when they pass in procession.  It is good for Mr. Briefless (50, Pump Court, fourth floor) that there should be a Lord Chancellor, with a gold robe and fifteen thousand a year.  It is good for a poor curate that there should be splendid bishops at Fulham and Lambeth:  their lordships were poor curates once, and have won, so to speak, their ribbon.  Is a man who puts into a lottery to be sulky because he does not win the twenty thousand pounds prize?  Am I to fall into a rage, and bully my family when I come home, after going to see Chatsworth or Windsor, because we have only two little drawing-rooms?  Welcome to your garter, my lord, and shame upon him qui mal y pense!

So I arrive in my roundabout way near the point towards which I have been trotting ever since we set out.

In a voyage to America, some nine years since, on the seventh or eighth day out from Liverpool, Captain L——­ came to dinner at eight bells as usual, talked a little to the persons right and left of him, and helped the soup with his accustomed politeness.  Then he went on deck, and was back in a minute, and operated on the fish, looking rather grave the while.

Then he went on deck again; and this time was absent, it may be, three or five minutes, during which the fish disappeared, and the entrees arrived, and the roast beef.  Say ten minutes passed—­I can’t tell after nine years.

Then L——­ came down with a pleased and happy countenance this time, and began carving the sirloin:  “We have seen the light,” he said.  “Madam, may I help you to a little gravy, or a little horse-radish?” or what not?

I forget the name of the light; nor does it matter.  It was a point off Newfoundland for which he was on the look-out, and so well did the “Canada” know where she was, that, between soup and beef, the captain had sighted the headland by which his course was lying.

And so through storm and darkness, through fog and midnight, the ship had pursued her steady way over the pathless ocean and roaring seas, so surely that the officers who sailed her knew her place within a minute or two, and guided us with a wonderful providence safe on our way.  Since the noble Cunard Company has run its ships, but one accident, and that through the error of a pilot, has happened on the line.

By this little incident (hourly of course repeated, and trivial to all sea-going people) I own I was immensely moved, and never can think of it but with a heart full of thanks and awe.  We trust our lives to these seamen, and how nobly they fulfil their trust!  They are, under heaven, as a providence for us.  Whilst we sleep, their untiring watchfulness keeps guard over us.  All night through that bell sounds at its season, and tells how our sentinels defend us.  It rang when the “Amazon” was on fire, and chimed its heroic signal of duty, and courage, and honor.  Think of the dangers these seamen undergo for us:  the hourly peril and watch; the familiar storm; the dreadful iceberg; the long