We occupied the centre of the ocean, that marked emblem of the Everlasting. Above and around us the blue vault of heaven was frescoed with fleecy clouds, radiant with the rich hues of the evening sun. On every side the rolling waters added solemnity to the scene. There were few who did not feel the spectacle itself to be a sermon not soon to be forgotten. It spoke to us all against our littleness and selfishness. As we looked beyond the bulwarks of our ship, a point in God’s endless creation, we could feel how imperfect was the teaching of sects and creeds, in view of the higher and nobler views we should aspire to: the faith which widens our sympathies as the warmth of summer expands the buds of our northern forests. Monday again is a beautiful morning, and we are all on deck enjoying the fresh, healthful breeze and the sun, whose bright beams glitter on the face of the rolling waters, the blue sky above us with its passing clouds, and the sea in ceaseless motion all around us, wave chasing wave, chequered with varying light and shade. We are all so full of life that the afternoon is given over to games which, on shore, many of us might think somewhat undignified. At dinner the table is full. And what appetites most of us have! Some achieve perfect wonders as trencher men and women, and often in memory many of the passengers will revert to their powers in this respect. Wholly undisturbed by fears of dyspepsia, they ate with the best of appetites. The evening passed pleasantly with most of us in the saloon, which presented a scene of quiet comfort and amusement. The next morning is also enjoyable. We find we are now half way across, and we talk of making the Straits of Belleisle by Thursday. Our run at noon is 332 knots. There is a little fog, and the air is somewhat cold. The theory is expressed that we are near Greenland; that a cold blast may come from across its “icy mountains,” told of by Bishop Heber in the hymn we have heard so often. All the passengers, without exception, are now accustomed to the motion of the ship. Every one appears at home. The forenoon passes quickly, and we can hardly believe that the dinner hour is near. When we all sit down at the long and well-provided tables one can hardly conceive that he is not on shore at some famed hotel in Montreal or Toronto. I am aware that I run the risk of being charged with exaggeration, but I express the result of my convictions. I am sure that my remarks will be borne out by all who have made several trips across the Atlantic. There are stormy and particularly unpleasant voyages, I know. Such I have myself experienced, but they are generally in winter; in summer they are the exception. The evening passes in the usual pleasant way, and we all separate reluctantly when bed-time comes.