name, landed on the pier at Castle
Garden. He passed through the straight
and narrow gate where he was asked his name,
birthplace, and how much money he had,--at
which he grew very much frightened.

"And your destination?"--demanded the
gruff-looking functionary at the desk.

"America," said the youth, and touched his
hat politely.

"Do you think I have time for joking?"
roared the official, with an oath.

The Norseman ran his hand through his hair,
smiled his timidly conciliatory smile, and tried
his best to look brave; but his hand trembled
and his heart thumped away at an alarmingly
quickened tempo.

"Put him down for Nebraska!" cried a stout
red-cheeked individual (inwrapped in the mingled
fumes of tobacco and whisky) whose function
it was to open and shut the gate.

"There aint many as go to Nebraska."

"All right, Nebraska."