During the day my couch was widened one foot, and, at night, the cats relegated to other quarters.
We had a smooth, pleasant, uneventful voyage, until the last night, when, on nearing the French coast, the weather became dark and stormy.
The next morning our good steamer pushed slowly and carefully up the broad, muddy Gironde and landed us on the bustling quays of Bordeaux, where my son Theodore stood waiting to receive us.

As we turned to say farewell to our sturdy ship--gazing up at its black iron sides besprinkled with salty foam--a feeling of deep thankfulness took possession of us, for she had been faithful to her trust, and had borne us safely from the New World to the Old, over thousands of miles of treacherous sea.
We spent a day in driving about Bordeaux, enjoying the mere fact of restoration to _terra firma_ after twelve days' imprisonment on the ocean.

Maritime cities are much the same all the world over.

The forests of masts, the heavily laden drays, the lounging sailors, the rough 'longshoremen, and the dirty quays, are no more characteristic of Bordeaux than New York, London, and Liverpool.

But Bordeaux was interesting as the birthplace of Montesquieu and as the capital of ancient Guienne and Gascony.
But I must not forget to mention an accident that happened on landing at Bordeaux.