The place of the old cargo boat was in course of time taken by the so-called "tramp," the modern cargo carrier--a good wholesome ship, a large carrier, with sufficient power to take care of herself in all weathers. With modern machinery a tramp can go to the ends of the earth without replenishing her coal supply. One remarkable change has taken place which would have shocked the shipowners of fifty years ago; steamers no longer carry sails and the tendency is to do away with masts. The "standard" ship has only one mast, which is only used for signalling. The excellence of modern machinery and the general adoption of the twin screw have rendered breakdowns very rare, and the "wireless" is at hand to summon assistance when required. If the cargo steamer of to-day has improved, the design of the passenger ship has made even greater progress. Those who travelled across the Atlantic in the early sixties will recall the stuffy passenger saloons, placed right aft, with no seats except the long settees, and lit only by candles suspended on trays, which swayed to and fro sputtering grease right and left. The state-rooms were placed below the saloon and were lit by oil lamps, one between every two rooms. These were religiously put out at ten o'clock every night. There was no ventilation, and no hot water was obtainable. We have always thought that the introduction of the electric light was a greater boon, and more appreciated on board ship than anywhere else. On a rough, wild night, when everything in your state-room is flying about, and you begin to conjure up thoughts of possible disaster, if you switch on the electric light, all is at peace. The very waves appear to be robbed of their fury. There were no smoke-rooms in the olden days--the lee side of the funnel in fine weather, the fiddlee at other times. Here, seated on coils of rope, and ready to lift our feet as the seas rolled in from the alleyways on either side, we smoked and spun our yarns. There was an abundance of food in the saloon in the shape of great huge joints of meat and dishes of vegetables, which were placed on the table, and it required some gymnastic agility to be ready to seize them, when the ship gave a lurch, to prevent their being deposited on your lap. We had no serviettes, but there came the enormous compensation for all deficiencies--it was deftly whispered, "the Cunard never lost a life," and not another word was said. The conditions of life in the steerage were wretched. The sleeping berths were huddled together, necessitating the occupants climbing over each other; there was no privacy, no washing accommodation except at the common tap, no saloon or seating accommodation except on the hatchways. The food was brought round in iron buckets, and junks of beef and pork were forked out by the steward, and placed in the passenger's pannikin, and in a similar way potatoes and plum duff were served out.