But leviathan begins to blow and heave uneasily, eager to be off. The escape steam-pipe seems too narrow a throat for the angry breath of the monster, and loudly threatens to burst, and the mighty hulk quivers at the sound. The clamor strengthens on deck. The mate begins to move about and shout, and the men leap to obey his orders. The chief engineer and his aids are at their posts, awaiting the word of command from the captain, who at last condescends to enter on the scene of action. A rapid shuffling of feet is heard, baggage is unceremoniously tumbled aside, sailors handle the hawsers, and laggers rush hastily to the wharf. The last drop has been drank, the last good-bye given. The wharf is densely crowded with spectators, while the voyagers every where occupy the different decks of the magnificent ship. There are a few turns ahead of the paddle-wheels, and then a few turns astern; the creature is lazily stretching its gigantic limbs before it begins serious work. The cables are cast loose, and leviathan yawns, and slowly drags its ponderous length half round.

There is meanwhile a general stillness observed by the spectators both on board and on the wharf. Their kind wishes, remembrances, orders, farewells had all been given; and the heart was too full, or the eye too busily engaged with the ever attractive scene, to permit further active demonstrations. Only a few unsentimental wretches will persist in bawling an untimeous coarse witticism, and shout still more "God-bless-ye-s" between the ship and the wharf. Perhaps a passenger, already “half seas over," in the delirium of his joy and drink, will toss his hat to a friend whom he is sorrowfully leaving, as a token of his last affection; or the deserted crony will throw his own "tile" towards the "bosom friend" of many tipsy hours. Three to one, these last fond memorials drop short into the water. Sometimes quite a brisk fire will be thus kept up for a quarter of an hour, while the ship is getting under way; and oranges, hats, sometimes coats even, last notes and packets, jokes and repartees, will fly from man to man across the widening space that separates the parties. Such noisy salutations and gifts, however, are in the end confined to a few. During the last ten minutes the passengers are forming into a close line, and lean across the rails.

Occasionally they appear to whisper to each other about the incidents passing a few yards off. Now one, and then another, bows to some friend in the crowd, whose eye he could not resist catching once again, while a faint, half joyous, half melancholy smile plays upon his face. The friend answers the familiar nod, and seeks to avoid meeting any more the gaze of the departing.

Slowly and heavily, leviathan plashes and plunges; it moves round the outer end of the pier till its head is clear of the farther wharf. Then the great heart ceases for a moment to beat, mustering its energies for the coming race. The excitement among all increases. Now the ponderous iron beams lazily rise and fall. For a moment there is no perceptible motion of the ship. The excitement is intense. Then one sharp eye, and next another, discovers and proclaims loudly that the large hulk is really moving. Onward-slowly, slowly-a little faster, though still but slowly— then moderately a little more quickly-then faster, proudly, triumphantly, with a continually accelerating speed! Oh, it is a beautiful, a grand sight, such a majestic vessel exerting its enormous power, and growing momently in strength and swiftness! So soon as the ship is seen to be really moving ahead the interest of the spectators is at the height. Hats, caps, handkerchiefs, hands, are eagerly waved, and a multitude of cheerful voices bid a long farewell. The travellers gaily show like demonstrations of interest and friendship. A few tears moisten the eyes of the more sensitive. With one general impulse, three hearty cheers are given by the forsaken, which the departing as heartily return. As the loud huzzas die away, and the sullen crash of the paddles is beginning to be distinguished, smoke is observed near the bow of the ship, and at almost the same instant the boom of a cannon-shot is heard, which thunders and re-thunders among the cliffs of Clark's Point-and the steamer has fairly started. For a few minutes afterwards the eager crowds can mark the tall masts and the fluttering pennant, till the ship gradually bends oceanward, and Telegraph Hill hides her farther progress through the Golden Gate. Then with a longdrawn breath—a genuine sigh, or a laugh, the multitude bustle and hurry off to their proper kinds of business, to forget all about

the event and their emotions, until some subsequent steamer-day recalls these to mind, by circumstances of a similar nature.

