Diary in America, Series One | Page 8

they swallow whole, go home with their eyes sticking out
of their heads with wonder, and print all they have heard for the benefit
of John Bull's calves.
Note 2. The clocks in America--there rendered so famous by Sam
Slick-- instead of the moral lessons inculcated by the dials in this
country, such as "Time flies," etcetera, teach one more suited to
American feeling:--"Time is money!"
Note 3. And in this opinion I find that I am borne out by an American
writer, who says--"It is true, indeed, that the American government,

which, as first set up, was properly republican--that is, representation in
a course of salutary degrees, and with salutary checks upon the popular
will, on the powers of legislation, of the executive, and the
judiciary,--was assailed at an early period of its history, and has been
assailed continuously down to the present time, by a power called
democracy, and that this power has been constantly acquiring influence
and gaining ascendency in the republic during the term of its
history."--(A Voice from America to England, by an American
Gentleman, page 10.)

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER ONE.
I like to begin at the beginning; it's a good old fashion, not sufficiently
adhered to in these modern times. I recollect a young gentleman who
said he was thinking of going to America; on my asking him, "how he
intended to go?" he replied, "I don't exactly know; but I think I shall
take the fast coach." I wished him a safe passage, and said, "I was
afraid he would find it very dusty." As I could not find the office to
book myself by this young gentleman's conveyance, I walked down to
St Katherine's Docks; went on board a packet; was shewn into a superb
cabin, fitted up with bird's-eye maple, mahogany, and looking-glasses,
and communicating with certain small cabins, where there was a
sleeping berth for each passenger, about as big as that allowed to a
pointer in a dog-kennel. I thought that there was more finery than
comfort; but it ended in my promising the captain to meet him at
Portsmouth. He was to sail from London on the 1st of April, and I did
not choose to sail on that day--it was ominous; so I embarked at
Portsmouth on the 3rd. It is not my intention to give a description of
crossing the Atlantic; but as the reader may be disappointed if I do not
tell him how I got over, I shall first inform him that we were
thirty-eight in the cabin, and 160 men, women, and children, literally
stowed in bulk in the steerage. I shall describe what took place from the
time I first went up the side at Spithead, until the ship was under weigh,
and then make a very short passage of it.
At 9:30 a.m.--Embarked on board the good ship Quebec; and a good

ship she proved to be, repeatedly going nine and a-half knots on a
bowling, sails lifting. Captain H---quite delighted to see me--all
captains of packets are to see passengers: I believed him when he said
so.
At 9:50.--Sheriff's officer, as usual, came on board. Observed several of
the cabin passengers hasten down below, and one who requested the
captain to stow him away. But it was not a pen-and-ink affair; it was a
case of burglary. The officer has found his man in the steerage--the
handcuffs are on his wrists, and they are rowing him ashore. His wife
and two children are on board; her lips quiver as she collects her
baggage to follow her husband. One half-hour more, and he would have
escaped from justice, and probably have led a better life in a far country,
where his crimes were unknown. By the bye, Greenacre, the man who
cut the woman up, was taken out of the ship as she went down the river:
he had very nearly escaped. What cargoes of crime, folly, and
recklessness do we yearly ship off to America! America ought to be
very much obliged to us.
The women of the steerage are persuading the wife of the burglar not to
go on shore; their arguments are strong, but not strong enough against
the devoted love of a woman.--"Your husband is certain to be hung;
what's the use of following him? Your passage is paid, and you will
have no difficulty in supporting your children in America." But she
rejects the advice--goes down the side, and presses her children to her
breast, as, overcome with the agony of her feelings, she drops into the
boat; and, now that she is away from the ship, you hear the sobs, which
can no longer be controlled.
10 a.m.--"All hands up anchor."
I was repeating to myself some of the stanzas of Mrs Norton's "Here's a
Health