The voyage, begun on a rough sea, was continued over angry waves. For seven days the ship was beaten by the winds. It was the first time Oliver and Mattie had been outside of Kentucky. Added to the distress of seasickness was the thought that, after this passage to England, another voyage of almost three months awaited them before they could set foot upon the strange land selected for their missionary labors. No wonder as the bride was borne farther and farther across the uneasy Atlantic, her thoughts went constantly back to Kentucky—"That far-off land," she writes, "my beautiful, sunny Southland."

Since the wedding-day, there have been a marvelous succession of strange scenes—the trip to New York, the hurried visits to points of interest in New York and Brooklyn, the mingling with the rush and roar of Broadway, and, stranger than all these, this helpless tossing in the cabin, as the ship throbs and lifts dizzily in air—lifts to sink down and down, as if never to ride the sea again.

"That Twenty-Sixth day of March!" she writes in pencil with shaking hand. "It dawned so bright and beautiful. In its soft morning twilight I knelt before an altar, and laid thereon not only the heart of a bride, but all that I had best known in childhood and in girlhood: Home with all its tender associations, friendship whose face shone as the face of an angel—the sweet brier that shed its fragrance beneath my window, the birds that sang for me, the dear old 'big spring' over whose cooling-ripples I have so often stooped to drink"—she remembers all these, as the ship bears her farther from that America she may never see again.

"Our blessed land of liberty," she says, "proud, beautiful, glorious America!" Truly, the war is over; and as she steams ever farther away from America, its states seem to melt magically into one another, and North and South blend, and become an indissoluble Union.

One day, less stormy than the rest, the young husband crept from his berth, hoping to find relief from days of nausea by greeting the keen wind. He went upon deck, and was presently engaged in conversation with a stranger.

He found that his companion was an Englishman who, for some time, had been in business in Chicago. He was much interested in the young man's missionary plans; the shrewd merchant read aright the intense zeal which shone upon the Kentuckian's face, and which trembled in his voice. "I have a brother living in London," he said; "when you go there, you must go to his house. I am on my way to visit him now, and I'll meet you there."

Oliver Carr had no intention of going to test the hospitality of a stranger, and, when he gave Mr. Murby his card, he supposed the incident closed. On the eighth day out the ship touched at Queenstown. Mr. and Mrs. Carr—we must no longer call them "Oliver" and "Mattie,"—took a ride on a Jaunting Car—in which one sits sidewise, while one's driver sparkles with Irish wit. A woman came to sell them fruit, and offered to toss pennies for the difference between what she wanted and they were willing to give. It was a jolly crowd that surrounded them, and every Irishman had a funny tale to tell the travelers. Before the ground ceased its semblance of rocking to and fro, they were again on board.

When they landed in Liverpool, everything seemed new and strange. They "found cabs instead of busses;" but doubtless the difference was most marked because they found Englishmen instead of Americans. At the hotel they were visited by G. Y. Tickle and other members of the church, and in the afternoon they crossed to Berkinhead to visit other Christians. On April 29th the train pulled out at 9 a. m. for London. Mrs. Carr took a few notes, as she looked upon Mrs. Browning's world—the world of "Aurora Leigh."

"Corn—undulating lands—rural improvements—daisies and primroses. Hedges—winding roads, and footpaths. Drains in the lowlands. Winding brooks and brooklets, through daisied meadows. Fir-clad hills."

Out of this primrose England, the car glides into the smoke and fog of London. London at last—how far away from the Lancaster and Stanford of one's girlhood! How far, indeed, even from the dreams of one's girlhood, this city that rises up, solidly real before the young woman's eyes! It seems pulsing with the thoughts of those who represent, to her mind, the highest peaks of literature; Dickens and Thackeray, George Eliot and Robert Browning, Bulwer Lytton and Macaulay and Carlyle and De Quincy—all are living; one might meet them any moment on Oxford or Regent streets, where "I took a promenade," she says; "I find they surpass Broadway in all but dress."

At 2:30, they are installed at the hotel; at three, they take luncheon and at four they have a visitor. It is the brother of the Chicago merchant. The merchant has written about the missionaries, and asked that they be looked up—doubtless, suspecting that the overtures must come from the English side. So this brother has come, a Mr. Murby of some distinction; for does he not edit the music department of the Cornhill Magazine?

He insists on the young bridal pair going to his own home; for O. A. Carr, in honor of the honeymoon, has selected a hotel of much pretention. "You must go with me," says Mr. Murby. "It is too expensive, staying at a hotel like this; you shall make your home in my house. My wife will take no refusal. She will entertain you as well as she can—we have one baby in the cradle, and another three years old. I've brought the wagon for the trunks."

