Tuesday, one of the schooners arrived, and sailed again, the same evening, with a full complement of passengers. Another arrived the next day, and all of our party succeeded, with some difficulty, in obtaining tickets. After crossing the lake to the village of San Carlos, situated at the head of the San Juan river, we were to be transferred to canoes which would take us to San Juan, where we hoped to obtain a passage home in one of Vanderbilt's steamers. The fare for the whole voyage was sixteen dollars apiece, and we were obliged to furnish our own provisions. As under unfavourable circumstances the trip might occupy a week, we laid in a store of bread and cheese, sugar, and cocoanuts, sufficient to guard against all danger of starvation, and Wednesday evening, followed by several natives, carrying our luggage, we walked down to the lake.

In order to take advantage of the breeze that usually sprung up at nightfall, it was intended to set sail at once, but one delay after another interfered to prevent. The little bread-trough which was to transport us to the schooner had made only three trips, carrying two passengers each time, when there burst upon us such a sudden squall of wind and rain as at once put a stop to our embarkation. In a few minutes the lake exhibited all the phenomena of a miniature storm. The bread-trough was capsized and flung bottom upwards on the beach. Even our long experience on two oceans was not sufficient to deprive the scene entirely of its terrors. The little schooner tossed frantically at its anchor, and we could plainly see one unfortunate already paying to this humbler deity that tribute which we had hitherto considered the indefeasible right of Neptune himself.

As it was just as impossible for those on board to return to land as it was for us to reach the schooner, we were obliged to leave them to their fate, and make the best of our way back to the hotel. The landlord, so far from manifesting any pleasure at our unexpected return, received us with that sublime indifference that characterizes the keeper of a Spanish hotel, and seems almost the only remnant of Castilian pride now to be found in this their adopted country.

The next morning the sky was more propitious, and we set sail about ten with a gentle breeze that pushed us slowly out into the lake. Besides the crew, which consisted of only the captain and one man, who was mate, foremast hand, and cook, there were thirty passengers, each provided with his bag of provisions. Nearly one half of the number contrived to find room in the little cabin, which was about the size of a New York omnibus, like that miraculous invention was never full, and possessed of the same unaccountable propensity to knock two heads together, to the infinite detriment of their hats and their good temper. I remained all the time on deck, exposed to the scorching sun, by turns, and the pelting rain.

Towards evening the breeze freshened, and I began to feel all the symptoms of genuine sea-sickness. In spite of all my efforts, I could not disguise from myself the mortifying infirmity. It is really worth while to be sea-sick at sea, and when one is just starting on a long voyage. One feels so much better after it, and as if he had thus purchased an exemption from all further molestation, and had a perfect right to eat, drink, and be merry. Besides, there is a consonancy in the ideas as in the very words—this sort of ordeal through which we are required to pass before being initiated into the Neptunian mysteries is like those fearful preliminary tests which the aspirant after masonic honours is obliged to undergo.

It is well worthy the greatness and majesty of the sea. It is a price worth paying for the immunity it confers. No one who is bound on a voyage of four or five months can reasonably complain because his probation extends over as many days or even weeks. What though he is subjected to a constant process of subtraction—to a continual drain of life and energy—has he not all the rest of the voyage to repair his losses and replace his sickly, effeminate habit with that health and robustness which salt junk and pilot bread are so especially fitted to impart?

But on a little bit of fresh water the case is widely different. In the first place, there is no time to be sick, with any sort of decency or satisfaction. These things demand careful preparation, and that kind of dexterity that can only be acquired by long habit. But here one no sooner gets thoroughly into the midst of a fit of sickness, and begins to feel as if he were used to it, and to discover those little ameliorations that naturally suggest themselves, than the keel grates on the gravel, and no less harshly on his ears, and there is an end. All that you have suffered goes for nothing. You have been exposed to all this shame and ignominy, without any of the consolatory dignity that was to follow. You have been displaying all the helpless peevishness of a child, and have lost the opportunity of retrieving your character by a convalescent philosophy. You are like an unlucky knight who has had the worst in a duel, but is just about to regain the advantage, when the umpire throws down his staff and puts an end to the combat.

