I find that several ladies are absent from breakfast this morning. A breeze springs up; a sail is hoisted; and occasionally we have fog, and now and then a cold blast, with alternations of damp and moist air. Such is the general experience in crossing the Banks. As one passenger remarked, “It is hungry weather.” The breakfast in most cases had been sparing, an enforced necessity in some instances, but the general feeling is one of being ravenous for lunch. The day passes pleasantly, possibly idly, and in the evening the whist table has its votaries. We leave the fog behind us, but the next day is cloudy. There is a light wind, and the sea is a little disturbed. Most of the passengers keep the deck. We fancy we see a whale. There is too much cloud for the moon to penetrate, so the passengers generally leave the deck to enjoy themselves quietly in the saloon. We have a bright midsummer day this 21st June after a glorious morning, and we advance eastward with all sail set. The spirits of all on board seem to rise, the sky is so blue, and the sea so bright. There is but slight motion, with which, most of the passengers are becoming familiar. We are now half way across. We begin to calculate when we shall arrive, and what trains we shall take at Liverpool. I have many times crossed the Atlantic, but I never could understand the restlessness with which so many look for the termination of the voyage. If there were some urgent necessity for immediate action on the part of those who are travelling this impatience could be accounted for. The majority, however, are tourists for pleasure or for health, and, as for business or professional men, I never could see how a few hours one way or the other could influence their operations. To some the voyage is simply imprisonment; the condition of being at sea is a penalty they pay at the sacrifice of health and comfort. These are the exceptions. There are a large number who feel as I do, and for my part, while it would be affectation to profess to be fond of storm and tempest, a sea voyage in ordinary fine weather is one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life. I have good digestion and good spirits, and I am satisfied with the pleasant change from a life on shore. I can generally read, and I can always remain on deck, and I always have a certain feeling of regret when I think that the voyage is soon coming to an end. We are all well cared for, we form pleasant associations, and anyone who can study human nature finds no little opportunity for doing so on shipboard.