before gone through the southern passage of Blackwell's, steering
for the Gate.

"Dat's dem, Mr. Mulford," Josh at length cried, from the look-out he
had taken in a stern-port, where he could see over the low bulwarks
of the vessel. "Yes, dat's dem, sir. I know dat old gray horse dat
carries his head so low and sorrowful like, as a horse has a right
to do dat has to drag a cab about this big town. My eye! what a
horse it is, sir!"

Josh was right, not only as to the gray horse that carried his head
"sorrowful like," but as to the cab and its contents. The vehicle
was soon on the wharf, and in its door soon appeared the short,
sturdy figure of Capt. Spike, backing out, much as a bear descends a
tree. On top of the vehicle were several light articles of female
appliances, in the shape of bandboxes, bags, &c., the trunks having
previously arrived in a cart. Well might that over-driven gray horse
appear sorrowful, and travel with a lowered head. The cab, when it
gave up its contents, discovered a load of no less than four persons
besides the driver, all of weight, and of dimensions in proportion,
with the exception of the pretty and youthful Rose Budd. Even she
was plump, and of a well-rounded person; though still light and
slender. But her aunt was a fair picture of a ship-master's widow;
solid, comfortable and buxom. Neither was she old, nor ugly. On the
contrary, her years did not exceed forty, and being well preserved,
in consequence of never having been a mother, she might even have
passed for thirty-five. The great objection to her appearance was
the somewhat indefinite character of her shape, which seemed to
blend too many of its charms into one. The fourth person, in the
fare, was Biddy Noon, the Irish servant and factotum of Mrs. Budd,