steamer.

We are already past the Banks of Newfoundland, although our course was
seventy miles to the south, with the view of avoiding ice seen by
Judkins in the _Scotia_ on his passage out to New York. The _Russia_ is
a magnificent ship, and has dashed along bravely. We had made more than
thirteen hundred and odd miles at noon to-day. The wind, after being a
little capricious, rather threatens at the present time to turn against
us, but our run is already eighty miles ahead of the _Russia's_ last run
in this direction--a very fast one. . . . To all whom it may concern,
report the _Russia_ in the highest terms. She rolls more easily than
the other Cunard Screws, is kept in perfect order, and is most carefully
looked after in all departments. We have had nothing approaching to
heavy weather, still one can speak to the trim of the ship. Her captain,
a gentleman; bright, polite, good-natured, and vigilant. . . .

As to me, I am greatly better, I hope. I have got on my right boot
to-day for the first time; the "true American" seems to be turning
faithless at last; and I made a Gad's Hill breakfast this morning, as a
further advance on having otherwise eaten and drunk all day ever since
Wednesday.

You will see Anthony Trollope, I daresay. What was my amazement to see
him with these eyes come aboard in the mail tender just before we
started! He had come out in the _Scotia_ just in time to dash off again
in said tender to shake hands with me, knowing me to be aboard here. It
was most heartily done. He is on a special mission of convention with
the United States post-office.

We have been picturing your movements, and have duly checked off your
journey home, and have talked about you continually. But I have thought
about you both, even much, much more. You will never know how I love you
both; or what you have been to me in America, and will always be to me
everywhere; or how fervently I thank you.

All the working of the ship seems to be done on my forehead. It is
scrubbed and holystoned (my head--not the deck) at three every morning.
It is scraped and swabbed all day. Eight pairs of heavy boots are now
clattering on it, getting the ship under sail again. Legions of
ropes'-ends are flopped upon it as I write, and I must leave off with
Dolby's love.

* * * * *

_Thursday, 30th._

Soon after I left off as above we had a gale of wind w