This is a short note, but I will fulfil the adage and make it a merry
one.
We came down in great comfort. Our luggage is now aboard. Anything so
utterly and monstrously absurd as the size of our cabin, no "gentleman
of England who lives at home at ease" can for a moment imagine. Neither
of the portmanteaus would go into it. There!
These Cunard packets are not very big you know actually, but the
quantity of sleeping-berths makes them much smaller, so that the saloon
is not nearly as large as in one of the Ramsgate boats. The ladies'
cabin is so close to ours that I could knock the door open without
getting off something they call my bed, but which I believe to be a
muffin beaten flat. This is a great comfort, for it is an excellent room
(the only good one in the ship); and if there be only one other lady
besides Kate, as the stewardess thinks, I hope I shall be able to sit
there very often.
They talk of seventy passengers, but I can't think there will be so
many; they talk besides (which is even more to the purpose) of a very
fine passage, having had a noble one this time last year. God send it
so! We are in the best spirits, and full of hope. I was dashed for a
moment when I saw our "cabin," but I got over that directly, and laughed
so much at its ludicrous proportions, that you might have heard me all
over the ship.
God bless you! Write to me by the first opportunity. I will do the like
to you. And always believe me,
Your old and faithful Friend.