Philip Romilly, on the last day of the voyage, experienced to the full that peculiar sensation of unrest which seems inevitably to prevail when an oceangoing steamer is being slowly towed into port.

The winds of the ocean had been left behind.

There was a new but pleasant chill in the frosty, sunlit air.

The great buildings of New York, at which he had been gazing for hours, were standing, heterogeneous but magnificent, clear-cut against an azure sky.

The ferry boats, with their amazing human cargo, seemed to be screeching a welcome as they churned their way across the busy river.