Among the pleasant hills of classic Berkshire there dwelt whilom two sturdy mountaineers, known far and wide by the honoured names of Lije Harris and Hial Dowd. Both were renowned champions in the noble and ancient art of wrestling, which, I am sorry to say, is no longer regarded in these degenerate days with that honour awarded to it by our more chivalrous ancestors.

But the fame of Hial Dowd was greater than the fame of Lije Harris—if one was Ajax, the other was Achilles. In many encounters between them Hial had established his superiority; and, henceforth holding himself superior to all his former competitors, he waited until another should arise more worthy of his arm.

But, as generally happens in such cases, the defeated party was not so easily satisfied. He felt that he was quite as good as Hial Dowd, and in fact a little better, and only wanted an opportunity to retrieve his lost honour. On a certain militia muster, when the young men from the adjacent villages were occupied, as usual, in various athletic sports, the magnanimous Lije, inly grieving at his disgrace, proposed to Zeke Brown, Ajax the less, a stratagem to draw out the Achilles of the playground from his long inactivity. Lije was to wrestle with Zeke three times in succession, and at the first encounter permit himself to be thrown. He would then prove victorious in the two remaining trials, and the acclamations that would be seen to proclaim his triumph could hardly fail to arouse the envy of his great rival.

Zeke readily acceded to this proposal, and Lije, according to their preconcerted arrangement, was soon brought to the ground, to the infinite amusement of all the beholders. But quickly he regained his feet, and was about to renew the combat, with victory already in his eye, when the perfidious Zeke, with unparalleled turpitude, coolly observed, "Wall, I guess that 'ill do for to-day; I'll wait till somebody better comes along."

The horror and confusion of the unhappy Lijah can be better imagined than described. Equally to be pitied is the unlucky wretch who presumes to wrestle with a two-days' lake—he is sure to be vanquished in the first encounter, and will seldom have an opportunity for a second.

Besides, it is so ridiculous to be sea-sick, with land visible on every side—so irrelevant and illogical. Then is the firm ground only a few miles away—the merest touch of which would effect as great a marvel as for AntÆus in his famous wrestling match with Hercules (Hercules no doubt impersonating the sea); it seems so easy to get to it, and the motive is so strong, that one lies filled with uneasy wonder that he does not make the attempt. It is as absurd for this little puddle to usurp the prerogative of the ocean, as for a homoeopath to claim the dignity of an allopathic physician. I have no more right to be sick in the one case than to be cured in the other. It is a positive insult to my good sense to presume such a thing.

Full of these reflections I rolled myself in my blankets, and, stretched on my back in the stern of our little craft, determined, at all events, not to be sick until I saw a chance of doing it with some credit and respectability. The night passed heavily. Several times a huge wave rolling after would overtop the low bulwarks and come surging in upon us, almost floating me from my resting place, and putting to flight my uneasy slumbers. I caught at such times brief glimpses of lofty, cone-shaped mountains—of short, chopping waves, white with foam—of our bellying sails, and of certain grotesque forms lying on the little deck outstretched and motionless.

The morning's sun dried our clothes, and lighting up mountain and promontory, one after another, we began to look about us to see if we could discover any signs of our place of destination. We had been running all night with a favourable breeze, and San Carlos could not be far distant. Great then were our surprise and indignation to find that our captain, instead of taking advantage of the wind, had acted on nearly the same principle as our early Dutch navigators before mentioned, and, fearful of running down a continent in the dark, had done nothing but tack back and forth all night. It was a still more aggravating discovery that he was entirely ignorant of his course—having, as he said in excuse, sailed this way only three times before. Though we could not admit the validity of this plea, as the shores of the lake were of the most marked and striking character, so that once seen they ought never to be forgotten, yet we were obliged to submit ourselves to circumstances, and accede to his proposition to lie to opposite a house we saw not far from the shore and obtain the necessary information of the inhabitants.

