The last day on board, the last packing, the last dinner, the last evening. What a pleasant bustle of departure, what a feeling of bonne camaraderie prevails! With the contagious sympathy of joy, passengers speak to each other who have held aloof for the whole month's voyage. We are all restless and excited, and only able to discuss the hour of arrival—no, not the hour, it is the half-hours and quarters that we dispute and wager about.
The sun goes down. The great white cliffs—for they are very near to us now—loom up ghostly in the dim twilight; these are bathed in pink reflections from the rosy sky. We see the little chapel perched on high, where the sailors implore the protection of the sainted Mary ere commencing a voyage—the gloomy dungeon fortress of Château d'If on its island, and with the last gleams of daylight we sight the green Prado, the cathedral towers of Notre Dame, and the large seaport of Marseilles.
For two days we linger in the sunny south, under blue skies and warm sunshine, amid the palms, cacti, and hedges of roses.
We reach Paris in time to see the gorgeous obsequies at the Madeleine of Dom Pedro, the ex-Emperor of Brazil. Then ends our second journey round the world with a fearful gale in the English Channel, reaching Charing Cross in the raw cold and fog of a December night.
APPENDIX.
BY
C. E. HOWARD VINCENT, C.B., M.P.