sing at the gate of the Horse Guards I reviewed in
a moment the whole situation; whatever was to be the result there was no
time for delay and so, hailing a hansom, I told the cabby to drive to the
office of the Cunard Steamship Company, Old Broad Street, City.

"What steamer sails on Wednesday for America?"

"The 'Samaria for Boston, the 'Marathon for New York."

"The 'Samaria broke her shaft, didn't she, last voyage, and was a
missing ship for a month?" I asked.

"Yes, sir," answered the clerk.

"Then book me a passage in her," I replied; "she's not likely to play
that prank twice in two voyages."

CHAPTER TWO.

The "Samaria "--Across the Atlantic-Shipmates--The Despot of the
Deck--"Keep her Nor'-West"--Democrat versus Republican--A First
Glimpse--Boston

POLITICAL economists and newspaper editors for years have dwelt upon the
unfortunate fact that Ireland is not a manufacturing nation, and does not
export largely the products of her soil. But persons who have lived in
the island, or who have visited the ports of its northern or southern
shores, or crossed the Atlantic by any of the ocean steamers which sail
daily from the United Kingdom, must have arrived at a conclusion totally
at variance with these writers; for assuredly there is no nation under
the sun which manufactures the material called man so readily as does
that grass-covered island. Ireland is not a manufacturing nation, says
the political economist. Indeed, my good sir, you are wholly mistaken.
She is not only a manufacturing nation, but she manufactures nations. You
do not see her broad-cloth, or her soft fabrics, or her steam-engines,
but you see the broad shoulder of her sons and the soft cheeks of her
daughters in vast states whose names you are utterly ignorant of; and as
for the exportation of her products to foreign lands, just come with me
on board this ocean steamship "Samaria", and look at them. The good ship
has run down the channel during the night and now lies at anchor in
Queenstown harbour, waiting for mails and passengers. The latter came,
quickly and thickly enough. No poor, ill-fed, miserably dressed crowd,
but fresh, and fair, and strong, and well clad, the bone and muscle and
rustic beauty of the land; the little steam-tender that plies from the
shore to the ship is crowded at every trip, and you can scan them as they
come on board in batches of seventy or eighty. Some eyes among the girls
are red with crying, but tear