in the reception room and the verandahs--anywhere that was convenient;
there was no ceremony. It was a sort of picnic. I had heard before that
we were to breakfast there, but Blucher said he believed Baker's boy had
suggested it to his Imperial Highness. I think not--though it would be
like him. Baker's boy is the famine-breeder of the ship. He is always
hungry. They say he goes about the state-rooms when the passengers are
out, and eats up all the soap. And they say he eats oakum. They say he
will eat any thing he can get between meals, but he prefers oakum. He
does not like oakum for dinner, but he likes it for a lunch, at odd
hours, or any thing that way. It makes him very disagreeable, because it
makes his breath bad, and keeps his teeth all stuck up with tar. Baker's
boy may have suggested the breakfast, but I hope he did not. It went off
well, anyhow. The illustrious host moved about from place to place, and
helped to destroy the provisions and keep the conversation lively, and
the Grand Duchess talked with the verandah parties and such as had
satisfied their appetites and straggled out from the reception room.

The Grand Duke's tea was delicious. They give one a lemon to squeeze
into it, or iced milk, if he prefers it. The former is best. This tea
is brought overland from China. It injures the article to transport it
by sea.

When it was time to go, we bade our distinguished hosts good-bye, and
they retired happy and contented to their apartments to count their
spoons.

We had spent the best part of half a day in the home of royalty, and had
been as cheerful and comfortable all the time as we could have been in
the ship. I would as soon have thought of being cheerful in Abraham's
bosom as in the palace of an Emperor. I supposed that Emperors were
terrible people. I thought they never did any thing but wear magnificent
crowns and red velvet dressing-gowns with dabs of wool sewed on them in
spots, and sit on thrones and scowl at the flunkies and the people in the
parquette, and order Dukes and Duchesses off to execution. I find,
however, that when one is so fortunate as to get behind the scenes and
see them at home and in the privacy of their firesides, they are
strangely like common mortals. They are pleasanter to look upon then
than they are in their theatrical aspect. It seems to come as natural to
them to dress and act like other people as it is to put a friend's cedar
pencil in your po