New York, Oct. 13, 1868.
The steamer Ariel starts for California at noon.
Her decks are crowded with excited passengers, who instantly
undertake to "look after" their trunks and things; and what with
our smashing against each other, and the yells of the porters, and
the wails over lost baggage, and the crash of boxes, and the roar
of the boilers, we are for the time being about as unhappy a lot of
maniacs as was ever thrown together.
I am one of them. I am rushing around with a glaring eye in search
of a box.
Great jam, in which I find a sweet young lady, with golden hair,
clinging to me fondly, and saying, "Dear George, farewell!"--
Discovers her mistake, and disappears.