After hallooing till we were hoarse, we had the satisfaction of seeing a party of natives come down to the shore and push off into the lake. By dint of violent and long-continued rowing they at length brought their clumsy canoe alongside, and then a few words sufficed to tell the whole story. We were to round a certain headland they pointed out to us, and afterwards hold a straight course to San Carlos.

Having bought a few oranges they had thrown into their boat, we left them to make the best of their way back to the shore; and once more filling our sails, we rounded the intervening headland, and just at dark run our schooner up within a few yards of the beach at San Carlos. A large open shed, or rather roof of palm-leaf, supported by tall naked posts, seemed to have waded rather timidly out into the lake. While we regarded with dismay the waves rolling with considerable violence up into this building, and wondered how we were to get to land, a party of natives darted out into the surf, and for the moderate sum of one real offered to carry us ashore on their shoulders. One of the riders, heavier or not so well mounted as the rest, was precipitated headlong into the lake, to our unmingled delight and approbation; but the unlucky native, who had been the cause and partner of his mishap, no sooner regained his feet than he fled up into the town without once stopping to look behind him.

We all followed at our leisure, in anxious search for supper and lodging. It was long before we succeeded in finding either, and then they were not at all to our satisfaction; but as we had a suspicion, in spite of the darkness, that San Carlos was anything but a city of palaces, we resolved to make the best of what we had lest we might go farther and fare worse.

We slept on the floor—that is, on the bare ground—in the kitchen or living room of the family; while in an adjoining apartment, separated from ours only by a slight partition of bamboo hardly as high as our heads, a woman lay dying of the yellow fever. In the morning we had an opportunity of surveying the town to better advantage. It consists of a small collection of hovels, with two decent houses, clustered irregularly together at the base and on the side of a low steep hill. The damp and unwholesome vegetation—the water oozing out of the ground at every step—the filthy streets and doorways—are not calculated to give the stranger a very favourable impression of the beauty or salubrity of San Carlos; and I am persuaded that the longer he remained, the more eager he would be to depart. On the hill above the town stands the important fortress of San Carlos, as I have since seen it denominated by some of our sage political writers at home. This important fortress consists of an almost obliterated rampart, defended by a single rusty cannon, which would be far more dangerous to its friends than its enemies.

However, in a military point of view, this place may, for aught I know, be of the utmost importance; but to the travelling tourist, whether he goes in search of the picturesque, or only seeks to gratify his curiosity or appetite, it is of all the most uninviting. It is, in fact, a cross between barbarism and civilization, and the worst features of both the parents are plainly discernible in this mongrel offspring.

We were naturally desirous to leave a place of which we had formed so ill an opinion as soon as possible, but we were not allowed to govern our own movements. We were left to the mercy of a race of men to whom procrastination is a virtue, and haste a crime, if not a folly. Having cooked and eaten their breakfast—a mess of beef and plantains boiled together in a huge iron kettle—they were now busy—not busy either, but employed, though even that is too strong a word—in preparing the boats that were to carry us down the river. These were rude canoes or dugouts, very long and narrow, and capable in smooth water of carrying ten men apiece with tolerable comfort and security. As we had one more than that number of passengers in the canoe that fell to our lot, and five native boatmen besides, we contemplated with no little uneasiness the prospect of a voyage of a hundred and fifty miles down a rapid river.

About ten o'clock all was in readiness, and we proceeded with the utmost caution and calculation to stow ourselves in the canoe. Four of the Indians, who were to act as rowers, sat in the head of the boat. Next to them was an equal number of our fellow-passengers, with whom we had no further acquaintance; the patron or pilot sat in the stern with an American who was residing in the country, and our own party occupied the middle. It was necessary to sit perfectly still, as the slightest motion caused the boat to roll, bringing the oars on one side down into the water, and calling forth an impatient exclamation from all the boatmen at once of "para bota," "trim boat." When this state of things was no longer tolerable, we all moved in concert the arm or leg that gave us the most uneasiness, and again settling into our places sat like breathing statues for another hour.

