, and three more in reviewing, and
being reviewed by your fellow-passengers, you will find yourself at the
end of your troubles--and your voyage.

No, people do not fraternize on board ship, during such a short passage,
unless a rumor runs from cabin to cabin that there has been some
accident to the machinery, or that the boat is in imminent danger. At
the least scare of this kind, every one looks at his neighbor with eyes
that are alarmed, but amiable, nay, even amicable. But as soon as one
can say: "We have come off with a mere scare this time," all the facial
traits stiffen once more, and nobody knows anybody.

[Illustration: "LIKE EGYPTIAN MUMMIES."]

Universal grief only will bring about universal brotherhood. We must
wait till the Day of Judgment. When the world is passing away, oh! how
men will forgive and love one another! What outpourings of good-will and
affection there will be! How touching, how edifying will be the sight!
The universal republic will be founded in the twinkling of an eye,
distinctions of creed and class forgotten. The author will embrace the
critic and even the publisher, the socialist open his arms to the
capitalist. The married men will be seen "making it up" with their
mothers-in-law, begging them to forgive and forget, and admitting that
they had not been always quite so-so, in fact, as they might have been.
If the Creator of all is a philosopher, or enjoys humor, how he will be
amused to see all the various sects of Christians, who have passed their
lives in running one another down, throw themselves into one another's
arms. It will be a scene never to be forgotten.

Yes, I repeat it, the voyage from Liverpool to New York is monotonous
and wearisome in the extreme. It is an interval in one's existence, a
week more or less lost, decidedly more than less.

One grows gelatinous from head to foot, especially in the upper part of
one's anatomy.

In order to see to what an extent the brain softens, you only need look
at the pastimes the poor passengers go in for.

A state of demoralization prevails throughout.

They bet. That is the form the disease takes.

[Illustration: THE AUCTIONEER.]

They bet on anything and everything. They bet that the sun will or will
not appear next day at eleven precisely, or that rain will fall at noon.
They bet that the number of miles made by the boat at twelve o'clock
next day will terminate with 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, or 9. Each draws
one of the