All this from a man and woman one has never seen before, and never heard of, except from a chance fellow-passenger; a man and a woman who do not belong to one's church and has never heard of one's friends! But, after all, is it so strange? If one travels through the world with eyes open for primroses, and finds them growing along the wayside, why should not eyes that seek brotherly kindness, find it blooming in many a stranger's heart?

Away go the trunks, and the hotel knows our friends no more. Two weeks are to be spent in England, before sailing for the opposite side of the globe; and while they are in England, Mrs. Murby leaves the baby in the cradle, and acts as guide for the Americans. In their hurried visit, they could have seen little without her. She takes them to ride in the underground railroad, shows them the wonders of the waxworks, at the entrance of which stands George Washington with extended hand, and lingers with them in the British Museum.

Mrs. Carr's notes of her travels are meager in the extreme; she was too busy observing and studying, to write about what she saw; but the necessary enlargement of thought resulting from extended travel was to take its own part in developing her personality. "Chelsea Hospital for old soldiers—Buckingham Palace, the Queen's residence—Eaton Square—National school teachers trained for public schools—Duke of York's school—Geological exhibit—rock crystal—wood carving—Porcelain plate, 1585, Francesco de Medici—Venetian wine glass—Danish drinking-horn—Paul preaching at Athens—Christ changing the water into wine—Peter and John at the Beautiful Gate—Hogarth's Marriage a la Mode—Mrs. Siddons as Actress—Rosa Bonheur—Edwin Landseer—Hyde Park—House where the Duke of Wellington died—Parliament—Retiring Room—Her Majesty with Mercy and Justice in sculpture—Portrait of Kings and Queens—House of Lords—Throne—Queen's chair on the right—Prince of Wales on the left—The Prince Consort—Woolsack, seat for Lord Chancellor in front of Queen—Table on which are laid all petitions—books beneath—just behind the table, the bar—gallery for peeresses, above—Peers' Robing Room—Moses descending from the Mount—Lobby—Embarking of Pilgrim Fathers—Charles erecting Standard at Nottingham—Central Hall—Four windows—Lobby—Pictures—Square Hall—Commons Speaker's Chair—gallery—Each side of entrance, seats for liberals and tourists—St. Stephen's—Marble walls and floors—On each side, six stained glass windows, representing scenes in life of Stephen—On the Thames—Somerset House—Waterloo Bridge."

Thus we might follow her from spot to spot, as she hastily jots down the names of pictures, and of the illustrious dead, amidst a catalogue of wonders seen at the Crystal Palace, the India Museum, the National Gallery. "St. Paul—Whispering Gallery—Sculptor above—Scenes in the Life of Paul—Monument of Sir John Howard, Joshua Reynolds—geometrical stairway—Crypt—Newgate Prison for all offenders within the city's limits—Christ's Hospital, founded by Edward VI.—Boys' dress in the costume of that day—Yellow stockings, leather breeches—Former palace of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey—Post Office; just across the street, Returned Letter Office—Clock with two bells, one 'Time,' the other 'Death'—Publishing House belonging to the Religious Tract Society, built over the place where the martyrs suffered under Bloody Mary—Guild Hall—for public dinners—Grand dinner given to the Sultan—gold array—The Lord Mayor conducts trials—His Residence—Monument to Nelson.

"May 5th, the Tower—Gateway—Entrance, moats—Bell Tower—Bloody Tower, porte cullis--White Tower, 15 feet thick—Built, time William the Conqueror—Norman spear used by him—Dress of 1665—Gun taken by French at Malta and afterwards recaptured by English—Sir Walter Raleigh imprisoned 12 years—Lady Jane Grey—Queen Elizabeth on Horseback—Fire, 1841—Indian armor, 1750—Chamber from which Hastings was ordered to execution—Anne Boleyn's prison in the Tower—Beauchamp Tower." And so on, and on, from one spot of historic interest to another, the travelers absorbing all with thirsty minds, the hostess tireless, or at least uncomplaining—and at night the profound sleep of the sight-seer's utter exhaustion.

Mr. and Mrs. Murby took the stranger-guests to their hearts, and treated them like long-lost friends. The perfume of their gracious hospitality invested London with a tender aroma for these wanderers, to such a degree that whenever they afterward thought of England, they thought of disinterested kindliness. On one of Mrs. Carr's diary-pages, is to be seen a faint brownish stain, above which is written: "Found by Mrs. Murby on the streets of London—this primrose." The flower has long since slipped away and crumbled to dust, since it was placed there in the spring of 1868; I should like to think that it blooms again on my page, in honor of that quick and loving eye that discovered the primrose in the London streets, and the gold in the strangers' hearts.