We moved slowly up the lake a short distance, and then rounding a narrow point of land found ourselves in the San Juan. Our boatmen rowed a few hundred yards till the canoe fairly felt the force of the rapid current, and then, raising their oars from the water, and fixing them in that position by fastening the ends to the opposite side, they produced a stock of plantains that was perfectly alarming, and began to eat as if they had not tasted anything for a week. As it was only two or three hours since they had devoured a hearty breakfast, and no one could see their naked bellies without thinking of Prince Hal's question, "How long is it, Jack, since thou hast seen thine own knees?" we naturally felt some impatience at this delay, but our remonstrances might as well have been addressed to the trees on the bank.

Having eaten enough for a dozen men, and being at length obliged to stop from sheer repletion, instead of returning to their duty, as we had fondly imagined, they simply varied their performances in a manner highly suggestive of the renowned Sancho Panza, from whom they were perhaps lineally descended. After an hour spent in these alternations they resumed their oars; our canoe, which had been drifting broadside to the current, was once more headed down the stream, and we glided along under these combined influences at a speed varying from five to eight miles an hour. Having by this time arranged ourselves in as comfortable a position as was attainable under the circumstances, we were at leisure to take note of what was passing. On either side a tangled and matted forest crowded close down to the river's brim. Vines of the utmost vigour and luxuriance hung in graceful folds from the tallest trees, or presented an almost solid wall of verdure as even as if it had been trained over an artificial trellise. The monotony of the banks was interrupted only by shady coves or inlets, just wide enough to admit a canoe, and, by their mysterious windings, offering a strange temptation to the curious imagination.

We met also one or two parties of natives slowly toiling up the stream, keeping close to the shore to avoid the current that swept us prosperously onward, and now and then resting from their labour by mooring their canoe to the overhanging branches. With these our boatmen never failed to exchange greetings and inquiries, somewhat in the fashion of two ships speaking each other at sea; and the novelty of their accent and intonation was nowhere else so striking.

Let the reader pronounce the word banana, placing very little stress on the first and last syllables, and commencing the second with a sudden expiration—then dying gradually away through all the notes of the gamut, from the highest to the lowest, and he will obtain a very correct idea of a Spanish hail or halloo. When three or four on each side were thus joining their voices in anything but concert, the effect, if not harmonious, was in the highest degree amusing.

It was long after sunset when we arrived at the upper rapids; and, as our pilot was unwilling to venture through them in the dark, we were obliged to lie to until morning. The place selected for this purpose had formerly been occupied as a trading establishment—the skeletons of two small buildings still stood near the bank in the middle of a narrow clearing, and half-a-dozen barrels scattered about plainly showed what had been the nature of the traffic. The ground was thoroughly soaked with the rain that was still falling, and every drop as it touched the earth seemed to hatch into a monstrous mosquito, and every mosquito seemed to say or sing, with true Spanish accent, that she did not get such a chance every day in the year, and meant to make the most of it. The woods crowded around us as close as they dared, and like a pack of wolves seemed only waiting till they could muster courage to make a sudden dash. At no great distance we heard the roaring of wild beasts, and could easily imagine we saw their eyes glaring at us out of the thick damp darkness. Never apparently had we been in such evil plight, at least on land; but in a short time we succeeded in effecting a wonderful transformation. After exhausting entreaty, we prevailed upon one of the natives by a bribe of half-a-dollar to strike a fire by means of the flint and tinder which they commonly carry about them. There was no want of fuel—a scrap of paper first received the divine fire, and communicated it in turn to splinters of the palm leaf that formed the thatch. We gently nursed the infant blaze with withered twigs till it had gained strength and confidence to grapple with the staves of the barrels, and lock them in its mortal embrace. A thick log, big enough to keep it burning all night, was then placed upon the top—the smoke soon banished the mosquitoes, and the most cheerful and benign light put to flight all our gloomy fancies. Bringing in huge armfuls of palm leaves from the fallen roof of one of the houses, we spread them thickly over the floor of that which was still standing; and with our feet to the fire, spikewise, as Eothen has it, one by one fell off to sleep.

