tmosphere of the cabin, and bulkhead and upper deck
seemed to race with the rippling of the waves of light in them.
Through the open port came the seething and pouring song of the ocean;
the music of smiting billows, the small harmonies of foam bells and of
seething eddies. There was the presence of the ocean too, the sense of
its infinity, and of the speeding ship, a speck under the heavens, yet
fraught with the passions and feelings of a multitude of souls bound to
a new world, fresh from a land which many of them would never again
behold.

The captain took a very long time in marrying us. Had this business
possessed any sort of flavour of sentiment for Grace, it must have
vanished under the slow, somewhat husky, self-complacent, deep-sea
delivery of old Parsons. I took the liberty of pulling out my watch as
a hint, but he was enjoying himself too much to be in a hurry.
Nothing, I believe, could have so contributed to the felicity of this
man as the prospect of uniting one or more couples every day. On
several occasions his eyes appeared to fix themselves upon Miss
Moggadore, to whom he would accentuate the words he pronounced by
several nods. The Marriage Service, as we all know, is short, yet
Captain Parsons kept us more than half an hour in his cabin listening
to it. Before reciting "All ye that are married," he hemmed loudly,
and appeared to address himself exclusively to Miss Moggadore to judge
by the direction in which he continued emphatically to nod.

At last he closed his book, slowly gazing at one or the other of us
over his glasses as if to witness the effect of his reading in our
faces. He then opened his official log-book, and in a whisper, as
though he were in church, called Mr. Higginson and Mr. M'Cosh to the
table to witness his entry. Having written it he requested the two
witnesses to read it. Mr. M'Cosh pronounced it "Arle reet," and Mr.
Higginson nodded as gravely as though he were about to read a will.

"The ladies must see this entry, too,'" said Captain Parsons, still
preserving his Sabbatical tone. "Can't have too many witnesses. Never
can tell what may happen."

The ladies approached and peered, and Miss Moggadore's face took an
unusually hard and acid expression as she pored upon the captain's
handwriting.

"Pray read it out, Miss Moggadore," said I.

"Ay, do," exclaimed the captain.

In a thin, harsh voice like the _cheep_ of a sheave set revolving in a
block--wonderfully