"How could I! I should have said they were
in their degree, the pick and flower of England."

"So should I," says the captain.

"How many are they?"

"Eight hundred in round numbers."

I went betvveen-decks, where the families
with children swarmed in the dark, where
unavoidable confusion had been caused by the last
arrivals, and where the confusion was increased
by the little preparations for dinner that were
going on in each group. A few women here
and there, had got lost, and were laughing at
it, and asking their way to their own people, or
out on deck again. A few of the poor children
were crying; but otherwise the universal
cheerfulness was amazing. "We shall shake down
by to-morrow." " We shall come all right in a
day or so." "We shall have more light at sea."
Such phrases I heard everywhere, as I groped
my way among chests and barrels and beams
and unstowed cargo and ring-bolts and
Emigrants, down to the lower deck, and thence
up to the light of day again and to my former
station.

Surely, an extraordinary people in their
power of self-abstraction! All the former letter-
writers were still writing calmly, and many
more letter-writers had broken out in my
absence. A boy with a bag of books in his
hand and a slate under his arm, emerged from
below, concentrated himself in my neighbourhood
(espying a convenient skylight for his
purpose), and went to work at a sum as if he
were stone deaf. A father and mother and
several young children, on the main deck below
me, had formed a family circle close to the foot
of the crowded restless gangway, where the
children made a nest for themselves in a coil of
rope, and the father and mother, she suckling
the youngest, discussed family affairs as peaceably
as if they were in perfect retirement. I
think the most noticeable characteristic in the
eight hundred as a mass, was their exemption
from hurry.

Eight hundred what? "Geese, villain?"
EIGHT HUNDRED MORMONS. I, Uncommercial
Traveller for the firm of Human Interest,
Brothers, had come aboard this Emigrant Ship to
see what Eight hundred Latter-Day Saints were
like, and I found them (to the rout and overthrow
of all my expectations) like what I now
describe with scrupulous exactness.

The Mormon Agent who had been active in
getting them together, and in making the
contract with my friends the owners of the ship
to take them as far as New York on their way
to the Great Salt Lake, was pointed out to me.
A compactly-made handsome man in black,
rather short, with rich-brown hair and beard, and
clear bright eyes. From his speech, I should
set him down as American. Probably, a man
who had "knocked about the world" pretty
much. A man with a frank open manner, and
unshrinking look; withal a man of great quickness.
I believe he was wholly ignorant of my
Uncommercial individuality, and consequently of
my immense Uncommercial importance.

UNCOMMERCIAL. These are a very fine set of
people you have brought together here.

MORMON AGENT. Yes, sir, they are a very
fine set of people.

UNCOMMERCIAL (looking about). Indeed, I
think it would be difficult to find Eight hundred
people together anywhere else, and find so
much beauty and so much strength and capacity
for work among them.

MORMON AGENT (not looking about, but looking
steadily at Uncommercial). I think so.—We
sent out about a thousand more, yes'day, from
Liverpool.

UNCOMMERCIAL. You are not going with
these emigrants?

MORMON AGENT. No, sir. I remain.

UNCOMMERCIAL. But you have been in the
Mormon Territory?

MORMON AGENT. Yes; I left Utah about
three years ago.

UNCOMMERCIAL. It is surprising to me that
these people are all so cheery, and make so little
of the immense distance before them.

MORMON AGENT. Well, you see; many of 'em
have friends out at Utah, and many of 'em look
forward to meeting friends on the way.

UNCOMMERCIAL. On the way?

MORMON AGENT. This way 'tis. This ship
lands 'em in New York City. Then they go on
by rail right away beyond St. Louis, to that
part of the Banks of the Missouri where they
strike the Plains. There, waggons from the
settlement meet 'em to bear 'em company on their
journey 'cross—twelve hundred miles about.
Industrious people who come out to the settlement
soon get waggons of their own, and so the
friends of some of these will come down in their
own waggons to meet 'em. They look forward
to that, greatly.

UNCOMMERCIAL. On their long journey across
the Desert, do you arm them?

MORMON AGENT. Mostly you would find
they have arms of some kind or another already
with them. Such as had not arms we should
arm across the Plains, for the general protection
and defence.

UNCOMMERCIAL. Will these waggons bring
down any produce to the Missouri?

MORMON AGENT. Well, since the war broke
out, we've taken to growing cotton, and they'll
likely bring down cotton to be exchanged for
machinery. We want machinery. Also we
have taken to growing indigo, which is a fine
commodity for profit. It has been found that
the climate on the further side of the Great
Salt Lake suits well for raising indigo.

UNCOMMERCIAL. I am told that these people
now on board are principally from the South
of England?

MORMON AGENT. And from Wales. That's
true.

UNCOMMERCIAL. Do you get many Scotch?

MORMON AGENT. Not many.

UNCOMMERCIAL. Highlanders, for instance?

MORMON AGENT. No, not Highlanders.
They ain't interested enough in universal
brotherhood and peace and good will.