Waking in the grey of the morning, we combed quantities of slimy snails out of our hair with our fingers, and again taking our stations in the canoe, were directly sucked into the rapids. Clinging nervously to the sides of the canoe, and peering out into the dim twilight, we saw nothing but whirling eddies, sunken rocks starting up to meet us, and waves white with foam. Suddenly a huge billow, that seemed to have been lurking in ambush near the shore, darted out directly upon our beam. For a moment my heart, as the saying is, was in my mouth,—the rowers also seemed paralyzed and stopped rowing. I thought of the weight I carried about me, and calculated how long I should probably be in getting to the bottom. But all was over in less time than it has taken to write a single line—nobody stirred, and the wave, after emptying a few pailfuls of water over the gunwale, sunk suddenly beneath the surface, and the next moment we entered the comparatively smooth water below.

The remaining rapids had nothing to excite any apprehensions, and we passed them with contemptuous indifference. All day long we slid down the glassy river. About nine in the evening our canoe drew up into a little stream, tributary to the San Juan, at a spot which had been selected by a German emigrant as suitable for a sugar plantation. He had been here only a short time, and every thing was yet in a rude, uncivilized state; but he gave us a most glowing account of the wealth of the soil and the favourable nature of the climate. His plantation consisted of several thousand acres, a very small proportion of which was under cultivation, but enough to show that no land in the world is better adapted to that purpose.

He gave us for supper a cup of tea and two slices of salt pork perhaps twice as big as a dollar; and as we furnished our own bread, he charged us only half-a-dollar apiece. The mosquitoes were as thick as, what shall I say? as thick as molasses; and as we crowded into the smoke of the fire under the shed that served him for a kitchen, to avoid their extortion, I made a rapid calculation of the probable number on his whole plantation, and came to the conclusion that if these creatures possessed any appreciable value, however small, our host must be by all odds the wealthiest proprietor in the whole world.

After resting here an hour, we were glad to return to the canoe, where they did not venture to follow us. A sip of brandy and the coolness of the night gave our boatmen fresh energy—their oars fell with more regular cadence, and early Sunday morning we entered the harbour of San Juan, two weeks after leaving the shores of the Pacific. The harbour is very shallow, and our boatmen were several times obliged to jump into the water to push us over the bars; but our canoe was at length drawn up safely on the beach, in the midst of a large number of others, all pointing to the town. Many of our companions had already arrived, and the rest made their appearance the next day, except the party already mentioned, who had been the first to leave Granada. Day after day passed without bringing any tidings, and we began to fear that they had been lost on the lake, when the following Sunday, a week after our arrival, they landed on the shore like a party of shipwrecked mariners—squalid, filthy, and attenuated. For thirteen days, and nearly as many nights, they had been crowded together in that open boat—the sun, and the rain, and the dew, had had full sway over them, and if it had not been for the constant effort required to keep the canoe from upsetting, they would certainly have run together like so many sticks of molasses candy.

They had carried sail across the lake, and owing to the tipsy nature of their craft, they had been obliged to preserve the centre of gravity by constantly shifting their position. When the wind blew freshly, they sat on the weather side of the boat to keep her steady; and when the wind lulled, they transferred their weight more to the centre. If the wind had been aft, they would have made the passage in twenty-four hours, or even less; but as it was directly contrary, and they could beat to windward but little better than a tub, they were more than a week in getting to San Carlos, having in that time sailed over nearly every square foot in the whole surface of the lake.

San Juan, where we passed a miserable week, is, even after seeing San Carlos, one of the most uninteresting places that can be imagined. The land is even flatter than the sea. It is a low sandy plain, just rising above the water, agreeably diversified with stagnant marshes, and hemmed in by unwholesome-looking forests. A few mushroom houses seem to have sprung up out of the sand, and among them three or four hotels, of the same board and shingle pattern that is so odious even in its native New England.

