the steward and his boys issuing from their den under the paddle-
box, with each a heap of round tin vases, like those which are
called, I believe, in America, expectoratoons, only these are
larger.

. . . . . .

The wind blows, the water looks greener and more beautiful than
ever--ridge by ridge of long white rock passes away. "That's
Ramsgit," says the man at the helm; and, presently, "That there's
Deal--it's dreadful fallen off since the war;" and "That's Dover,
round that there pint, only you can't see it." And, in the
meantime, the sun has plumped his hot face into the water, and the
moon has shown hers as soon as ever his back is turned, and Mrs.--
(the wife in general,) has brought up her children and self from
the horrid cabin, in which she says it is impossible to breathe;
and the poor little wretches are, by the officious stewardess and
smart steward (expectoratoonifer), accommodated with a heap of
blankets, pillows, and mattresses, in the midst of which they
crawl, as best they may, and from the heaving heap of which are,
during the rest of the voyage, heard occasional faint cries, and
sounds of puking woe!

Dear, dear Maria! Is this the woman who, anon, braved the jeers
and brutal wrath of swindling hackney-coachmen; who repelled the
insolence of haggling porters, with a scorn that brought down their
demands at least eighteenpence? Is this the woman at whose voice
servants tremble; at the sound of whose steps the nursery, ay, and
mayhap the parlor, is in order? Look at her now, prostrate,
prostrate--no strength has she to speak, scarce power to push to