UNCOMMERCIAL. The old fighting blood is
strong in them?

MORMON AGENT. Well, yes. And besides;
they've no faith.

UNCOMMERCIAL (who has been burning to
get at the Prophet Joe Smith, and seems to
discover an opening). Faith in——!

MORMON AGENT (far too many for
Uncommercial). Well.—In anything!

Similarly on this same head, the Uncommercial
underwent discomfiture from a Wiltshire
labourer: a simple fresh-coloured farm-labourer,
of eight-and-thirty, who at one time stood beside
him looking on at new arrivals, and with whom
he held this dialogue:

UNCOMMERCIAL. Would you mind my asking
you what part of the country you come from?

WILTSHIRE. Not a bit. Theer! (exultingly)
I've worked all my life o' Salisbury Plain, right
under the shadder o' Stonehenge. You mightn't
think it, but I haive.

UNCOMMERCIAL. And a pleasant country too.

WILTSHIRE. Ah! 'Tis a pleasant country.

UNCOMMERCIAL. Have you any family on
board?

WILTSHIRE. Two children, boy and gal. I
am a widderer, I am, and I'm going out alonger
my boy and gal. That's my gal, and she's a fine
gal o' sixteen (pointing out the girl who is writing
by the boat). I'll go and fetch my boy. I'd
like to show you my boy. (Here Wiltshire
disappears, and presently comes back with a big
shy boy of twelve, in a superabundance of boots,
who is not at all glad to be presented.) He is
a fine boy too, and a boy fur to work! (Boy
having undutifully bolted, Wiltshire drops him.)

UNCOMMERCIAL. It must cost you a great deal
of money to go so far, three strong.

WILTSHIRE. A power of money. Theer!
Eight shillen a week, eight shillen a week, eight
shillen a week, put by out of the week's wages
for ever so long.

UNCOMMERCIAL. I wonder how you did it.

WILTSHIRE (recognising in this a kindred
spirit). See theer now! I wonder how I done
it! But what with a bit o' subscription heer,
and what with a bit o' help theer, it were done
at last, though I don't hardly know how. Then
it were unfort'net for us, you see, as we got kep'
in Bristol so long—nigh a fortnight, it were—
on accounts of a mistake wi' Brother Halliday.
Swaller'd up money, it did, when we might have
come straight on.

UNCOMMERCIAL (delicately approaching Joe
Smith). You are of the Mormon religion, of
course?

WILTSHIRE (confidently). yes, I'm a Mor-
mon. (Then reflectively.) I'm a Mormon. (Then,
looking round the ship, feigns to descry a
particular friend in an empty spot, and evades the
Uncommercial for evermore.)

After a noontide pause for dinner, during
which my Emigrants were nearly all between-
decks and the Amazon looked deserted, a
general muster took place. The muster was
for the ceremony of passing the Government
Inspector and the Doctor. Those authorities
held their temporary state amidships, by a cask
or two; and, knowing that the whole Eight
hundred emigrants must come face to face with
them, I took my station behind the two. They
knew nothing whatever of me, I believe, and my
testimony to the unpretending gentleness and
good nature with which they discharged their
duty, may be of the greater worth. There was
not the slightest flavour of the Circumlocution
Office about their proceedings.

The emigrants were now all on deck. They
were densely crowded aft, and swarmed upon
the poop-deck like bees. Two or three Mormon
agents stood ready to hand them on to the
Inspector, and to hand them forward when they
had passed. By what successful means, a special
aptitude for organisation had been infused into
these people, I am, of course, unable to report.
But I know that, even now, there was no
disorder, hurry, or difficulty.

All being ready, the first group are handed
on. That member of the party who is entrusted
with the passenger-ticket for the whole, has been
warned by one of the agents to have it ready,
and here it is in his hand. In every instance
through the whole eight hundred, without an
exception, this paper is always ready.

INSPECTOR (reading the ticket). Jesse Jobson,
Sophronia Jobson, Jesse Jobson again, Matilda
Jobson, William Jobson, Jane Jobson, Matilda
Jobson again, Brigham Jobson, Leonardo Jobson,
and Orson Jobson. Are you all here? (glancing
at the party, over his spectacles).

JESSE JOBSON NUMBER Two. All here, sir.

This group is composed of an old grandfather
and grandmother, their married son and his wife,
and their family of children. Orson Jobson is
a little child asleep in his mother's arms. The
Doctor, with a kind word or so, lifts up the
corner of the mother's shawl, looks at the child's
face, and touches the little clenched hand. If
we were all as well as Orson Jobson, doctoring
would be a poor profession.

INSPECTOR. Quite right, Jesse Jobson. Take
your ticket, Jesse, and pass on.

And away they go. Mormon agent, skilful
and quiet, hands them on. Mormon agent,
skilful and quiet, hands next party up.

INSPECTOR (reading ticket again). Susannah
Cleverly and William Cleverly. Brother and
sister, eh?

SISTER (young woman of business, hustling
slow brother). Yes, sir.

INSPECTOR. Very good, Susannah Cleverly.
Take your ticket, Susannah, and take care of it.

And away they go.

INSPECTOR (taking ticket again). Sampson
Dibble and Dorothy Dibble (surveying a very
old couple over his spectacles, with some
surprise). Your husband quite blind, Mrs.
Dibble?

MRS. DIBBLE. Yes, sir, he be stone-blind.

MR. DIBBLE (addressing the mast). Yes, sir,
I be stone-blind.

INSPECTOR. That's a bad job. Take your
ticket, Mrs. Dibble, and don't lose it, and pass on.