le that these dejected, abject-looking bundles of misery
only yesterday were the bright, proud, elegant, queenly fashion-plates
whom I saw on Fifth Avenue? _Quantum mutatae ab illis!_ What a
metamorphosis!

Poor things! Even the most terrible home ruler is satisfied with the
lower berth, and gives her husband a chance to look down upon her. She
is meek and grateful, she is submissive, and her imploring eyes beg the
most hen-pecked husband not to take advantage of his temporary
superiority.

She arrived on board flamboyant, with her most bewitching finery on, or
a most becoming yachting-suit. She meant to 'fetch' all the men on deck.
She went radiant to the saloon and examined the lovely flowers which had
been sent to wish her _bon voyage_. _Bon voyage!_ What irony!

These flowers are the very emblem of all that is going to happen to
her--bright, fresh, and erect as the boat starts; wet, withered,
drooping, and dripping, with no life left, twenty-four hours later.

She is present at the first meal, and declares to her neighbours that
things at sea are not so bad as some people pretend, and the Atlantic is
too often libelled. Besides, she is used to travelling, and she knows a
remedy for sea-sickness.

Before sailing she doctored herself. She took an infallible drug--a
rather unpleasant one, it is true; but what is that compared to the
benefit derived from it? Yes, an infallible remedy--at any rate, one
that succeeds nine times out of ten. Alas! this time is going to be the
tenth.

You get outside the harbour, and leave Sandy Hook behind you. She has
taken soup and fish. Somehow she now feels she has had enough. Her
appetite is satisfied, and she goes on deck. When you see her again, she
is lying on an easy-chair, packed as carefully and tightly as a valuable
clock that is to be sent to the Antipodes.

There she now lies, motionless, speechless, helpless, and hopeless,
wondering if the infallible remedy is going to fail. The yachting-cap is
no longer roguish and cocky, but hanging over her eyes, or her beautiful
hat is replaced by a tam-o'-shanter. The damp air has already taken away
all her curls, and her hair, straight as drum-sticks, is hanging in
front and behind, and, worse than all, she doesn't care. Provided you
don't speak to her, don't shake her, and don't ask her to move, she
doesn't care.

The boat is heaving. All the different parts of her anatomy go up with
the boat, but they all come down again one