three or four times, but it was driven away by disgust until after meals. If we had not, under cover of darkness, broached a deck cargo of oranges, lemons, and pineapples, and thereby run the risk of being run in on arrival, there would have been starvation, disease, and death on that boat before the end―perhaps mutiny.
You can go across now for one pound, and get something to eat on the road; but the travelling public will go on patronising the latest reduction in fares until the poorer company gets starved out and fares go up,―then the travelling public will have to pay three or four times as much as they do now, and go hungry on the voyage; all of which ought to go to prove that the travelling public is as big a fool as the general public.
We can't help thinking that the captains and crews of our primitive little coastal steamers take the chances so often that they in time get used to it, and, being used to it, have no longer any misgivings or anxiety in rough weather concerning a watery grave, but feel as perfectly safe as if they were in church with their wives or sisters―only more comfortable―and go on feeling so until the worn-out machinery breaks down and lets the old tub run ashore, or knocks a hole in her side, or the side itself rusts through at last and lets the water in, or the last straw in the shape of an extra ton of brine tumbles on board, and the 'John Smith' (Newcastle) goes down with a 'swoosh' before the cook has time to leave off peeling his potatoes and take to prayer.
These cheerful―and, maybe, unjust―reflections are
