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 Across the Plains
 LEAVES FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF AN EMIGRANT BETWEEN NEW YORK AND SAN FRANCISCO
 It was, if I remember rightly, five o'clock when we were all signalled to be present at the Ferry Depot of the railroad. An
 emigrant ship had arrived at New York on the Saturday night, another on the Sunday morning, our own on Sunday
 afternoon, a fourth early on Monday; and as there is no emigrant train on Sunday a great part of the passengers from
 these four ships was concentrated on the train by which I was to travel. There was a babel of bewildered men, women,
 and children.
 Kidnapped
 I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when
 I took the key for the last time out of the door of my father's house. The sun began to shine upon the summit of the hills
 as I went down the road; and by the time I had come as far as the manse, the blackbirds were whistling in the garden
 lilacs, and the mist that hung around the valley in the time of the dawn was beginning to arise and die away.
 The Wrecker
 It was about three o'clock of a winter's afternoon in Tai-o-hae, the French capital and port of entry of the Marquesas Islands.
 The trades blew strong and squally; the surf roared loud on the shingle beach; and the fifty-ton schooner of war, that carries
 the flag and influence of France about the islands of the cannibal group, rolled at her moorings under Prison Hill. The clouds
 hung low and black on the surrounding amphitheatre of mountains; rain had fallen earlier in the day, real tropic rain, a
 waterspout for violence; and the green and gloomy brow of the mountain was still seamed with many silver threads of torrent.
 The wrong box
 How very little does the amateur, dwelling at home at ease, comprehend the labours and perils of the author, and, when he
 smilingly skims the surface of a work of fiction, how little does he consider the hours of toil, consultation of authorities,
 researches in the Bodleian, correspondence with learned and illegible Germans—in one word, the vast scaffolding that was first
 built up and then knocked down, to while away an hour for him in a railway train!

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