When Washington Irving made his first journey to England, he declared the three or four weeks on the ocean to be the best possible preparation for a visit to the mother country. The voyage, said he, was as a blank page in one's existence, and the mind, by its utter severance from the busy world, was best fitted to receive impressions of a new and strange environment. And it was no doubt so in the slow ocean voyages of olden time; but today it is more as if one stayed within his palatial hotel for a few days, at no time losing touch with the civilized world. Every day of our passage the engines of our ocean greyhound reeled off distances--five or six hundred nautical miles--that Irving's vessel would have required nearly a week to cover, and daily the condensed news of the world was flashed to us through the "viewless air." Of all our modern miracles, certainly none would have been more difficult to predict than this--how like a sheer impossibility it would have seemed! Indeed, to such an extent has modern science thrown its safeguards around the voyager that "those in peril on the sea" are rather less so than those on land, and the ocean liners make trips month after month and year after year without the loss of a single life. And with the disappearance of its mystery and terror, the sea has lost much of its romance. No longer does the bold buccaneer lie in wait for the treasure-laden galleons of Spain and the Netherlands; no longer may the picturesque pirate sail the seas unhindered in his quest for ill-gotten gold. Indeed, when one thinks of the capital and equipment a modern pirate on the high seas would require, there is no wonder that the good old trade is obsolete. But the sea is still as beautiful in its thousand moods of clouds and sunshine, of storm and calm, as it ever was ere its distances were annihilated and its romance dispelled. Our voyage was nearly perfect; the water was smooth and the days mild and clear. From sunrise to sunset the great ship plowed her way through a sea of pale emerald flecked with frosted silver, and at night she swept along beneath a starlit sky. So favorable was her progress that early on the sixth day she paused in Plymouth harbor.