on for ever ? The people, too—we get some
glimpses of them as we pass—how sallow,
black, and care-worn in their aspect; but
how strangely patient. Some of them, sitting
at their windows fail to look up as we rush
by them; so used are they to the noise we
make as we tear, for a moment, almost
through the rooms they live in.

It was a relief to us both when we were,
in a short time enough, disgorged in safety
by the side of the Thames; glad to think that
the ships we were going among would
probably suggest to us different ideas from those
which were forced upon us during our recent
journey.

I suppose it would be impossible to "go
into" ships, as a subject, more thoroughly
and critically than Topper and I did that
afternoon. We examined them, near, at a
distance, in front, behind (I renounce all
nautical terms, fearing a mistake), and at the
side. We canvassed the respective merits of
the old and new systems of building. Topper
—who is the most national man breathing—
says, "Give him the good old British
wall-sided merchantman;" and it is in vain that I
try to inoculate him with the admiration
which I feel so strongly myself for that tribe
of vessels to which the term clipper-built is
generically applied. To me, the long graceful
sweep in all the lines of these vessels is one
of the most beautiful things in the world,
and everything about them has a fast and
rakish and, at the same time, a certain
feminine look (which all ships should have), and
which, as everything with such characteristics
must be, is very pleasant to look upon. It is
true that the front view of a clipper-ship is
not altogether satisfactory; but, then, I have
a theory which I would humbly submit to the
judgment of the initiated that the front view of
all ships is a failure. And it is a curious thing,
and one which may be mentioned while this
question of front and side views is, for a
moment, on the carpet, that this inferiority
of the front view to the side is not confined
to ships, but that in quadrupeds the aspect
of the creature as it faces you, which one
would have expected to be the best, is very
far from being so, and that this, in the case
of such animals, is the less important because
we can so rarely get them to look us in the
face even for a moment. This is so, we say,
with the lower animals, while with man it is
widely different; for we mistrust him, and
justly, if he will not meet our eye, and he
who would estimate truly the perfection of
that last work of the creation would surely
wish to meet him face to face.

Finding it impossible to convince Mr.
Topper that the clipper-ship is the best, and
that he cleaves to his original idea that this
form of vessel is Yankee-looking, piratical,
and un-English, I abandon argument—as I
always do with everybody at a very early
stage—and we turn to those topics upon
which we can both agree. We can both
agree that this is a good place to spend an
afternoon in, and that it is very kind of the
dock officials to let us in for nothing. We
can both agree that it would be difficult to
imagine anything more hopeless or wildly
impossible than the idea of any human
agency ever getting any of these ships (locked
up, and involved, and intertwined, as they
appear with each other) out of the dock in
which they lie. We can both agree in
marvelling that such a system of ship construction
should ever have existed as was in vogue
at the time when some of the oldest of the
vessels before us were built. They present
their broad bows to the waves, and seem to
say, "There, we set these square shoulders
of ours against the water which you fondly
expect to force us through, and get us on if
you can." Finally, we can both agree that a
visit to the East India Docks is a famous
thing for the appetite. And here it behoves
me to mention a trait in Mr. Topper's
character, which I am wholly at a loss to
explain. At and before the commencement
of our excursion, Mr. Topper, who, as well as
myself, is obliged to study economy at times
more than could be wished, invariably stipulates
that we shall have for dinner nothing
but a chop—"they give you such good chops,
you know, in the City," he adds. I agree
to this, and the subject drops. But, about
half-past three, p.m., I invariably notice that
Mr. Topper's countenance clouds over, and
he appears to have something on his mind.
It is then that, after various muttered
allusions which I pretend to ignore, to a bit of
fish, he at length boldly acknowledges that
he shall not enjoy his dinner unless that
article of food precedes our chop. It is
useless for me—knowing that if I accord Topper
an inch in this matter, he will instantly
proceed to demand an ell, or, in plain English,
that he will want soup next; it is useless for
me to contend that fish at taverns on Sunday
is never fresh and good; or, indeed, to put
forward any argument, however plausible,
upon the subject. It invariably ends, partly
perhaps because I don't dislike a bit of fish
myself, in my giving way. I had just done
so on the afternoon with whose adventures
we are at present occupied, and having passed
the fish bill, we had gone on from the main
topic to the discussion of a minor clause, as
to what the nature of the fish should be—
Topper being all for fresh herrings, I
being haunted by visions of a symmetrically
browned sole—when the contest was
interrupted by the arrival of a stout gentleman in
a curly-brimmed hat (an article which I have
often seen associated with obesity), who
turned out to be a friend of Topper's, and
the commander of two of the ships which lay
before us; and, as Topper instantly began
to talk about craft, and to become otherwise
nautical (but inaccurate) in his phraseology,
the sole and herring controversy was
temporarily suspended. Our new friend had