CHAPTER XI. 



HOW NOT TO GO. 



L OUGHLY blew the wind, the rain 

 poured in torrents, "the waves 

 rolled mountains high," and the 

 madam lay in her state-room, oh ! 

 so sick. 



" Shall I bring you a cup of tea ? " 

 " Oh, no, no ! " 

 " Or a lemon, or " 



" No, nothing, nothing. Oh ! who would have 

 thought yesterday that we should be tossed about 

 in this way?" 



And indeed who would ? It was the eighteenth 

 of June, eighteen hundred and seventy-five, the day 

 after the grand Bunker-hill centennial celebration ; 

 and we had driven to the International steamer, 

 through streets hung with banners wet and droop- 

 ing that but yesterday waved in the bright sunlight 



