beach, and glittering in the sun, gave a pleasing impression of the
country. This was greatly increased when, running up the bay, we came to
what are called the Narrows, and had Staten Island on our left and Long
Island on the right. The former, something like the Isle of Wight in
appearance, is a thickly-wooded hill covered with pretty country
villas, and the Americans were unceasing in their demands for admiration
of the scenery.[1]

Before entering the Narrows, indeed shortly after passing Sandy Hook, a
little boat with a yellow flag came from the quarantine station to see
if we were free from yellow fever and other disorders. There were many
ships from the West Indies performing quarantine, but we were happily
exempted, being all well on board. It was getting dark when we reached
the wharf; and, after taking leave of our passenger friends, we landed,
and proceeded to an adjoining custom-house, where, through the influence
of one of our fellow-passengers, our boxes were not opened, but it was a
scene of great bustle and confusion. After much delay we were at length
hoisted into a wonderful old coach, apparently of the date of Queen
Anne. We made a struggle with the driver not to take in more than our
own party. Up, however, others mounted, and on we drove into a
ferry-boat, which steamed us, carriage and all, across the harbour, for
we had landed from the ship on the New Jersey side. After reaching New
York by means of this ferry-boat, we still had to drive along a
considerable part of Broadway, and finally reached this comfortable
hotel--the Brevoort House--at about eight o'clock.

The master of the hotel shook hands with papa on entering, and again
this morning treated him with the same republican familiarity. The hotel
is very quiet, and not a specimen of the large kind, which we intend
seeing later. We had fortunately secured rooms beforehand, as the town