On Sunday, they went to hear Spurgeon preach. It was a very ordinary sermon; his statements had been made thousands of times before, and to none who listened, were they new. His manner was untheatrical, his flow of eloquence was not intense. Everything was the essence of simplicity. He began by holding up a rose. He said that on his way to the tabernacle, a woman had given it to him. He spoke of his happiness caused by this simple gift, then of the beauty of flowers, and of giving; and, as the audience of 3,000 listened, they were melted to tears. His subject was the Accessibility of Christ. It was the tenderness in his words and voice that wrought the charm. The singing was general; it seemed that each of the 3,000 took upon himself the responsibility of carrying the song through to its conclusion.

In Birmingham, the Carrs visited David King, editor of the Harbinger; he was the most prominent member of the Christian Church in England, of his day. It was his custom to question the preachers who passed through his country, to find out if they were "sound." It was from him that Mr. Carr discovered the British objection to the American custom of extending an invitation to the unsaved at the conclusion of the sermon. It was also Mr. King who went to the office to buy the Carrs their tickets up to London, fearing they would not get second-class ones. "Only fools and noblemen ride first-class in this country," was his dictum; "the second class is just as good and costs half as much."

The following brief notes show us that Mrs. Carr is in Scotland: "Holyrood—Rezzio's Slaughter—Residence of bygone monarchs—where Lord Murray held his Council—Residence of Mary Queen of Scots—where Her Majesty stops, when in Edinburg—Castle of Craigmillar—where Mary sometimes held her court—Lochleven Castle."

She was particularly interested in Wales: "Canarvon Castle, built by Edward I.—First Prince of Wales born here—April 25, 1284—Chamberlain Tower, occupied by the Lord Chamberlain—Eagle Tower, so called because of the Eagle Sculpture on its turret. Prisoner, or Dungeon Tower. It is supposed this castle was never completed. The banqueting hall, entirely destroyed—In this castle the present Prince and Princess of Wales were entertained during their visit to Canarvon, April 24. On this occasion, Wellington Tower was magnificently decorated.

"North Wales—across the straight of Angelsey; lodgings here. Ebb and flow of the tide—Hawthorne—a beautiful lodge, the entrance to a residence—Suspension bridge over the Menia Strait—Castle—Model village, Bethesda, near the slate quarries—20 galleries, each 60 feet high—the deeper the quarry, the better the slate—Tunnel and railways with round rails and grooved wheels, working with rope—Blasting signal, first a red flag, then the bugle. Each gallery one mile around the rail—1,200 feet from lowest gallery to top—300 men employed. Total wages per month, 1,200 pounds.—Penryln Castle, 16 years building, completed 30 years ago—Main entrance, heavy iron gate, swinging on massive pillars of stone, with imposing ivy-clad arch above; winding roads and bypaths; through rare shrubs and gorgeous flowers of innumerable species—Main entrance to Castle yard, a massive orchid gateway—Main entrance to Castle, massive cross-barred iron doors in base of tower—Four towers with the ivy, beautiful emblem of trust, clinging to them all—Interior; entrance hall, billiard room, innumerable lobbies with rare ceilings, main stairway, bedrooms with antique furniture, drawing-room, dining and breakfast rooms, library, chapel for family worship, minor stairways, etc.—Family of 10 children, two married and now in London—will return here in July. Culinary apartments; cook's sitting-room, where he writes the bill of fare."

All these sights, crowded as they are into a few days, delay the departure for Australia; moreover, the travelers have decided to take a sailship. They have sufficient knowledge of the deathly throb of the steamer, the quiver that sends unutterable faintness and nausea to those susceptible to seasickness. The sailship, they are told, skims the waves like a bird—one hardly knows he is afloat, or knowing, feels himself lightly carried through the air.

Mrs. Murby finds her new acquaintances have not left, and writes to Mrs. Carr at Liverpool, on May 15th, "I was very much pleased to receive your letter yesterday; I had supposed you would be far away from Old England by this time. I just wish you had stayed with us longer! There are lots of places besides the British Museum, I could have taken you to see. You say you are to leave on Saturday, the 19th, but the 19th is Tuesday, so we can hear from each other if we cannot meet. If I can find that church in Camden Town, for your sakes I will visit it. The few days we spent together will always be remembered by us with pleasure. I sincerely trust we may all be spared to meet again; you may rest assured of a hearty welcome. In the meantime we can correspond with each other. I went to sit for my portrait yesterday; it will be ready for me to-morrow, and I will send it to you before you leave Liverpool."

So writes the editor's wife—she who finds primroses in the streets of London; and her letter comes as a last voice of love to one about to embark upon a sea-voyage of more than a hundred days.