elatives, and old friends upon the shore of the
promised land. They went their way rejoicing, and with them passed the
solitary ray of sunshine that streamed athwart the dark horrors of the
emigrant ship, like the wandering pencil of light that sometimes
visits the condemned cell of a prison.

THE LAST OF THE STAGE COACHES.

A FRAGMENT OF A CLUB-ROOM CONVERSATION.

"Did you ever," said the one-eyed gentleman, fixing his single sound
optic upon us with an intensity which made it glow like one of the
coals in the grate before us, "did you ever hear how I met with this
misfortune?"

"What misfortune, sir?"

"The misfortune which made a Cyclops of me--the loss of my left eye."

"Never, sir. Pray how was it?"

"Put out by the cinder of a locomotive," growled the one-eyed
gentleman, seizing the poker and stirring up the fire viciously. "Bad
things these railroads, sir," he added, when he had demolished a huge
fragment of sea coal. "Only last week--little boy playing on bank in
his father's garden--little dog ran on the track--boy went down to
call him off--express train came along--forty-five miles an hour and
no stoppages--ran over boy and dog--agonized parents sought for the
remains--nothing found except one shoe, the buckle of his hatband, and
brass collar of the dog."

"Extraordinary!"

"No, sir; not extraordinary," said the one-eyed gentleman. "I maintain
it's a common occurrence. Sir, I keep a railroad journal at home, as
large as a family Bible. It is filled with brief accounts--_brief_,
mind you--of railroad accidents. Next year I shall have to buy another
book."

"Then you are a decided enemy of railroads?"

"Decided!" said the one-eyed gentleman. "Their prevalence and extent
is a proof that the age is lapsing into barbarism. Ah! you remember
the stage coaches?"

"Certainly."

"Well, sir," said the one-eyed gentleman, warmly, "travelling was
travelling in those days; sir, it was a pleasure. The coaches were fast
enough for any reasonable man; ten miles an hour, including stoppages.
Ah!" he added, smacking his lips, "what a fine thing it was to start on
a journey of a glorious October morning, when every thing looked bright
and smiling! You mounted to the box or the roof, well wrapped up in your
greatcoat and shawl, with your trunk safely strapped upon the rack
behind. The driver was a man of substance--solid, of a gravity tempered
with humor, a giant in a brown box-coat, with gray hat and mi