oysters, upon which fish the Anglo-Saxon in this hemisphere is intensely ravenous.  It looks funny enough to a stranger, to see a notice hung up (generally near the bar), “Oysters to be had in the barber’s saloon.”  Everything is saloon in America.  Above this saloon deck, and its auxiliaries of barber-shop, gallery, &c., is the hurricane-deck, whereon is a small collection of cabins for the captain, pilots, &c.—­there are always two of the latter, and their pay each, the captain told me, is forty pounds a month—­and towering above these cabins is the wheel-house, lit all round by large windows, whence all orders to the engineers are readily transmitted by the sound of a good bell.  The remainder of the deck—­which is, in fact, only the roof of the saloon-cabins and gallery—­is open to all those who feel disposed to admire distant views under the soothing influence of an eternal shower of wood-cinders and soot.  These vessels vary in breadth from thirty-five to fifty feet, and from one hundred and fifty to—­the “Eclipse”—­three hundred and sixty-five feet in length; the saloons extending the whole length, except about thirty feet at each end.  They have obtained the name of “palace-steamers,” and at a coup d’oeil they appear to deserve it, for they are grand and imposing, both outside and inside; but many an European who has travelled in them will agree with me in the assertion, that they might, with more propriety, be termed “palace sepulchres;” not merely from the loss of life to which their constant disasters give rise, but also from the contrast between the grandeur outside and the uncleanliness within, of which latter I have already given a sketch in my trip from Louisville.

Some idea may be formed of their solidity, when I tell you they are only calculated to last five years; but at the end of three, it is generally admitted that they have paid for themselves, with good interest.  I give you this, on the information derived from a captain who was sole owner, and I have also heard many others repeat the same thing; and yet the “Eclipse” cost 120,000 dollars, or about 25,000l.  In the saloon you will always see an account of the goodness of the hull and the soundness of the boilers hung up, and duly attested by the proper inspectors of the same.  The way these duties of the inspectors are performed makes it a perfect farce, at least on most occasions.

The inspector comes on board; the captain and engineer see him, and, of course, they shake hands, for here everybody shakes hands with everybody the moment they meet, if only for the first time; the only variation being in the words addressed:  if for the first time, it may run thus:—­“Sir, I’m happy to make your acquaintance;” which may be replied to by an additional squeeze, and perhaps a “Sir, I reciprocate.”  N.B.—­Hats off always the first time.  If it is a previous acquaintance, then a “Glad to see you, sir,” is sufficient.—­But to return from this digression.  The captain and engineer greet the