green of visage and sea-sick, being gone
with better things (and worse), no coming
event cast its shadow before. I might,
but a few moments previously, have imitated
Sterne, and said, " ' And yet, methinks,
Eugenius'—laying my forefinger wistfully
on his coat-sleeve thus—' and yet, methinks,
Kn^enius, 'tis but sorry work to part with
thee, for what fresh fields * * * my dear
Eugenius * * * can be fresher than thou
art, and in what pastures new shall I find
Eliza—or call her, Eugenius, if thou wilt,
Annie,' "—I say I might have done this, but
Eugenius was gone, and I hadn't done it.

I was resting on a skylight on the hurricane-
deck, watching the working of the
ship very slowly about, that she might
head for England. It was high noon on a
most brilliant day in April, and the beautiful
bay was glorious and glowing. Full
many a time, on shore there, had I seen
the snow come down, down, down (itself
like down), until it lay deep in all the ways
of men, and particularly, as it seemed, in
my way, for I had not gone dry-shod
many hours for months. Within two or
three days last past, had I watched the
feathery fall setting in with the ardour of a
new idea, instead of dragging at the skirts
of a worn out winter, and permitting
glimpses of a fresh young spring. But a
bright sun and a clear sky had melted the
snow in the great crucible of nature, and it
had been poured out again that morning
over sea and land, transformed into myriads
of gold and silver sparkles.

The ship was fragrant with flowers.
Something of the old Mexican passion for
flowers may have gradually passed into
North America, where flowers are luxuriously
grown and tastefully combined in
the richest profusion; but be that as it
may, such gorgeous farewells in flowers had
come on board, that the small Officer's
Cabin on deck, which I tenanted, bloomed
over into the adjacent scuppers, and banks
of other flowers that it couldn't hold, made
a garden of the unoccupied tables in the
passengers' saloon. These delicious scents
of the shore, mingling with the fresh airs
of the sea, made the atmosphere a dreamy,
an enchanting one. And so, with the watch
aloft setting all the sails, and with the
screw below revolving at a mighty rate,
and occasionally giving the ship an angry
shake for resisting, I fell into my idlest
ways and lost myself.

As, for instance, whether it was I lying
there, or some other entity even more mysterious,
was a matter I was far too lazy to
look into. What did it signify to me if it
were I—or to the more mysterious entity—
if it were he? Equally as to the
remembrances that drowsily floated by me—
or by him—why ask when, or where, the
things happened? Was it not enough that
they befel at some time, somewhere?

There was that assisting at the Church
Service on board another steam-ship, one
Sunday, in a stiff breeze. Perhaps on the
passage out. No matter. Pleasant to hear
the ship's bells go, as like church-bells as
they could; pleasant to see the watch off
duty mustered, and come in; best hats,
best Guernseys, washed hands and faces,
smoothed heads. But then arose a set
of circumstances so rampantly comical, that
no check which the gravest intentions could
put upon them would hold them in hand.
Thus the scene. Some seventy passengers
assembled at the saloon tables. Prayer-
books on tables. Ship rolling heavily.
Pause. No minister. Rumour has related
that a modest young clergyman on board
has responded to the captain's request that
he will officiate. Pause again, and very
heavy rolling. Closed double doors suddenly
burst open, and two strong stewards
skate in, supporting minister between them.
General appearance as of somebody picked
up, drunk and incapable, and under conveyance
to station-house. Stoppage, pause, and
particularly heavy rolling. Stewards watch
their opportunity, and balance themselves,
but cannot balance minister: who, struggling
with a drooping head and a backward tendency,
seems determined to return below,
while they are as determined that he shall
be got to the reading-desk in mid-saloon.
Desk portable, sliding away down a long
table, and aiming itself at the breasts of
various members of the congregation. Here
the double doors, which have been carefully
closed by other stewards, fly open again, and
worldly passenger tumbles in, seemingly
with Pale Ale designs: who, seeking friend,
says " Joe!" Perceiving incongruity, says
"Hullo! Beg yer pardon!" and tumbles
out again. All this time the congregation
have been breaking up into sects—as the
manner of congregations often is—each
sect sliding away by itself, and all pounding
the weakest sect which slid first into the
corner. Utmost point of dissent soon attained
in every corner, and violent rolling.
Stewards at length make a dash; conduct
minister to the mast in the centre of the
saloon, which he embraces with both arms;
skate out; and leave him in that condition
to arrange affairs with flock.