'Oh, California. That's the land for me! I'm bound for the Sacramento, with The wash-bowl on my knee.' And presently, their brother-adventurers, excited by hopes of the wildest kind, join vociferously in chorus, in the exuberance of their joy. "A group of Englishmen, muscular in form, and honest in feature, are chaffering with the keen-witted Yankee porters for the carriage of their luggage. There is an air of dogged resolution about them, that plainly indicates they will not submit to what they evidently consider an imposition. Such a sum for so slender a service! Well, then, they can carry their baggage themselves: so they will; and, quickly shouldering it, some depart in the track of the rest, whilst two or three remain behind, to watch what is left, until their friends return. They are manifestly well known to one another, and seem to be almost intimate; the voyage has made them friends. "Here come a number of Chilians and Peruvians, and a goodly number of natives from the Sandwich Islands. A couple of Irishmen, too! I know them by their vivacity, and by the odd trick they have of getting into every body's way; to say nothing of their broad, merry faces. Their property is in common, it seems; for they have only one small pack between them. "Here come ten or a dozen plainly but comfortably dressed mechanics; hard-working men they seem, and just the sort of persons to make their way in a country where the artisan occupies his proper position, and where honest toil--and dishonest, too, sometimes--is almost certain to reap a harvest. Far differently will you fare, and far preferable, too, will be your lot, in regions where privation is the rule, to that of many amongst your numerous fellow-travellers, unaccustomed as they are to laborious occupations--with frames uninured to fatigue, and constitutions unhabituated to scanty fare, to exposure to heat and cold, and wet and sudden changes! Whilst you are succeeding in your object, they will grow wearied, disappointed, and home-sick, and long to be back again on the theatre of their former struggles. "The human stream ceases not to flow from the vessels in the harbor; no sooner is one boat-load disposed of than another arrives, and so on, until the town is gorged with new-comers, who, after a few days' sojourn, to recruit their strength, after the fatigues of a long and irksome voyage, depart, and are seen no more for months; many, perhaps, never to return. Very few of this vast multitude deserve the epithet of poor. To get here at all requires money; and to maintain one's self after getting here, the emigrant must have some little means.