On Sunday there was a service. We went into the cabin, and saw prayer books arranged at regular intervals, and soon a procession of the sailors neatly dressed filed in and took their places, together with such passengers as felt disposed, and the order of morning prayer was read. The sailors all looked serious and attentive. I could not but think that this feature of the management of her majesty's ships was a good one, and worthy of imitation. To be sure, one can say it is only a form. Granted; but is not a serious, respectful _form_ of religion better than nothing? Besides, I am not willing to think that these intelligent-looking sailors could listen to all those devout sentiments expressed in the prayers, and the holy truths embodied in the passages of Scripture, and not gain something from it. It is bad to have only _the form_ of religion, but not so bad as to have neither the form nor the fact. When the ship has been out about eight days, an evident bettering of spirits and condition obtains among the passengers. Many of the sick ones take heart, and appear again among the walks and ways of men; the ladies assemble in little knots, and talk of getting on shore. The more knowing ones, who have travelled before, embrace this opportunity to show their knowledge of life by telling the new hands all sorts of hobgoblin stories about the custom house officers and the difficulties of getting landed in England. It is a curious fact, that old travellers generally seem to take this particular delight in striking consternation into younger ones. "You'll have all your daguerreotypes taken away," says one lady, who, in right of having crossed the ocean nine times, is entitled to speak _ex cathedra_ on the subject. "All our daguerreotypes!" shriek four or five at once. "Pray tell, what for?" "They _will_ do it," says the knowing lady, with an awful nod; "unless you hide them, and all your books, they'll burn up--" "Burn our books!" exclaim the circle. "O, dreadful! What do they do that for?" "They're very particular always to burn up all your books. I knew a lady who had a dozen burned," says the wise one. "Dear me! will they take our _dresses_?" says a young lady, with increasing alarm. "No, but they'll pull every thing out, and tumble them well over, I can tell you." "How horrid!" An old lady, who has been very sick all the way, is revived by this appalling intelligence. "I hope they won't tumble over my _caps!_" she exclaims. "Yes, they will have every thing out on deck," says the lady, delighted with the increasing sensation. "I tell you you don't know these custom house officers." "It's too bad!" "It's dreadful!" "How horrid!" exclaim all. "I shall put my best things in my pocket," exclaims one. "They don't search our pockets, do they?" "Well, no, not here; but I tell you they'll search your _pockets_ at Antwerp and Brussels," says the lady.