moderated a little, when, according to rule, the prayers are to be read, and the captain claims for himself this duty. At the hour appointed, half-past ten A.m., a cushion laid at one end of the saloon table is covered with a crimson cloth, trimmed with gold lace, and upon this are deposited the Book of Common Prayer and the Bible. Other books are spread for the use of the passengers. The saloon is crowded; for many of the emigrants have " come to church." The service is read by the captain in full uniform, not as correctly or with as much solemnity, perhaps, as we might hear it read elsewhere; but certainly with as little expenditure of time. The lessons for the day happen to be of more than ordinary length: but in rather less than half-an-hour the whole service, with the litany and communion service included, has been got through. Whispering a word or two to Dr. M'Cosh, intimating that he may continue the service if he thinks proper, the captain disappears; and for half-an-hour the good doctor occupies the time in speaking and prayer, very much to the delight of his auditory, founding his remarks upon John xiv. 27.

Several times during the week that follows, we encounter a rough sea, causing the ship to roll most unpleasantly, and producing quite a list of casualties. The fastenings of one of the tables placed in the lobby give way during a heavy lurch, when some twelve or fourteen passengers are seated by and holding on to it; and away they go to the other side, table, settees, chairs, and passengers, with all the contents of the table mingled in an indistinguishable heap upon the floor. Before they can extricate themselves, the "Tripoli" is nearly on her beam ends on the other side, and again they are hurled across the cabin in wild confusion. Even the captain finds it difficult, “old salt" as he is, to maintain his equilibrium, and is seen Twrs-de-combat upon the cabin floor. One lady, who