have an exaggerated notion of tipping in America. One of them told me today that he understood that when a bell-boy took a guest to a room in an American hotel, he was impudent unless he received a dollar. Nothing in the story, of course; and many of the other stories told of Americans over here are equally untrue and absurd. . . . On the "Maunganui," in which I sailed from New Zealand to Australia, there was no concert. But an active, meddlesome man could have arranged one, and organized a Sports Committee to unnecessarily bother at least three-fourths of the passengers. Behave yourself, and let others alone, is a good rule. . . . At 3 o'clock this afternoon a woman slipped into the music-room, and began singing, playing her own accompaniments. There is nothing quite so absurd as an amateur singer who cannot sing much, and who is quavery and uncertain. This woman was very bad, and I understand she is to appear at the Grand Concert arranged by the Sports Committee.
Monday, February 24.—There is a sick woman on
board, and the other women pay her a great deal of
attention. Two of them attend her constantly, in
her room and on deck, and a dozen others would gladly
do as much, if opportunity presented. Another woman
passenger looks after the sick woman's two children. . . .
There is also a sick man on board. He is very
ill, and I doubt if he will live to reach Liverpool. Occasionally,
on fine days, a steward brings him on deck,
where he looks pale and unhappy, and pants for breath,