At one of the best or worst of these we secured board and lodgings for one dollar a day, until the steamer, which was now expected, should arrive, and again get ready to sail. Our impatience grew greater every hour. Home was now so near that we murmured at the least delay. We even turned our thoughts regretfully backward to the cool and quiet tent we had left standing among the breezy hills of Natoma, and to the comparatively luxurious life we had led there in our hermit solitude. Here we were in positive danger of famine. Provisions became every day more scarce, and every meal was worse than the one before it. To make matters worse, the Prometheus arrived on Wednesday, and a large proportion of her passengers, who had gone up the river intending to cross over to the Pacific, were obliged to return, after reaching the upper rapids, for want of provisions; so that the whole number of Americans now in town was at least four hundred, which was apparently quite equal to the permanent population.

There were plenty of liquors, however, for even a much larger increase; and drinking and card-playing filled up every hour. The Sunday after our arrival, a party were called from their game to attend a dying comrade. His death was extremely sudden, owing, as was supposed, to an excessive dose of morphine. But nobody cared, not even, so far as I could perceive, the party to which he belonged; indeed, Ohio, with his mechanical tenderness, manifested more pity than all besides. But, as I had often had occasion to observe, a nomadic life is not favourable to the gentler virtues, and, of all virtues, the rarest is an abstract humanity. What often goes under that name is nothing but decency, and a selfish regard to the opinion of others, and both these motives lose almost their entire force when all are strangers, and expect soon to be separated forever.

At length it was announced that the Independence, the Pacific steamer, had arrived; and, her passengers being first provided for, a certain number of tickets were to be disposed of. Long before the appointed hour, an eager crowd had assembled round the office. The agent took his station at an open window about eight feet from the ground, with some rude steps placed against the building, so that a man standing at the top could rest his chin conveniently on the window-sill. Having been fortunate enough to obtain our own tickets early in the day, we had nothing to do but to watch, from our post of observation, the progress of the fight. Fifty aspirants were gathered round the little window, which they seemed about to enter in a body. They advanced against it in three different directions—from the right—from the left—and from the front. Each man pasted himself to the one before him, fearful lest any rival should dispossess him. They fitted together as closely as a bundle of spoons. But all these forces met at the centre, as in a focus. The man who at length succeeded in reaching the top was directly squeezed as flat as a pancake. He inserted both his arms into the window, not to maintain his position, but because there was no room for them anywhere else. He could by no possibility get his hand into his pocket, and must have his money all ready in his fist before he started on his perilous adventure. When at last the ticket was secured, the crowd was rent violently as by an earthquake, or the pains of travail. He came out, nobody could tell how nor where. He almost always lost his hat, and was fortunate if he met with no greater calamity.

A fierce struggle then succeeded to see who should obtain the post of honour. There were three next best men, the heads of their respective columns. But I noticed that it so happened that the one in front almost invariably gained the advantage. Whether it was that the other two parties neutralized each other, or that a straightforward course is always the best, the most the sidelings could do was to maintain their ground.

I was especially interested in the fate of one promising individual who made his approaches from the left. He had been for a long time the head of his party, and once or twice seemed on the very point of reaching the window. He even got one foot on to the topmost step, and with one hand grasped the window frame. His hat was gone—his face, by the violence of his exertions, had become nearly as red as his hair—his arm visibly lengthened, and I expected every instant to see his fingers starting from their sockets.

Still he clung to his hold with a tenacity that nothing could overcome. Once or twice, indeed, some one would get before him, and on such occasions it seemed absolutely impossible that any fingers, but of iron, should endure the strain. His head was pinned up flat against the side of the house, and he turned his face to the crowd with a look of mingled defiance and supplication, and a lurking consciousness of the ludicrousness of his situation, that were perfectly irresistible.

