ected by
sea-sickness. I think that we all took a pride in the finest Channel
steamers then afloat, and, as a child, I was always conscious of a
little added dignity and an extra ray of reflected glory when crossing
in the Leinster or the Connaught, for they had four funnels each. I
think that I am correct in saying that these splendid seaboats never
missed one single passage, whatever the weather, for nearly forty
years, until they were superseded by the present three thousand tons,
twenty-four knot twin-screw boats. The old paddle-wheelers were
rejuvenated in 1883, when they were fitted with forced draught, and
their paddles were submerged deeper, giving them an extra speed of two
knots. Their engines being "simple," they consumed a perfectly ruinous
amount of coal, sixty-four tons for the round trip; considerably more
than the coal consumption of the present twenty-four knotters.

In the "sixties" a new Lord-Lieutenant crossed in a special
mail-steamer, for which he had the privilege of paying.

When my father went over to be sworn-in, we arrived at Holyhead in the
evening, and on going on board the special steamer Munster, we found a
sumptuous supper awaiting us.

There is an incident connected with that supper of which, of course, I
knew nothing at the time, but which was told me more than thirty years
after by Mrs. Campbell, the comely septuagenarian head-stewardess of
the Munster, who had been in the ship for forty-four years. Most
habitual travelers to Ireland will cherish very kindly recollections of
genial old Mrs. Campbell, with her wonderfully fresh complexion and her
inexhaustible fund of stories.

It appears that the supper had been supplied by a firm of Dublin
caterers, who sent four of their own waiters with it, much to the
indignation of the steward's staff, who resented this as a slight on
their professional abilities.

Mrs. Campbell told me the story in some such words as these:

"About ten minutes before your father, the new Lord-Lieutenant, was
expected, the chiefs-steward put his head into the ladies' cabin and
called out to me, 'Mrs. Campbell, ma'am! For the love of God come into
the saloon this minute.' 'What is it, then, Mr. Murphy?' says I. 'Wait
till ye see,' says he. So I go into the saloon where there was the
table set out for supper, so grand that ye wouldn't believe it, and
them four Dublin waiters was all lying dead-drunk on the saloon floor.

"'I put out the spirit decanters on t