The bookseller assisted him in procuring his ticket and berth, and gave him such instructions as his inexperience demanded.
The last bell rang, the fasts were cast off, and the great wheels of the steamer began to turn.

Our hero, who had never been on the water in a steamboat, or indeed any thing bigger than a punt on the river at home, was much interested and excited by his novel position.

He seated himself on the promenade deck, and watched with wonder the boiling, surging waters astern of the steamer.
How powerful is man, the author of that mighty machine that bore him so swiftly over the deep blue waters! Bobby was a little philosopher, as we have before had occasion to remark, and he was decidedly of the opinion that the steamboat was a great institution.

When he had in some measure conquered his amazement, and the first ideas of sublimity which the steamer and the sea were calculated to excite in a poetical imagination, he walked forward to take a closer survey of the machinery.

After all, there was something rather comical in the affair.