For nearly an hour he remained in this position, sometimes gaining an inch, and sometimes losing, till it seemed really dangerous to laugh any longer, and we were about to leave, when a sudden revolution brought him at last face to face with the agent.

"I'll take a ticket, if you please," he gasped, nervously holding out his money.

"No more tickets are to be sold to-day," returned the awful functionary, as if he had been the Iron Duke himself. "No more tickets."

This was the climax—the ridiculous had fairly reached the sublime—there was a completeness, a proportion in all its parts, that was beyond laughter—the mind could not sufficiently recover from its surprise and admiration to feel such a genial emotion. It was like a picture of Hogarth's, where our wonder at the painter's ingenuity interferes with our enjoyment of the scene itself—if it were not done so well, the first effect, at least, would be more striking.

But lest the tender-hearted reader should feel too lively a concern for the fate of this unfortunate Phoebus, and perhaps accuse me of hard-heartedness in the premises, I would hasten to inform her that all who wished, finally succeeded in obtaining tickets. Our apprehensions were, indeed, utterly groundless, for it is well known that there is no limit to the capacity of a California steamer.

Sunday morning, a week after our arrival, we went to sea. Nothing occurred during our voyage worthy of mention—we spent one day in Havana—had the usual proportion of storms and calms, and on the 9th of November entered the harbour of New York, nearly three years after my leaving home. Every object was greeted as warmly as if it had been an old acquaintance. There was Castle Garden where Jenny Lind won her earlier triumphs; and beyond lay the imperial city, every one of whose swarming thousands seemed to me like a brother. As we drew near the wharves, I felt that we were the great object of attraction, and my heart swelled within me with conscious vanity, as I thought how one would point me out to another, and say, "There goes a Californian!"

I had no fears lest I should remain undetected and unnoticed among the great crowd of ragamuffins that thronged the streets. There was an unmistakable stamp of vagabondism about me that defied all rivalry and all imitation. It would be strange, indeed, if, with the advantages of three years' travel, I had not acquired a decided superiority over those who had had no such opportunity of improving their natural capacity. I exulted at the thought of the despairing envy with which I should be regarded by all the tatterdemalions of the metropolis, and the futility of all their efforts to catch the secret of a shabbiness matured and perfected by a long course of severe and untiring study by land and sea. I should be the leader of the fashions for the Five Points, the Beau Brummel of beggars, the D'Orsay of the kennel.

But as the Broadway fop, though drest in the height of the fashion from top to toe, yet prides himself especially on his spotless beaver, so I, though it was hard to say that one part of my attire was less worthy of admiration than another, yet rested my claims to distinction principally on my hat. It had belonged originally to that species denominated the Californian, and bearing a strong resemblance to that patronized, under the cognomen of Kossuth, by the blacklegs of the metropolis and the shop-boys of our smaller cities; but when I landed in New York, it was a simple individual—the only one of its kind—and no longer susceptible of classification. For six weeks it had been my faithful companion. Through all that time it had been in constant use either as a drinking cup, a night-cap, a sun-shade, or an umbrella. But its spirit and vitality had forsaken it, and the glory of its brim had departed. It flapped over my ears, it flapped over my neck, it flapped, worst of all, over my eyes. Yet if a curve is the line of beauty, my hat must have been the most beautiful object in existence. It had as many curves as a ram's horn or a grape-vine, or any other, the most curvedest thing in nature.

"Where do you wish to go?" inquired the hack driver, with even more than characteristic politeness, and surveying us from head to foot with undisguised admiration.

"No. ——, Avenue ——."

The driver stared again, harder than ever, and a crowd of ragged boys—those observing beings—standing by, repeated the words in a tone of incredulous wonder. But away we went—the hack drew up before the house, and we walked up the steps with an air intended to show the driver that we were somebody. A servant answered our ring, but started back at sight of two such desperate villains, and was about to close the door in our faces, when, feeling that it was necessary to make a determined effort, we pushed past her into the house, and requested to see the lady. At that moment she appeared, summoned by the sound of voices, but stopt half way down the stairs, while two little children, half hidden in the folds of her dress, peeped timidly forth at the ugly strangers. After enjoying the scene a moment in silence, we pronounced the familiar name, and claimed the rights of our relationship.

