a leviathan steamer is moved out of
dock.

After having made a first false move, which separated us about three
yards from the wharf--inducing the wearied friends on shore to brighten
up and smile, and kiss hands, and wave kerchiefs, with that energy of
decision which usually marks a really final farewell--our steamer
remained in that position for full half an hour, during which period we
gazed from the bulwarks, and our friends gazed from under their dripping
umbrellas across the now impassable gulf in mute resignation.

At that moment a great blessing befell us. A boy let his cap drop from
the wharf into the water! It was an insignificant matter in itself, but
it acted like the little safety-valve which prevents the bursting of a
high-pressure engine. Voyagers and friends no longer looked at each
other like melancholy imbeciles. A gleam of intense interest suffused
every visage, intelligence sparkled in every eye, as we turned and
concentrated our attention on that cap! The unexpressed blessing of the
whole company, ashore and afloat, descended on the uncovered head of
that boy, who, all unconscious of the great end he was fulfilling, made
frantic and futile efforts with a long piece of stick to recover his
lost property.

But we did at last get under weigh, and then there were some touches of
real pathos. I felt no disposition to note the humorous elements around
when I saw that overgrown lad of apparently eighteen summers, press to
the side and wave his thin hands in adieu to an elderly lady on shore,
while tears that he could not, and evidently did not care to restrain,
ran down his hollow cheeks. He had no friend on board, and was being
sent to the Cape for the benefit of his health. So, too, was another
young man--somewhere between twenty and thirty years--whose high colour,
brilliant eye, and feeble step told their own tale. But this man was
not friendless. His young wife was there, and supported him with tender
solicitude towards a seat. These two were in the after-cabin. Among
the steerage passengers the fell disease was represented in the person
of a little boy. "Too late" was written on the countenances of at least
two of these,--the married man and the little boy.

As to the healthy passengers, what shall I say of them? Need I tell you
that every species of humanity was represented?

There were tall men, and short men, as well as men broad and narrow,--
mentally, not less than physically