The Atlantic. 13 



To him who finds himself comfortable at sea, the ocean 

 is the grandest of treats. He never fails to feel himself 

 a boy again while on the waves. There is an exulta- 

 tion about it. " He walks the monarch of the peopled 

 deck," glories in the storm, rises with and revels in it. 

 Heroic song comes to him. The ship becomes a live 

 thing, and if the monster rears and plunges it is akin 

 to bounding on his thoroughbred who knows its rider. 

 Many men feel thus, and I am happily of them, but 

 the ladies who are at their best at sea are few. 



The travellers, however, bore the journey well, 

 though one or two proved indifferent sailors. One 

 morning I had to make several calls upon members be- 

 low and administer my favorite remedy; but pale and 

 dejected as the patients were, not one failed to smile a 

 ghastly smile, and repeat after a fashion the cabalistic 

 words — " Altogether lovely." 



He who has never ridden out a hurricane on the 

 Atlantic is to be pitied. It seems almost ridiculous to 

 talk of storms when on such a monster as the Servia. 

 Neptune now may " his dread trident shake " and only 

 give us pleasure, for in these days we laugh at his pre- 

 tensions. Even he is fast going the way of all kings, 

 his wildest roar being about on a par with the last Bull 

 of the Pope, to which we listen with wonder but with- 

 out fear. 



In no branch of human progress has greater advance 

 been made within the past twenty years than in ocean 



