a table, filled it with dishes, and served bouillon and
biscuit, while near by a kodak carrier was snapping a picture.

[Illustration: I. COMFORTABLY SEATED WITH A BOOK.]

[Illustration: II. THE BAND WAS PLAYING CARMEN.]

On the ship there were many places of interest. When in need of exercise
we visited the gymnasium on the upper deck, and when desirous of a
change in cooking we resorted to the grill room where the white clad
cook broiled chops in our sight over a bright fire. Impelled by
curiosity, we explored the vacant steerage, and with the chief engineer
descended the iron ladder to the depths below to investigate the
mysteries of the engine and fire rooms. Sometimes from the breezy
fore-deck we scanned the horizon for the ships that rarely appeared, and
sometimes sought a snug corner aft and watched the swift-winged gulls,
the quivering log line, the smoke clouds and their shadows, or the
widening streak of water disturbed by the revolving screw.

"How rapidly the week has passed," said a friend on the evening of the
twelfth of February. "Listen! One, two, three, four," as the ship's bell
rang out four strokes. "Four bells, that's six o'clock. We have half an
hour to dress for dinner."

When we entered the brilliantly illuminated dining saloon that evening a
bust of Lincoln was on the platform, and the room was decorated with the
American colors. Some one had remembered Lincoln's birthday, though many
of the passengers had forgotten the date. A picture of Lincoln with the
inscription, "In commemoration of President Abraham Lincoln's birthday,"
was engraved on the covers of the souvenir menus. The dinner was an
unusually good one, and the seven selections rendered by the orchestra
during the courses were appropriate for the day.

After dinner a man who had been personally acquainted with the martyred
President delivered an interesting memorial address. His final words had
just been said when an announcement was made which caused a thrill of
expectancy and sent us hurriedly to the deck: "Land is in sight!"

CHAPTER II.

FUNCHAL.

"That is the island of Madeira," said the captain, pointing to a dark
mass dimly seen against the horizon. "We are now nearly twenty-eight
hundred miles southeast of New York."

We had been sailing for seven days with only a vast expanse of ocean in
view, and so we longed for a sight of land and eagerly looked forward to
the arrival at our first port. As we approached t