60 tons, being
about the same as the _Great Britain_, and about 500 tons more than the
ships of the old Cunard Line.

Like all the other Atlantic steamers, the run of the deck is almost a
straight line. Around the funnel, and between the paddle-boxes, is a
long wooden house, and another is placed at the stern. These contain the
state-rooms of the captain and officers; and in a cluster are to be
found the kitchen, the pastry-room, and the barber's shop. The two
former are, like similar establishments, replete with every convenience,
having even a French _maitre de cuisine_; but the latter is quite
unique. It is fitted up with all necessary apparatus--with glass-cases
containing perfumery, &c.; and in the centre is "the barber's chair."
This is a comfortable, well-stuffed seat, with an inclined back. In
front is a stuffed trestle, on which to rest feet and legs; and behind
is a little stuffed apparatus like a crutch, on which to rest the head.
These are movable, so as to suit people of all sizes; and in this
comfortable horizontal position the passenger lies, and his beard is
taken off in a twinkling, let the Atlantic waves roll as they may. The
house at the stern contains a smoking-room, and a small apartment
completely sheltered from the weather for the steersman. The
smoking-room communicates with the cabin below, so that, after dinner,
those passengers so disposed may, without the least exposure to the
weather, or annoyance to their neighbors, enjoy the weed of old Virginia
in perfection. This smoking-room is the principal prospect of the man at
the helm, who, however, has to steer according to his signals. Before
him is a painted intimation that one bell means "port," and two bells
mean "starboard;" a like intimation appears on the large bell in the bow
of the ship; and according to the striking of the bell, so must he
steer.

Proceeding below, we come to the great saloon, 67 feet long, and the
dining-saloon, 60 feet long, each being 20 feet broad, and divided from
each other by the steward's pantry. This pantry is more like a
silversmith's shop, the sides being lined with glass-cases stored with
beautifully-burnished plate; crockery of every description, well
secured, is seen in great quantities, and the neatness of arrangement
shows that the gilded inscription, full in the sight of every
visitor--"A place for every thing, and every thing in its place"--has
been reduced to practice. Above the tables in the dining-