Kate and I rode in a carriage.  Ben followed in a wagon, with the trunks and “jaunting-car-r-r.”  When we reached the ferry, the porters carried my couch, and Ben myself, depositing us upon the deck, where I could look upon the river.  The stately flow of the waters impressed me with dread.  They swept by, not swift, not slow,—­steady, like fate.  Ours may be a dull river to an artist; but its volume of water, its width, perhaps even the flat shores, which do not seem to bound it, make it grand and impressive.

Kate recalled me from my almost shuddering gaze down into the water, and drew my attention to a scene very unlike our little picturesque, rural views at home.  The ruddy light of morning made the river glow like the deep-dyed Brenta, while our dear, unpretending Quaker city showed like one vast structure of ruby.  Vessels of all kinds and sizes (though of but two colors,—­black in shadow, and red in sunlight) lay motionless, in groups.

The New York passengers had now collected on the ferry-boat, and I was all alive to impressions of every kind.  A crowd of men and boys around a soap-peddler burst into a laugh, and I must needs shout out in irrepressible laughter also, though I did not hear the joke.  I was delighted to mingle my voice with other men’s in one common feeling.  Compulsory solitude makes us good democrats.  Kate regarded me with watchful eyes; she was afraid I had become delirious!  I was amazed at myself for this susceptibility,—­I, who, accustomed to hotel-life, had formerly been so impassive, to be thus tickled with a straw!

The river was soon crossed, and then we took the cars.  The heat and suffocation were intolerable to me, and when we arrived at Amboy I was so exhausted that strangers thought me dying.  But Kate again, though greatly alarmed herself, defended me from that imputation.  One half-hour on the deck of the boat to New York, with the free ocean-breeze blowing over me, made me a strong man again,—­I mean, strong as usual.  It was inexpressible delight, that ocean-breeze.  It makes me draw a long breath to think of it, and its almost miraculous power of invigoration.  But I will not rhapsodize to one who thinks no more of a sea-breeze every afternoon than of dessert after dinner.

With my strength, my sense of amusement at what went on about me revived in full force.  I was so absorbed, that I could not take in the meaning of anything Kate said to me, unless I fixed my eyes, by a great effort, upon her face.  So she let me stare about me undisturbed, and smiled like some indulgent mother, amused at my boyishness.  I had no idea that so few months spent in seclusion would make the bustling world so novel to me.

Observe, Mary, that I did not become purely egotistical, until I began to mingle again with “the crowd, the hum, the shock of men.”  Henceforth I shall not be able to promise you any other topic than my own experiences.  My individuality is thrust upon my notice momently by my isolation in this crowd.  In solitude I did not dream what a contrast I had become to my kind.  Those strong, quick, shrewd business-men on the boat set it before me glaringly.