s a deck-passenger, the stranger, simple though he seemed, was not
entirely ignorant of his place, though his taking a deck-passage might
have been partly for convenience; as, from his having no luggage, it was
probable that his destination was one of the small wayside landings
within a few hours' sail. But, though he might not have a long way to
go, yet he seemed already to have come from a very long distance.

Though neither soiled nor slovenly, his cream-colored suit had a tossed
look, almost linty, as if, traveling night and day from some far country
beyond the prairies, he had long been without the solace of a bed. His
aspect was at once gentle and jaded, and, from the moment of seating
himself, increasing in tired abstraction and dreaminess. Gradually
overtaken by slumber, his flaxen head drooped, his whole lamb-like
figure relaxed, and, half reclining against the ladder's foot, lay
motionless, as some sugar-snow in March, which, softly stealing down
over night, with its white placidity startles the brown farmer peering
out from his threshold at daybreak.

CHAPTER II.

SHOWING THAT MANY MEN HAVE MANY MINDS.

"Odd fish!"

"Poor fellow!"

"Who can he be?"

"Casper Hauser."

"Bless my soul!"

"Uncommon countenance."

"Green prophet from Utah."

"Humbug!"

"Singular innocence."

"Means something."

"Spirit-rapper."

"Moon-calf."

"Piteous."

"Trying to enlist interest."

"Beware of him."

"Fast asleep here, and, doubtless, pick-pockets on board."

"Kind of daylight Endymion."

"Escaped convict, worn out with dodging."

"Jacob dreaming at Luz."

Such the epitaphic comments, conflictingly spoken or thought, of a
miscellaneous company, who, assembled on the overlooking, cross-wise
balcony at the forward end of the upper deck near by, had not witnessed
preceding occurrences.

Meantime, like some enchanted man in his grave, happily oblivious of all
gossip, whether chiseled or chatted, the deaf and dumb stranger still
tranquilly slept, while now the boat started on her voyage.

The great ship-canal of Ving-King-Ching, in the Flowery Kingdom, seems
the Mississippi in parts, where, amply flowing between low, vine-tangled
banks, flat as tow-paths, it bears the huge toppling steamers, bedizened
and lacquered within like imperial junks.

Pierced along its great white bulk with two tiers of small
embrasure-like windows, well above the waterline, the Fiddle, though,
might at distance