"Why, Mrs. ——!" whispered Bridget involuntarily, and holding up her hands, "are those awful looking men your brothers!!"

I was glad to hear the answer, for I had begun to doubt my own identity. But twenty-four hours wrought a wondrous revolution not only with us, but with the greater part of our fellow passengers. At the end of that time it was no longer possible to find in the streets of New York a solitary survivor of the three hundred scarecrows that had landed from the Prometheus the day before. There was a sudden accession of trade to the dealers in ready-made clothing. The rag merchants grew rich with unexampled rapidity, and began to think of enlarging their operations. Our long life of entire freedom and independence was at length over, and we hastened to resume the shackles of civilization. A single day sufficed to convert us from the careless, slouching Californian, into the precise and angular citizen. Our romance is ended—our little episode is complete—and we sink, like a drop of water in the ocean, into the flat monotony of our commonplace existence. Ah loque es el mundo.

THE END.

Transcriber's Notes
The cover image, created from the title page, is placed in the public domain.
The Table of Contents has been added and is not part of the original book.
Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected.
Author's spelling preferences and creative words have been retained except for the following noted changes:
Pages 17 and 20: Changed three occurrences of "birth" to "berth."
(Orig: and soon slunk away to my birth, with a heart heavy)
(Orig: My birth was an upper one, and its already alarming)
(Orig: For three days and nights I lay in my birth, dressed)
Page 24: Retained possibly unneeded duplicate "as."
(Orig: ladies, considered simply as as an abstract idea,)
Page 37: Retained "Goliah;" possibly a typo for "Goliath."
(Orig: stolen from some thick-witted Goliah,)
Page 42: Changed "somtimes" to "sometimes."
(Orig: somtimes interrogatively, sometimes affirmatively,)
Page 44: Changed "diminitive" to "diminutive."
(Orig: galloping after him on diminitive horses,)
Page 53: Changed "enought" to "enough."
(Orig: before it was light enought to see)
Page 55: Changed "turkies" to "turkeys."
(Orig: beef, turkies, chickens, and pigeon pie;)
Page 60: Removed duplicate "the."
(Orig: hardly enough difficulty in the the work to make it pleasant)
Page 63: Changed "independant" to "independent."
(Orig: as independant as our unfavourable circumstances)
Page 71: Changed "acqaintance" to "acquaintance" and
"unmistakeable" to "unmistakable."
(Orig: Humboldt, our new acqaintance, was equally unmistakeable.)
Page 75: Retained "past," meaning "passed."
(Orig: The time had past when a pinch of gold dust)
Page 84: Changed "Ater" to "After."
(Orig: Ater many unlooked for delays, a half-barrel)
Page 112: Changed "abadoned" to "abandoned."
(Orig: whole scheme was then and there abadoned.)
Page 116: Changed "CHAPTER XII" to "CHAPTER XI."
Page 127: Changed "mimlc" to "mimic."
(Orig: Colonel Oldbuck was an excellent mimlc)
Page 128: Changed "Brobdignags" to "Brobdingnags."
(Orig: Gulliver from among the Brobdignags)
Page 153: Changed "Colloma" to "Coloma."
(Orig: a violent snow storm soon after leaving Colloma)
Page 221: Retained "griping," meaning "gripping."
(Orig: with the other hand, griping fast the bushes.)
Page 224: Retained "gripe," meaning "grip."
(Orig: to gripe fast hold of the soil.)
Page 310: Retained "Brahmah;" probably typo for "Bramah."
(Orig: combination lock of Brahmah or Hobbs,)
Page 320: Changed "Brobdignagian" to "Brobdingnagian."
(Orig: some clumsy Brobdignagian boor.)