States differed considerably from Count Otto's. They hung over the
bulwarks, densely grouped; they leaned forward on their elbows for
hours, their shoulders kept on a level with their ears; the men in
furred caps, smoking long-bowled pipes, the women with babies hidden
in remarkably ugly shawls. Some were yellow Germans and some were
black, and all looked greasy and matted with the sea-damp. They
were destined to swell still further the huge current of the Western
democracy; and Count Vogelstein doubtless said to himself that they
wouldn't improve its quality. Their numbers, however, were
striking, and I know not what he thought of the nature of this
particular evidence.

The passengers who came on board at Southampton were not of the
greasy class; they were for the most part American families who had
been spending the summer, or a longer period, in Europe. They had a
great deal of luggage, innumerable bags and rugs and hampers and
sea-chairs, and were composed largely of ladies of various ages, a
little pale with anticipation, wrapped also in striped shawls,
though in prettier ones than the nursing mothers of the steerage,
and crowned with very high hats and feathers. They darted to and
fro across the gangway, looking for each other and for their
scattered parcels; they separated and reunited, they exclaimed and
declared, they eyed with dismay the occupants of the forward
quarter, who seemed numerous enough to sink the vessel, and their
voices sounded faint and far as they rose to Vogelstein's ear over
the latter's great tarred sides. He noticed that in the new
contingent there were many young girls, and he remembered what a
lady in Dresden had once said to him--that America was the country
of the Madchen. He wondered whether he should like that, and
reflected that it would be an aspect to study, like everything else.