The arrival of the steamer bearing the eastern mails is likewise an occasion of much excitement-not so much in respect of there being possibly some six or eight hundred passengers on board, as because there are fifty thousand letters and newspapers coming from home. The telegraph has some hours before announced that the "Golden Gate" is approaching the Heads. The glad tidings soon spread through the town. Those who expect to find friends hasten to spy and welcome them before even the vessel touches the wharf. Draymen and cabmen speed with their wagons and coaches to secure a job. A multitude of persons attend for the novelty and excitement of the scene. There are nearly as many persons on the broad wharf as on the occasion of the steamer departing. On sweeps the "Golden Gate”—a magnificent specimen of the first-class ocean steamer. Her decks are crowded with human beings. Deuse masses cluster on the highest plank that can afford them footing, and cling high to the rails and rigging. The passengers are chiefly fresh immigrants, who have sought the land of gold and marvels, to make or recover a fortune. And this is San Francisco! they say to each other, as they mark the forest of masts, and the hill-sides covered with buildings. Well! it exceeds all my expectations! But we have not space, Asmodeus-like, to uncover the chambers of their brain, and tell the various thoughts, fancies, hopes, ambitions, of the sanguine immigrants. Among them are those who must and shall succeed, and also those who will surely be disappointed and lamentably fail. Among the last are a large proportion of medical men, political place-hunters, lawyers, and such as would fain live more by their wits than by rude manual labor. The most of these men,--many of whom are highly educated in classic and polite literature, must forget their refined associations, and submit to corporeal drudgery, if they would thrive in San Francisco. If they cheerfully do that, there is hope and fortune in store for them.

For a few days such as intend to betake themselves to golddigging remain in town, and with staring, greedy eyes, look about them, while they recruit their strength. Thus many a

lank, awkward, budding Hercules may often be seen dreamily wondering, while he wanders through the streets. Or if there be a good demand for laborers in San Francisco, some may take a few weeks spell at town work, to earn a "slug" or two, to help them to travel farther. The finances of the newly-come immigrant are commonly but scanty. Many skilled mechanics and tradesmen are among the number; and these generally find instant employment, if they diligently seek it, in their various occupations. If the particular kind of business, however, which they wish, and are best fitted for, cannot be obtained, then, as they have hands, and eyes, and feet, and may have willing spirits not above coarse work, they may always find something to do, to keep soul and body together and save a little money to wait till their better time comes, when they may have a choice of employment. But gradually many of the fresh immigrants swarm off to Sacramento, and others to Stockton, as the first stages to the mining regions. A considerable number of the passengers, particularly those in the cabin, are only returned Californians, such as had gone off some months before. These are gladly coming back to speculations and hard work, to feverish passion, wild delights and all the dear, wicked, fast life of San Francisco. The austerities of New England, the dull proprieties of the Quaker City, and the general monotony of society over most parts of the East, have only sharpened the appetites of the old settlers for the delightful excitement that ever reigns in the noble city which they themselves have helped to create.

The expresses hurry off their packages, mails are landed, decks are cleared, and the passengers have all found a temporary lodging. The post-office establishment is meanwhile as busy as possible, arranging the letters for delivery. Merchants open their private boxes and find the all-important missives they looked for. Anxious crowds gather at the windows and with beating hearts ask for the longed-for, half-expected letters. The reader may readily imagine their mingled hopes and fears as the clerk answers their inquiries. He who is blessed with news from home tremblingly unfolds the precious epistle in the street, and devours, as it were, with gloating eyes, the substantial words. The disappointed seeker turns ruefully away, to hope for success next mail.

HOTELS, RESTAURANTS AND BOARDING-HOUSES.

IN 1849 and the two or three subsequent years, although the population had swelled to a large number, there were few families in San Francisco, and consequently, as has already been observed, there were no homes for the great mass of the inhabitants. Men lived as they were never accustomed to live in any other portion of the world. Many, who previous to emigrating here, were in the enjoyment of all the pleasures and luxuries of refined civilized life, were now without even its most ordinary comforts. Numbers lodged in mean, inhospitable tents, that were pitched everywhere upon the hills, in the valleys, and among the bushes; and still more, perhaps, in wretched and filthy shanties, where from one to three score would occupy a single large room, sleeping upon the floor, on benches, boxes, tables, or trunks, or in narrow contracted bunks fastened to the weather-boards. The majority of those who possessed places of business, passed their hours of