"Come to the Purser," he says. I follow him. The Purser is in his counting-house, counting out his billets. Aha! at the sight of me he knows what we have come about. "You're all right," he says to me. "Your berth is No. 273." "There!" exclaims ROSSHER, triumphantly, exulting in the capabilities of the M. & N.'s new ship _Regina_. "Now you're fixed up." I am. I could go on my knees to ROSSHER; I could bless the Steward, Purser, I mean,--whatever a Purser is,--but I content myself with concealing my agitation, thanking ROSSHER simply but warmly, and then I follow a black man dressed in white, who carries my bag to No. 273. A lovely outside cabin, airy as if it were on deck, with an electric light, and three empty bunks (I think they are called "bunks,"--but am not certain) besides mine. How four persons on a long voyage, or a short one, can live, move, and have their being in this, I don't know; but how _one_ can is evident, and temporarily I am that privileged one. I hope I shall remain so. I do; and have it all to myself. Up on deck again. Evening spent happily--chiefly in smoking-room. Turn in at twelve. Up next morning at 5·30. Awoke by the light, and fresh breeze. Lovely marble bath--then early coffee. Breakfast _à la fourchette_, at 9·30. Everything as I had anticipated, _en prince indien_. Lounge on deck. Newspapers arrive. More lounging. Refreshments. Chatting. Then luncheon. The Review becomes quite a secondary consideration. Ships everywhere, bunting and flags all about. Weather lovely--scene gay. At three what is called "the fun" is to commence. The "fun" for the coloured seamen in white, consists in their having to stand in a row on the yards up aloft for about an hour and a half. If this is nautical etiquette, I'm very glad I'm not one of the coloured sailors. I suddenly remember that I have to get away. Now begins my trouble again. I find four other persons to whom getting away is an absolute necessity, and not one of them knows how he is going to achieve it, and not one of them likes to broach the subject to ROSSHER. We try the Captain, a bluff seaman, who replies, with a pleasant sort of sea-doggishness, that "he is ready to take the ship wherever Mr. ROSSHER orders him." At present Mr. ROSSHER hasn't issued any orders, but he (the Captain) thinks he means sailing for Cherbourg to-morrow (Sunday) early. Cherbourg!! The Purser, on being asked, can't say any more.