No doubt this remark is true and extends to a good many other things; but in a ship in the middle of the ocean, when the least confusion or irregularity in certain cases might be destruction to all on board, it does inspire confidence to see that there is even in the minutest things a strong and steady system, that goes on without saying “by your leave.”  Even the rigidness with which lights are all extinguished at twelve o’clock, though it is very hard in some cases, still gives you confidence in the watchfulness and care with which all on board is conducted.

On Sunday there was a service.  We went into the cabin, and saw prayer books arranged at regular intervals, and soon a procession of the sailors neatly dressed filed in and took their places, together with such passengers as felt disposed, and the order of morning prayer was read.  The sailors all looked serious and attentive.  I could not but think that this feature of the management of her majesty’s ships was a good one, and worthy of imitation.  To be sure, one can say it is only a form.  Granted; but is not a serious, respectful form of religion better than nothing?  Besides, I am not willing to think that these intelligent-looking sailors could listen to all those devout sentiments expressed in the prayers, and the holy truths embodied in the passages of Scripture, and not gain something from it.  It is bad to have only the form of religion, but not so bad as to have neither the form nor the fact.

When the ship has been out about eight days, an evident bettering of spirits and condition obtains among the passengers.  Many of the sick ones take heart, and appear again among the walks and ways of men; the ladies assemble in little knots, and talk of getting on shore.  The more knowing ones, who have travelled before, embrace this opportunity to show their knowledge of life by telling the new hands all sorts of hobgoblin stories about the custom house officers and the difficulties of getting landed in England.  It is a curious fact, that old travellers generally seem to take this particular delight in striking consternation into younger ones.

“You’ll have all your daguerreotypes taken away,” says one lady, who, in right of having crossed the ocean nine times, is entitled to speak ex cathedra on the subject.

“All our daguerreotypes!” shriek four or five at once.  “Pray tell, what for?”

“They will do it,” says the knowing lady, with an awful nod; “unless you hide them, and all your books, they’ll burn up—­”

“Burn our books!” exclaim the circle.  “O, dreadful!  What do they do that for?”

“They’re very particular always to burn up all your books.  I knew a lady who had a dozen burned,” says the wise one.

“Dear me! will they take our dresses?” says a young lady, with increasing alarm.

“No, but they’ll pull every thing out, and tumble them well over, I can tell you.”