The polite gentleman, that would have flown for a reticule or a smelling-bottle upon the high seas, won't leave his luggage in the harbour; and the gallantry and devotion that stood the test of half a gale of wind and a wet jacket, is not proof when the safety of a carpet-bag or the security of a "Mackintosh" is concerned.
And thus here, as elsewhere, is prosperity the touchstone of good feeling.

All the various disguises which have been assumed, per viaggio, are here immediately abandoned, and, stripped of the travelling costume of urbanity and courtesy, which they put on for the voyage, they stand forth in all the unblushing front of selfishness and self-interest.
Some tender scenes yet find their place amid the debris of this chaotic state.

Here may be seen a careful mother adjusting innumerable shawls and handkerchiefs round the throat of a sea-green young lady with a cough; her maid is at the same instant taking a tender farewell of the steward in the after-cabin.
Here is a very red-faced and hot individual, with punch-coloured breeches and gaiters, disputing "one brandy too much" in his bill, and vowing that the company shall hear of it when he returns to England.

There, a tall, elderly woman, with a Scotch-grey eye, and a sharp cheek-bone, is depositing within her muff various seizable articles, that, until now, had been lying quietly in her trunk.

Yonder, that raw-looking young gentleman, with the crumpled frock-coat, and loose cravat, and sea-sick visage, is asking every one "if they think he may land without a passport." You scarcely recognise him for the cigar-smoking dandy of yesterday, that talked as if he had lived half his life on the continent.
While there, a rather pretty girl is looking intently at some object in the blue water, beside the rudder post.