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 342 the voyage had commenced, and the former world had past away. A pause of silent suspense ensued, into which was compressed an infinity of tremulous thought, while the emigrants wistfully regarded the receding shore; then, a kindly cheer of farewell arose from the sympathising spectators, whereto, catching at the pretext to relieve their overburthened bosoms, they responded by a shout, meant to express defiant resolution, but subsiding into a dolorous wail. Thus they departed to the promised land.

When the last rope linking the vessel to the English shore had been cast off, she virtually ceased to belong to our world otherwise than in vision, and was as disconnected from us in reality as though oceans rolled between. When she vanished in the haze with her precious freight, she passed from the material present into a region of shadow whereon the mind speculates painfully. What fortunes may betide those ocean wanderers, and will they ever emerge again from that lower world?

Let Fancy accompany the exiles on their voyage to that western land whither they hasten, discontented with the present, and perchance too confident in the future.

While those of the ruder sex are disconsolately eyeing the receding shore, the associates of their fortunes are below arranging for their comfort. The darkness of that nether Hades—whence exhale so many sighs—is dimly lighted by occasional lanterns, sullenly swinging from the beams, as if to measure the hours of imprisonment, like the pendulum oscillating by a couch of anguish. The atmosphere is murky, thick, and redolent of bilge water and other marine odours, that seem the proper emanation of those sickly flames, without the aid of which, however, extrication would have been hopeless from the perplexity of trunks, barrels, and chests of unmanageable dimensions, that block up the narrow passages running fore and aft. The berths on either hand, tier above tier, are confusedly littered with the scanty bedding and sordid attire of their proprietors; fresh loaves have been hastily thrust into Sunday hats—pats of butter are imperfectly hidden in old shoes—kettles protrude from the thin covert of the blankets—and black bottles shyly retire from the treacherous light into remote corners. The poor household stuff suggests mournful reflections on that poverty whereof these mean trifles are the all, and on the insatiability of the desires whereto so little is absolutely needed. Yet, out of these scanty elements will the wives and daughters of the exiles form the semblance of a home, and find a temporary happiness. Woman, whatever sky be above us, only thy love can give us that!

Amid this chaos, here and there wander men in hopeless quest of missing baggage, children are niched in berths silently munching furtive apples, women are weeping uncomplainingly while making the most of their poor furniture for the comfort of their families, pausing at times to invoke some child that, indifferent to maternal anxiety, has escaped to the upper air. On a barrel in some retired nook is seated its owner, keeping discreet watch over the safety of all his earthly possessions, contemplating the anxious scene with calmness, and solacing himself with an aromatic pipe.

As day slowly wanes, one by one, “the boys” reluctantly descend with ashy faces, and cast themselves despairingly down anywhere, mutely appealing for relief to the suffering women. Night descending veils their anguish, but with night arrive new distresses.

As the Albatross proceeds down the Channel, the breeze freshens, and veering to the westward, renders it necessary to shorten sail and make all snug for the night—a nautical procedure contemplated with ignorant alarm by those passengers able to raise their aching heads. When the reduced topsails rise again, and the ship is brought suddenly to the wind, a collision ensues and shakes the gigantic frame, followed by a deafening crash and a universal wail below, as though the end of all things had arrived.

Amid a breathless chorus of Paters and Aves, tremulous hands grope eagerly for matches, which flash in all directions to the great amusement of Jack who is squinting down the hatchway. On the reappearance of lights all things seem to have drifted to leeward into ruin and annihilation. Crockery has been reduced to primeval dust—boxes have betrayed their sorry secrets, and barrels have resigned their stores. Loud is the lamentation over a destruction caused by lack of care, or over the personal injuries received. Cornelius has had his foot jammed. Molly has lost a favourite tooth. Larry has innocently acquired a black eye, and Bridget has sprained her thumb. These calamities, however much to be regretted, have the good effect of diverting the sufferers from needless alarm, and prompting healthy exertion. Some feeble efforts at arrangement are made, and exhausted by varied emotions, they relapse into torpor which is not repose.

The morrow’s sun flashes on a landless sea flecked with foam by the keen breeze, which, though it may give zest to the rude fare of Jack recovering from the effects of late enjoyment, has a diametrically opposite action on the exiles. A few convulsive attempts are made to cook coffee, generally issuing in melancholy failure, much to the amusement of the Sea-Tritons, who, possessing “dura ilia” themselves, have no bowels of compassion for distresses whereto they are not subject.

Some days elapse ere the emigrants are familiarised with the novelty and discomfort of their position. As each berth is designed to acccommodateaccommodate [sic] five guests, their joint contributions forming a common bed, many are brought into disagreeably close relations with utter strangers that delicacy revolts against. When different sexes are thus mixed, as frequently occurs, the outrage on the modesty of the reluctant women needs no comment. Constant exposure to the observation of strange men generates immodesty—even the reluctant knowledge of impurities pollutes the soul—the unwholesome atmosphere irretrievably taints those who have once breathed it.

From this enforced association, however, clearer knowledge is acquired in a few days of the true natures of new acquaintance than is ordinarily possible in genteel society, where decorum prevents