Here the progress of life is slow—miserably slow! Every day brings the same dull round of duties, petty worries with an attendant train of unexciting pleasures. A special feature of our existence is the succession of dinners, which, during the "Season," constitute our only legitimate form of amusement, for the frivolous Terpsichore is rigorously excluded from the philosophic quietude of the mansions of the elite, in tiis Ultima Thule of Western customs. Here, in a word, life aten outport is presented in its most unattractive form there is-but little to break the deadly monotony that wraps us round. The long, long Wuhu day drags along with slow and measured tread, and as each day is relegated to the limbo of the past, we console ourselves with the reflection that we are thus gradually nearing the time when home we'll sail away to "merrie England in this we seek and discover sufficient consolation to enable us to support an existence, which, were it otherwise, would be scarcely worth' the living.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.