If ever twelve days seem long to a man, it is during his first voyage across the Atlantic; and the real beauty of green grass is best appreciated by seeing it on the shores of Queenstown as the steamer sails into Cork harbor.
Land again! How well we all are! A sea voyage,--it is nothing. Every one who is going ashore here is in the bustle of preparation.
We agree to meet A and party in London; we will call on B in Paris,--yes, we shall come across C in Switzerland. How glib we are talking of the old country! for here it is,--no three thousand miles of ocean to cross now. A clear, bright Sunday morning, and we are going ashore in the little tug which we can see fuming down the harbor to meet us.
We part with companions with a feeling of regret. Seated on the deck of the little tug, the steamer again looms up, huge and gigantic, and we wonder that the ocean could have so tossed her about. But the bell rings, the ropes are cast off, the tug steams away, our late companions give us three parting cheers, and we respond as the distance rapidly widens between us.
Custom-house officials examine your luggage on the tug. American tourists have but very little trouble, and the investigation is slight; cigars and fire-arms not forming a prominent feature in your luggage, but little, if any, inconvenience may be anticipated.
This ordeal of the custom-house constitutes one of the most terrible bugbears of the inexperienced traveller. It is the common opinion that an inspection of your baggage means a general and reckless overhauling of the personal property in your trunks--a disclosure of the secrets of the toilet, perhaps of the meagreness of your wardrobe, and a laying of profane hands on things held especially sacred. Ladies naturally dread this experience, and gentlemen, too, who have been foolish enough to stow away some little articles that custom-house regulations have placed under the ban. But the examination is really a very trifling affair; it is conducted courteously and rapidly, and the traveller laughs to himself about his unfounded apprehensions.
The tug is at the wharf; the very earth has a pleasant smell; let us get on _terra firma_. Now, then, a landsman finds out, after his first voyage, what "sea legs" on and sea legs off, that he has read of so much in books, mean.