the usual form that they had
told the truth, and signed a paper to that effect. This done, many a
poor pilgrim innocently imagines that he has finished with the Custom
House, and he renders thanks to Heaven that he is going to set foot on a
soil where a man's word is not doubted. He reckons without his host. In
spite of his declaration, sworn and signed, his trunks are opened and
searched with all the dogged zeal of a policeman who believes he is on
the track of a criminal, and who will only give up after perfectly
convincing himself that the trunks do not contain the slightest dutiable
article. Everything is taken out and examined. If there are any objects
of apparel that appear like new ones to that scrutinizing eye, look out
for squalls.

[Illustration: CUSTOM HOUSE OFFICERS.]

I must say that the officer was very kind to me. For that matter, the
luggage of a man who travels alone, without Madame and her
_impedimenta_, is soon examined.

Before leaving the ship, I went to shake hands with Captain Parsell,
that experienced sailor whose bright, interesting conversation, added to
the tempting delicacies provided by the cook, made many an hour pass
right cheerily for those who, like myself, had the good fortune to sit
at his table. I thanked him for all the kind attentions I had received
at his hands. I should have liked to thank all the employees of the
"White Star" line company. Their politeness is above all praise; their
patience perfectly angelical. Ask them twenty times a day the most
absurd questions, such as, "Will the sea soon calm down?" "Shall we get
into harbor on Wednesday?" "Do you think we shall be in early enough to
land in the evening?" and so on. You find them always ready with a kind
and encouraging answer. "The barometer is going up and the sea is going
down," or, "We are now doing our nineteen knots an hour." Is it true, or
not? It satisfies you, at all events. In certain cases it is so sweet to
be deceived! Better to be left to nurse a beloved illusion than have to
give it up for a harsh reality that you are powerless against. Every one
is grateful to those kind sailors and stewards for the little innocent
fibs that they are willing to load their consciences with, in order that
they may brighten your path across the ocean a little.

* * * * *

_Everett House. Noon._

[Illustration: CAPTAIN PARSELL, R. M. S. "MAJESTIC."]

My baggage examined, I took a cab t