tle time for an English luncheon, and most of their eating
was a make-believe.

Amidship the movement of the boat is reduced to a minimum, and in
fair weather it is difficult to realize that you are out upon the
ocean. Each passenger at the table is furnished with a revolving chair.
Choice flowers, the gifts of loving friends left behind, were on every
table, and their fragrance converted the dining-saloon into a large
conservatory. The Corinthian columns were fluted and embossed, the walls
and ceiling were in tints of ivory and gold; the artistic panels abounded
in groups of Tritons and nymphs; the ports were fitted with stained glass
shutters, emblazoned with the arms of cities and states in Europe and
America. Behind the glass were electric lights, so that the designs were
visible both night and day.

Surmounting this richly appointed saloon was a dome of artistic creation,
its stained glass of soft tints, which sparkled in the warm sunlight and
shed a kaleidoscope of color and design over the merry company of
passengers. Mirrors and the gentle rolling of the steamer multiplied
and enlarged the gorgeous colorings and perplexing designs.

In the midst of this new life aboard ship, so novel and so beautiful,
Mrs. Harris's heart would have been happy had her over-worked husband and
Gertrude sat beside her at the table. Very little of this life is enjoyed
without the unwelcomed flies that spoil the precious ointment.

After the lunch Alfonso and his friends had time to examine a little
further the great steamer that was to float them to the Old World. When
his party hurriedly entered the dining-saloon, the grand staircase was
entirely overlooked. How wide and roomy it was, and how beautifully
carved and finished, especially the balustrade and newel posts, the whole
being built of selected white oak, which mellows with age, and will
assume a richer hue like the wainscoting in the famous old English abbeys
and manor houses.

Again the Harris party was on deck, final words hastily written were in
the steamer's mail bag, and a sailor stood ready to pass it over the
ship's side to the pilot's little boat, waiting for orders to cut loose
from the "Majestic."

The engines slacked their speed, the pilot bade the officers good-bye,
and accompanied the mail bag to his trusted schooner. No. 66 was painted
in black full length on the pilot's big white sail. All the passenger
steamers which enter or leave New York must take the