“Be pleased to watch over the members of our families, and all the beloved friends whom we have left behind. Relieve our minds from all anxiety on their account by the blessed persuasion that thou carest for them. Above all, grant that our souls may be defended from whatsoever evils or perils may encompass them; and that, abiding steadfast in the faith, we may be enabled so to pass through the waves and storms of this uncertain world, that finally we may come to the land of everlasting rest, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” The service-book also contains the Psalms of David in prose, and a collection of 107 hymns, including four of the Scotch paraphrases. The hymn most frequently sung at sea is the one beginning with “Eternal Father, strong to save,” and next to it, “O God, our help in ages past.” Evangelistic services of a less stately kind than in the saloon are often held in the afternoon in the second cabin or steerage, and are usually much appreciated; while in the evening the deck hands will join with groups of emigrants in singing Moody and Sankey hymns, such as “Revive us Again,” “Rescue the Perishing,” “Whiter than Snow,” etc. It is often remarkable to notice how familiar people of diverse creeds and nationalities are with these hymns, and how heartily they unite in singing them. A favourite text with preachers on shipboard is Rev. xxi. 1: “And there was no more sea.” The theme, associated, as it is, with so many fathoms of profundity, has yielded to many forms of treatment. I remember that a young minister, my room-mate, by the way, on his first voyage out from Quebec, chose this for his text, and that he launched out, as well he might, on the charms of the sea in poetical flights of fancy. But the while we were sailing in smooth water. When outside the Straits he laid his head on the pillow and underwent a change of environment, recovering from which, after many days, he vowed that should he ever preach from that text again, he would have something more to say about it. I remember, too, that an elderly gentleman—a Presbyterian of the Presbyterians—was asked by the captain to preach one Sunday morning. He readily complied, taking it for granted that he was to conduct the whole service. Imagine his chagrin when an Anglican brother unexpectedly appeared on the scene and went through the whole of the long service of the Church of England. With the utmost composure, _Πρεσβύτερος_ simply ignored the beautiful liturgical service, commenced _de novo_, and went through the whole service afresh, in orthodox Presbyterian fashion, to the surprise of the congregation and the discomfiture of the waiters, whose time for setting the lunch-table was long past.