and pastures where the flood rose suddenly in
the night; aud I begin, for the first time in my
life, to understand what are the dangers by
"flood and field" which daunted the stout
hearts of our forefathers.

I find my way with some difficulty to an
out-of-the-way little street and stop before a
narrow glass door, through which are heard
sounds of violent altercation. Satisfying
myself that this is the place I want, I turn
the handle gently and find myself in the
midst of one of those Italian rows about
twopence halfpenny, which so often diversify the
amusements of a traveller beyond the Alps.
I understand Italian pretty well. Am soon
convinced that there has been considerable
cheating going on somewhere; and an excited
child of the south, who insists with great
apparent reason that he has been done even
browner than he looks, is so furiously irate,
that to this moment I remain under the
impression that he had nothing but his
watch-chain left to take him on to Paris.

''What is the fare to Naples, signor?"

"One hundred and sixty-five francs, and
your seigneury does right to go by our boat
instead of the Comere Siciliano, which takes
four days, and sometimes even six, touching
at all sorts of out-of-the-way places."

"Yes; and I find you are some twenty or
thirty francs cheaper—a great consideration.
What places are still vacant ?"

"All, except the two first double cabins to
the right and left on entering the saloon. We
can afford to go cheaper, because we save two
days' provisions."

"I will go down to the steamer, then;
choose my berth, return and pay for it."

"The signor will be wise. The steamer is
in dock, and you can walk on board."

Nevertheless, I find this to be a mistake,
and am rowed by an excellent fellow of a
waterman half round the harbour before I
get on board the Great Do—no end of tons,
bound for Naples with passengers and cargo.
My friend, the waterman, tells me great
things touching the prosperity of the port of
Marseilles; and what a fat slice she gets out
of the taxes the French people pay to keep
Algiers. I find, too, that all the foreign corn
does not go to England; and ship after ship,
laden with grain from Odessa, is seen
discharging rich cargoes into flat-bottomed
boats that lie alongside.

My friend, the boatman, tells me, however,
that he has a dislike to the bread made of
this foreign grain; and when I ask him why,
he assures me "it is not salt enough."

Passing, also, the Sicilian mail-boat (a fine
steamer) just about to start, I scramble at
last on board the merchantman, choose my
berth and return.

"I have chosen number six, letter A."

"Si, signor, one hundred and ninety-eight
francs. Will you give me your passport?"
The Italian row, subsided into muttered
grumblings, is still going on in a corner.

"One hundred and ninety-eight francs!
Why, you told me one hundred and sixty-five
just now."

"Oh yes, of course," cries an important
Englishman, whom I notice now upon a chair
in a perfect perspiration of rage, "oh yes, of
course, but that was before the Sicilian courier
boat started, and now we are in their power
till the ninth of next month. They can do
what they like with us: I find myself, sir,
sixty francs poorer than if I had paid my
passage before the other boat started; but
they would not take the money."

"That is odd," said I, in English, and
with a half smile.

"Oh no, it isn't; they made sure of me by
getting me to give my passport into their
hands to get it viséd — I understand they do a
good business in visa's— and then they had me
tight, of course; wife, maid, courier, and all.
Talk of the Marseilles route, sir; it's a
swindle, every mile of it!"

It is ten o'clock on the night of the
twenty-second of January, and the Great
Do is advertised to start at two o'clock on
the twenty-third, while we, the
passengers, who are to go by it, have been
recommended to get on board before eleven. I am
glad to have done with the extreme
discomfort of the noisy hotel where I have
been stopping, and look upon my tightly
packed luggage with a smile of satisfaction.
It is hoisted on a fiacre; the last harpy has
been bought off; even the man who opened the
fiacre door, and another who did the looking on
part, have both been feed according to custom,
and in spite of sundry visions of sea-sickness,
I draw a sigh of relief. I am off at last.

Not a bit of it! There lies the Great Do
high and dry somewhere; no one of the few
jolly sailors loitering about know exactly
where, but she is somewhere, that is quite
clear; and she is not to start to-night. Indeed
she is being painted. At this juncture, my
fiacre expresses a polite wish to be paid
double his fare; but on requesting him to
take me back to the hotel, he becomes
more reasonable in his demands, and back
we go together. Every one has gone to
bed there, however, according to custom, on
the arrival of the last train from Paris;
and, on awaking them, I find the irruption
of travellers deluded into taking the
Marseilles route has been so great since I
left, that every bed in the house is engaged,
and I must drive elsewhere and get a
lodging how I may. The coachman enjoys
this, and no wonder, for it enables him to
give me a pleasant airing about Marseilles,
and to see how its streets look by moonlight.
In fact I have ample time to judge of them,
for I am convinced he took me twice round
the same Place, either from absence of mind,
or absence of honesty, and of course I have to
pay him bravely. However, I do get a
lodging at last, somewhere or other—a lodging
smelling of old rope and beds ill-made, of