ever encountered in the whole of his wide
experience. Be that as it may, I certainly felt far from happy as I
threaded my way among the weeping, cheering groups which dotted the
white decks of the good ship Spartan. Had I known the experience which
awaited me in the course of the next twelve hours I should even then at
the last moment have sprung upon the shore, and made my escape from the
accursed vessel.

"Time's up!" said the captain, closing his chronometer with a snap, and
replacing it in his pocket. "Time's up!" said the mate. There was a last
wail from the whistle, a rush of friends and relatives upon the land.
One warp was loosened, the gangway was being pushed away, when there was
a shout from the bridge, and two men appeared, running rapidly down
the quay. They were waving their hands and making frantic gestures,
apparently with the intention of stopping the ship. "Look sharp!"
shouted the crowd.

"Hold hard!" cried the captain. "Ease her! stop her! Up with the
gangway!" and the two men sprang aboard just as the second warp parted,
and a convulsive throb of the engine shot us clear of the shore. There
was a cheer from the deck, another from the quay, a mighty fluttering of
handkerchiefs, and the great vessel ploughed its way out of the harbour,
and steamed grandly away across the placid bay.

We were fairly started upon our fortnight's voyage. There was a general
dive among the passengers in quest of berths and luggage, while a
popping of corks in the saloon proved that more than one bereaved
traveller was adopting artificial means for drowning the pangs of
separation. I glanced round the deck and took a running inventory of my
compagnons de voyage. They presented the usual types met with upon
these occasions. There was no striking face among them. I speak as
a connoisseur, for faces are a specialty of mine. I pounce upon a
characteristic feature as a botanist does on a flower, and bear it away
with me to analyse at my leisure, and classify and label it in my little
anthropological museum. There was nothing worthy of me here. Twenty
types of young America going to "Yurrup," a few respectable middle-aged
couples as an antidote, a sprinkling of clergymen and professional men,
young ladies, bagmen, British exclusives, and all the olla podrida of
an ocean-going steamer. I turned away from them and gazed back at the
receding shores of America, and, as a cloud of remembrances rose
before me, my heart warmed towar